Page 47 of Italian Baby Shock

He growled, his fingers clenching tight in her hair as she took the long, thick, hard length of him in her hand, stroking him, teasing him.

She loved him. She loved his body and the sounds he made. The way he touched her when he was aroused. And he should know that he was loved, know that he was cared for. No one had ever cared for him; no one had loved him. She couldn’t bear it.

She didn’t want to ruin this moment by telling him, but she would show him. She would worship him the way he deserved to be worshipped.

Kneeling at his feet, she slid his jeans down over his hips, taking his underwear with them, and he stepped out of the fabric, finally, gloriously naked.

Lark ran her hands up his powerful thighs to the hard length of his sex. He was beautiful there too and he should know it. She leaned forward and took him in her mouth, tasting his delicious flavour, all salt and musk and heat.

He made another deep growling sound, his fingers a fist in her hair as she drew him in deep. ‘My beautiful wife.’ His voice was low and rough. ‘You make me so hungry.’

He made her hungry too. He made her want more. He made her want everything. But she couldn’t ask that of him, not when he’d been so clear what love meant to him.

It wasn’t his fault she wanted something more.

Eventually he got impatient and pulled her up from where she knelt, tossing her on the bed and following her down, pinning her beneath him. ‘Now,’ he murmured. ‘Where were we?’ Then he pulled her clothing off and she helped, desperate to have nothing between them but skin.

So when he reached for a condom in the bedside table drawer, she stopped him. ‘No,’ she said when he looked down at her in surprise. ‘You wanted another child. Let’s try for one.’ She could give him this gift, couldn’t she?

But what about your decision?

Maybe she didn’t have to leave him now. Maybe she’d wait to see if she was pregnant and then make a decision. She just hadn’t realised how much it would hurt.

Cesare smiled at her and it was as if the sun had come up on a bitter winter landscape, the promise of summer and warmth and life.

It made her want to cry, but instead she reached up and pulled his mouth down on hers, kissing him desperately, gasping in pleasure as he slid inside her.

He felt so right. So perfect. She wanted to keep him there for ever.

She wound her legs around his waist, holding him where he was, and when he put his hands on either side of her head and looked down into her eyes, she stared back. She couldn’t help herself.

He began to move, deep and slow, and she could see the pleasure glow bright in his gaze, and the hunger too.

His eyes were so blue.

She loved him so much.

She wanted to tell him so, but she couldn’t do that now. He’d stop and she didn’t want him to stop. Instead, she raised her hand and touched his beautiful face the way she had onthe plane that day, so long ago now. Tracing his features as he moved inside her, the pleasure growing deeper and deeper.

‘Lark,’ he said softly, turning to brush his mouth over her fingertips. ‘My little bird.’

Yes, she was his. She’d be his for ever; she knew it deep in her soul.

The orgasm hit her without warning, hard and fast and when it did, she had to bury her face in his neck to stop the tears that came along with it.

Cesare felt the orgasm hit, pleasure pouring through him, and he couldn’t move for long moments. Not that he wanted to. He was quite happy with Lark lying beneath him, all soft and hot, her legs wrapped around his waist, her face turned against his neck.

Every part of him was relaxed and heavy with physical satiation, pleasure echoing through him, yet something was bothering him and he couldn’t figure out what.

Then he realised that Lark was weeping.

Shock cut through the pleasure like a knife, and he moved off her, lying on his side and looking down at her. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. She turned away, flinging an arm across her eyes as if she was trying to hide from him.

His chest tightened and he grabbed her arm, pulling it away so he could see her face. It was flushed and wet with tears.

‘Lark?’ he demanded, rougher than he’d intended. ‘Did I hurt you?’ Fear gripped him. Had he done something terrible? He must have to make her weep like this. ‘Lark,’ he said again, trying to pull her close. But she wriggled out of his grip, turning away.

He stared at her, bewildered by her sudden change in mood. She’d been so passionate and hungry for him just before, her eyes full of some unearthly light that had gripped him by the throat and hadn’t let go. She had never seemed more lovely to him.

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