Page 37 of The Convenient Cosentino Wife

“I did.”

His hand, still between her thighs, moved up several inches. “You seemed distracted.”

She met his silver gaze and it wasn’t innocent. A knowing heat glowed in his eyes and his hand inched higher again, his fingers so close to the juncture of her thighs.

“It’s hard to concentrate when your husband’s hand is making you melt.”

“You do feel hot,” he agreed, his hand now against the seam of her leggings, right where she wanted him.

“I think you should kiss me,” she said huskily.

“I’ve been thinking the same thing.” Rocco lifted her up and settled her on his lap so that she was facing him. His lap was warm, and hard, and she could feel him through her thin leggings. She shuddered a little at the erotic pressure of his body against her.

His hands were on her hips, holding her firmly, fingers grazing her hipbones making her gasp at how sensitive he made her feel. His touch lit fire everywhere beneath her skin, and she tried not to wiggle because every little movement made his shaft rub her there where she had a million nerve endings. But then when his hands cupped her butt, holding her in such a way that she felt open, Clare whimpered. “I thought you were going to kiss me.”

“Don’t worry, I am. I just want to feel you first. You have such a beautiful shape, all curves and softness. I could sink into your softness.”

“I wish you would,” she answered.

He clasped her face, his mouth covering hers and he kissed her then, a deep, fierce, intoxicating kiss, a kiss of barely leashed hunger, a kiss that promised endless pleasure. She wanted endless pleasure. She wanted him with her and in her, wanted to be as close as possible. He held her hips to his, and as he kissed her, she could feel him grow harder, and harder, until they were both throbbing with need.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts to his chest, craving friction and satisfaction.

When he broke off the kiss she was certain he was going to suggest going to his room, or hers and she wanted it, was ready for it, but instead he gazed down into her eyes. “I shouldn’t have let this happen. I got carried away. I’m sorry.”

She stiffened, caught off guard, the apology a blow to her chest, making her heart seize up and the air bottle in her lungs. She hated the apology, and found herself—unreasonably, perhaps—hating him.

How could he say such a thing when her mouth was still tender, the lower lip tingling, her body filled with shivery sensation? How could he apologize for any of it? “It was just a kiss,” she said lowly, climbing off his lap and tugging on her tunic, covering her hips and bottom, adjusting the sleeves. “Nothing to apologize for,” she added, looking anywhere but at him. “And certainly nothing to feel guilty about.”

“I don’t feel guilty. You’re my wife.” He reached for her hand, tugged her back so that she had to face him. His gaze was like molten silver, hot, so hot, but his expression as fierce, determined. “You’re the one I’m trying to protect. I don’t wantyouto feel guilty...later.”

She tried to shake him off, but he wouldn’t let go. “And you think I would.”

“I know you would. You love him. Not me.”

Clare flinched, stunned. So that’s what this was about. Oh, wow. She hadn’t expected that, but maybe she should have. Ironically, Clare certainly hadn’t been thinking of Marius. She thought of him less and less lately, but she’d thought maybe it was a good thing, maybe it meant she was ready to move forward and live again.

“I married you,” she said, hating the lump in her throat. “I chose to say yes. I chose to start a life with you.”

“I worry I’ve rushed you.”

Clare didn’t love him, if that’s what he wanted. She didn’t know if she’d ever love him, but she was attracted to him and desired him. These past few nights she’d touched herself trying to be patient, but it was him she wanted, and the pleasure his powerful body promised. She wanted all of it—the discovery, the release, the comfort. “Many people fall in bed on the first date. We’ve been married for two weeks now and there have only been these little kisses, and that’s fine for children, but we’re adults, and married. Is there a reason I can’t desire you?” she asked, chin lifting defiantly. “You are my husband. You are now mine.”

The corner of his mouth tilted up slightly even as her words made his expression fiercer. He pulled her down onto the leather sofa and stretched out over her, his body trapping her on the couch. He kissed her deeply, possessively, his tongue tasting her, teasing her, a hand beneath her bottom, holding her to him.

This is what she’d wanted, this fire, this burn, hot wine in her veins, heat and need between her legs.

She thought she’d go mad with need. And in that moment, with him close, but not close enough, Clare thought she’d do—give—anything to have him in her, filling her, making her feel complete. Because she’d been empty and lonely, and she’d had enough. Enough chivalry.

Enough safety. Enough being smart and careful and good.

“I want you,” she breathed against his mouth. “It’s not him. It’s you, only you.”

His gaze locked with hers. Her heart pounded, thudding painfully in her chest.

“When you kiss me,” she continued, “I know it’s you kissing me. When you touch me, I know it’s you touching me. I am not pretending you are someone else. I am not fantasizing about anyone else. I am with you, and only you.”

He captured her hands and lifted them over her head, holding them captive in one hand even as he slid a thigh between hers, his knee where she was hot and wet. “When I see you,” he rasped, his head bending to press a light kiss beneath her ear to the side of her neck. “I only see you. I only desire you.”

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