Her head thrashed back and forth. His hands kept her still, but she had lost all ability to think. She could only feel. Deep inside, that tension wound even tighter. A gathering. A coiling. He had to stop. She didn't want him to ever stop. Secure in his ropes, she was completely at his mercy, and he wasn't feeling very compassionate. His mouth devoured her and his hands were lethal, fingers, by turns, kneading her buttocks and then dancing up her inner thighs to penetrate deep.
She knew she was chanting his name, but she couldn't stop, desperate for release. Her hips bucked against his mouth, grinding, trying to force him to take her where she needed to go.
His finger pushed deep, driving through silken folds. "So tight, amore, I have to get you ready."
Ready? She was already losing her mind. She was totally ready. "Please." She managed to get that one word out.
He didn't hesitate; once more his mouth was there, decisive, invasive, so perfect, sending streaks of flames racing through her, so the firestorm exploded, radiating scorching heat through her body. Her mind seemed to break free, taking her somewhere she'd never been, so that for a few moments there was only pleasure surrounding her. She floated in it, that fiery, star-laden place she'd never been but wanted to stay in--with him. Ricco.
She blinked, became aware that his hands were rubbing her bottom gently, smoothing down her thighs, and he was once again on his feet, holding her, surrounding her with his arms. She found herself smiling at him. "That was--extraordinary."
"The beginning," he corrected. "Dio, amore, you taste delicious. I could eat you up."
"I want to touch you," she admitted. "I need to touch you."
He leaned in to kiss her. She tasted herself on his tongue and it was more erotic than she thought possible.
"I want your hands on me," he said. He reached for a pair of scissors he had on a side table. "Lean into me."
She didn't have any real choice. Her legs were suddenly rubber. She was melting into him. His skin was hot and he was strong and protective. His arms went around her once more and he cut the ropes and began to massage her arms and hands. Mariko tried to stand, alarmed that he was taking her full weight.
"Just lie against me, farfallina mia. I've got you."
She wanted him to always have her. She felt safer with him, even tied, than she'd ever felt with any other human being. Her bare breasts pressed into his chest. Already she felt a million little sparks leaping from his skin to hers. Now it was even more so. Her nipples brushed over his heavy muscles, and ripples of fire spread straight to her sex.
Her entire body shuddered as his hands gently massaged her arms and hands. There were no pins and needles, nothing to say she'd been tied for a little while. He was that careful where he'd laid the ropes. Still, she groaned when he gently pulled first one arm and then the other from behind her to wrap around him.
"I'm going to pick you up."
Immediately alarm spread through her. She'd been feeling beautiful and sexy until she heard Osamu's voice in her head. You're big and ugly. You should bind your big feet and breasts so you don't knock into things. You're clumsy and a complete embarrassment. Stay in your room when we have company.
One arm slid around her back, the other her knees. He lifted her easily, without seeming effort, cradling her almost tenderly against his chest. "Look at me, Mariko."
She curled into him, both for strength and to hide her body just a little from his dark, piercing gaze. He could see through shadows. Into them. Beyond them. He could see into her mind. She lifted her gaze to his and instantly desire poured into her again. It was there in his eyes. So much she was drowning in it.
"Stay with me, Mariko. Don't go there. Not ever again. She has no place here. Not in this room and not in this house. I want you to throw her out of your head and hear and see only me. Look at yourself the way I see you, not her. Do you need me to show you the images in the camera? When you see them, you'll see only beauty."
She allowed her gaze to drift over his face. Her fingertips went to the scar, tracing it from his eye, following the curve to the corner of his mouth. He'd gotten that scar saving her life. The ones on his chest had been put there for the same reason. She slid her hands around his neck and locked them there. For whatever reason, Ricco Ferraro wanted her, and she was going to have him. Again, she knew it was her choice. Having him for one night, or a few nights, and walking away brokenhearted was better than never having him at all. He was her choice.
Using her hands, she brought his head down to her uplifted one and took his mouth. The man could kiss. The moment her lips touched his, featherlight, teasing, tracing his lips with her tongue, his hand slid up her back to bunch her hair in his fingers. How he could hold her so close, so steady, without so much as a tremble she didn't know--or care--because she had her mouth on his and it was . . . perfection.
He took over the kiss, deepening it. She followed his lead, tasting his hot, masculine flavor, savoring it, wanting to devour him. He kissed her over and over and she found herself drowning, every nerve ending on fire for him, so aware of him, of the muscles rippling against her bare skin as she floated through the air like some princess in a fairy tale.
