CAROL MARINELLI - Scandals Of The Royals - Princess From the Shadows

His grip tightened on her, one hand staying firm on her hip, the other moving over her breasts, teasing her nipples as she rode him.

When her orgasm hit, she leaned forward and braced her hand on his shoulder, holding herself still as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. He wrapped his arms around her and switched their positions, thrusting hard into her as he sought his own release. She moved against him, each one of his thrusts bringing her closer, impossibly, to another climax.

When she reached the edge this time, they went over together, his harsh growl of completion the final component that brought her to the brink.

They lay together, sweat-slicked limbs entwined, the only sound in the room their harsh breathing.

She’d had sex with Rodriguez. Because she’d wanted to. Because she’d wanted him. She had let go. Of everything. Of her control. She had let it all drop and she had simply been Carlotta. Not the woman she was supposed to be. Just the woman she was.

And the world hadn’t crumbled. Quite the opposite. Things seemed right for the first time. She didn’t feel like she was being suffocated in her own body, crushed beneath the weight, the expectation, that she would be able to be a perfect kind of superwoman.

With Rodriguez, she had simply been herself.

A tear slid down her cheek and landed on his chest. She felt free.

SEX was always good for Rodriguez. It was something he’d used, from a very early age, to escape from the world. To get lost in feelings that were purely good, so that he could block out a recent beating he’d received from his father’s hand, or a verbal assault that had flayed him from the inside out.

But sex was never like this. It had never been about giving with no thought to what he might get back. Though Carlotta had given back more than he’d ever experienced before, it hadn’t been his primary objective.

It hadn’t even entered his mind.

Their bodies had simply worked together. The give and take so perfect and rewarding. He had been lost in her. In the touch of her hands, her taste, her scent. He could have lavished her with attention all night and not been satisfied. Not wholly.

That was another new and unique aspect. This sort of strange, bone-deep fulfillment that made him feel both sated and in need of more.

But not now. Now Carlotta was wrapped around him, her breath deep, warm and moist across his chest.

And he didn’t feel trapped, or crowded, or anything he’d thought he might feel sleeping in the same bed with a woman.

He’d never, ever slept with a lover in the pure, literal sense of the word.

He was up and gone after sex. It was just the sort of liaison he conducted, the kind he was comfortable with. And he made sure he pursued women who wanted the same sort of arrangement.

He didn’t want anyone in his life, only between the sheets. He’d managed to make it to twenty-nine without ever sharing a bed with a woman for the express purpose of what a bed had been built for.

He liked it. The warm weight of her on his chest, liked stroking his hand over her sleek, dark hair. And really enjoyed taking advantage of running his other hand over her bare curves, her skin silken beneath his fingertips.

Carlotta’s body jerked and she pushed herself up partway. “Oh!”

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Mmm,” she whimpered, putting her hand over her face and scrubbing at it for a moment. “What time is it?”

He craned his neck behind them. “Six-thirty.” And he hadn’t slept at all. He’d simply lain there, dissecting the events of the night, enjoying being with her.

“Oh, no,” she said, moving into a sitting position. “Luca will be up in a bit.”

“Let Angelina get him.”

“He comes in looking for me sometimes,” she said, her voice thick from sleep. “I need to go back to my room.”

A strange flash of something sharp and hot stabbed him in the gut. Was he jealous of a five-year-old? Impossible. And ridiculous.

Why was he arguing? He didn’t need to sleep with her. They’d had sex. And that was what having a woman in his bed was all about. Yes, it had been nice to have her with him, but there was no reason for it to feel essential that she stay.

But he sat up with her, unwilling to lie back down if she was getting up. He stood and kicked his clothes, still bunched up by the bed, to the side. Carlotta’s eyes were glued to him in the dim light.

“See something you like?” he asked, walking over to his dresser and digging until he produced a soft black T-shirt.

“A lot of something I like,” she said softly.

He threw the shirt to her and she caught it. “So you don’t have to walk back down the hall in an evening gown,” he said.

“Is anyone up?”

“Possibly. But trust me, you in the hall in something you might have slept in is less of a scandal than you roaming around in the previous night’s attire.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” She didn’t make a move to put it on, she just sat there, holding the soft cotton top over her breasts. He wished she wouldn’t cover them up.

He wasn’t used to this. This strange kind of tense emotion hanging in the air after sex. Sex was supposed to be a release but he felt … fuller somehow. Satisfied yet … yet in desperate need of more. As though he’d tapped into a hunger he didn’t know he possessed, and now that he’d uncovered it, he was almost certain he would never be able to fill it.

He took a deep breath and tried to ease the tight sensation in his chest.

“Are you all right?” he asked, another thing he’d never been compelled to ask after being with a woman. It was all usually clean and focused. It was about the physical, for him and his partner, nothing more.

But Carlotta was going to be his wife. And there was nothing clean and simple about permanent. Or about what she’d told him. About the issues that she had.

Just thinking about that man, Gabriel, was enough to choke him. The bastard had taken something he had no right to. He had stolen Carlotta’s love of herself.

“Yeah,” she said, not quite meeting his gaze. “I’m good.”

“You’re beautiful,” he said. Always when he said it to her, something he’d said easily to so many other women, it felt different. It felt real and essential. It felt like something he had to tell her. Something he had to make her understand.

“Thank you.” She tugged the shirt on, and he watched, savoring every visible inch of her until she was covered.

“You don’t really seem like you believe me.”

“I’m not sure that it matters.”

“Why not?”

“We’re sort of stuck with each other, right?”

He frowned. “It matters because it’s true. And because I don’t feel stuck.” That was true. He wasn’t sure when that feeling had changed, and why it had changed after his promise to be faithful. If anything, the specter of a lifetime of sleeping with the same woman should be looming over him and taunting him with the hellish reality that such prolonged fidelity would bring.

But it wasn’t. And he didn’t feel any kind of dawning horror creeping over him. Right now, the only thing the thought of a lifetime of Carlotta in his bed brought was an intense, hard kick of lust.

“You don’t?”

“I didn’t promise to be faithful to you just to get you into bed. I promised it because I knew it was one I could keep, one I don’t mind keeping.”

“Hmm,” she said, standing from the bed. “It’s just a strange way of putting it.”

“What do you want me to say? I’m trying to tell you, you’re beautiful.”

“I know, I just … Rodriguez I don’t know what I’m doing. I … Thank you. Thank you for not wanting to cheat on me, and for thinking I’m beautiful.”