Page 50 of Salvatore

He takes the bag in my hand and tosses it on the table, then clasps the back of my neck and pulls me in for a deep kiss. “I don’t want to think about them anymore,” he says between kisses. “Not when I’m here with you.”

He slips off the scarf I’m wearing and dips his mouth to claim my neck. I’ll admit, his switch from tough guy to lover catches me off guard. That doesn’t mean I don’t welcome his tongue or the brush of his hard chest against my breasts.

As my muscles tense further, he breaks away. “What’s wrong?” he asks. I don’t answer. He frowns. “Do you want me to stop?”

Heat crawls its way along my face. “No,” I admit.

He glides his hand between my breasts. “Why does it feel like something’s wrong?”

“It’s not that anything’s wrong,” I say, my skin warming further.

“What is it?” He cocks his head. “If you have something to say, just say it. I don’t want things to come between us.”

Neither do I. I owe him the truth, not that it’s an easy truth to share. “I’m not ready for sex,” I tell him. “But I am ready for more than kissing.”

He leans back a little, watching me closely. “Yeah?”

I force the word out. Salvatore is simply that intimidating. “Yes.”

His already gravelly voice grows gruff. “Have you messed around in the past?”

Without meaning to, I laugh, causing him to smirk. I should be embarrassed and I am, but laughing seems to lift the tension I’m feeling. “Just because I’m a virgin, doesn’t mean I’m completely inexperienced. I’ve done plenty of things with other men . . .” My voice fades in time with his deepening frown. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask, realizing he’s majorly pissed.

“I don’t want to think about you with other men.”

What remains of my humor dissolves. I know exactly what he means. Envisioning him with other women in any capacity absolutely crushes me. But neither of us can change our pasts, or the fact we’ve experienced intimacy with other people.

“I’m not with those men now,” I assure him. “Nor do I want to be.”

He keeps his expression tight, but his strokes along my spine remain tender. “I still don’t like it,” he murmurs.

The intensity behind his gaze drills straight through me, stimulating every part of me that for too long has been ignored, including my heart.

Yet, it’s what he says next that fires a need only he can invoke. “You’ve had your breasts touched, your nipples sucked?” he asks, his voice lowering with every word.

My breath quickens as I struggle to speak. “Yes,” I manage.

His hand leaves my back to slide around my hip. “Have you had fingers slip beneath your panties?”

Now he’s the one breathing hard. “Yes,” I stammer, trying to keep from trembling.

“Did you like it?” His fingers dig into the fabric of my dress as he reaches my inner thigh.

“It’s been . . . okay,” I gasp.

He leans forward, whispering close against my ear. “Just okay?” he asks, his hand lowering.

“Um.” Oh, my God, I have nothing better.

His fingertips swirl, grazing just above my folds. “And has anyone kissed you here?” he teases, two fingers skimming down. “Licked you until you were begging for it?”

My cell phone timer goes off, making me jump.

“Damn it.” I reach for it on the coffee table and tap the screen to silence it. He withdraws his hand and chuckles. “Sorry?sorry,” I add.

I point at him as I scramble to stand. “Hold that thought. Just . . .” I shake my hands out, realizing how desperate I sound. “I’ll be right back.”

I hurry into the kitchen and reach for a towel, practically throwing the roast on top of the stove. I barely finish shutting the oven door when Sal snags me, gripping my hips and slamming my butt against him. I gasp with surprise . . . and from the length and thickness of his erection pressing against my back.

---