He carried her through the house straight to the master bedroom. His territory, where he'd said no woman had ever been. She literally felt as if she were floating, his mouth on hers, kissing her senseless, as he took her through the spacious halls straight to his bed.
He stripped the comforter off while holding her with one arm, still cradled in tight against his chest. That ability was enough to take her breath away. Then she was on the cool, silk sheets, sprawled out on his bed, eyes on his, because there was no looking away from him. Even if she did, it wouldn't have mattered. He was all she could see. Everything she could want.
Ricco stood at the bottom of the bed, his hands on his drawstring pants, but his gaze on her. "You're so beautiful."
She smiled at him. She couldn't help it. He made her feel beautiful. "You did suffer a major blow to the head. Sooner or later you're going to come to your senses." That much was true, but in the meantime, she was going to enjoy every single second with him. "You have too many clothes on."
He did. He so did. She had dreamt of his naked body entwined with hers, and that had been long before she met him--when she was doing research on him. She'd seen photographs taken of him in a hot tub with the Lacey twins, his bare chest showing. She'd been a little disappointed that he wasn't standing. To her, he was physically gorgeous. She was grateful to realize that everything she'd learned about his character matched his body. He was a good man, a really good man.
"I don't want to scare you off," he teased, his thumbs in the waistband of his trousers. They sat low on his hips and he looked delicious standing there with that confident smile that bordered on arrogant.
She smiled and shook her head slightly. "That's not possible." This night was for her. She hoped she'd be memorable enough that he'd always cherish their night together. She knew she would. The movement of turning her head reminded her she had her hair up and she'd used long pins to secure it. She reached to take them out.
"Don't take the pins out of your hair, let me." He pushed the material down his hips, his gaze holding hers.
She couldn't help but look. She knew her eyes went wide and she remained staring. "You aren't going to fit." There was disappointment in her voice.
He laughed softly. "I'll fit, farfallina. You were made for me."
She tried not to look skeptical, but when his laughter reached his eyes, she knew she hadn't succeeded. He knelt on the foot of the bed looking so intimidating she had the unexpected urge to fling herself off the bed into the nearest shadow. God, he was beautiful, such a predator, a man born to ride shadows and dispense justice. His hips were narrow, his chest defined with heavy muscles that rippled along with his abs that she was a little jealous of. She couldn't help but look lower, her breath catching in her lungs. "You really are a beautiful man."
His smile tugg
ed at her heartstrings. She hadn't noticed him smiling with others. She felt like he'd given her a gift when he gave her that slow, sexy smile that lit the dark of his eyes. He caught her ankles and tugged her legs apart, all the while keeping his gaze on hers. That was what allowed her to obey his unspoken command and spread her legs for him.
She felt a little wanton and very sexy. The silk sheets under her bare skin slid over her back and bottom like a caress. He crawled up her, looking every inch the predator he was. His cock dragged along her thigh, heavy and full. She found him shockingly sensual. Everything in her responded to him.
"Thank you." His voice smoothed over her skin the way the sheets did. He reached for her right hand, his gaze moving over her forearm and hand while he massaged. "You're certain no numbness? You were in the ropes a long while and you aren't used to it yet."
The way he cared for her, as if she were extremely important to him, made tears burn behind her eyes. She'd never had that caring. Not, at least, that she could remember. "I'm in good physical condition."
His grin was nearly a smirk. "I'm counting on that."
For some reason that made her blush. He placed her arm carefully on the sheets beside her and massaged the other one. He held himself over her, as if it were an easy feat with one hand. She loved that he was so strong. She'd grown up feeling large and clumsy in the very small house with its narrow hallways, and Osamu beating her back with a broom because her body had brushed the table or chairs as she'd walked through a room.
She knew she would never regret this night. Not one single minute of it. Ricco Ferraro would always be her choice. Always.
Mariko was looking at him with stars in her eyes. A man could get addicted to that look, pay any price, do anything to keep that look right there for all time. Ricco placed her arm gently on the sheets and reached behind her head to pull the pins from her lush hair. He loved her hair, all that silk, thick and wavy, framing her face, brushing across her vulnerable neck, spilling on his pillow just the way he knew it would when he set it free. Her hair always seemed as if it had a life of its own. He loved that she looked so feminine, so delicate, and yet each pin he took from all those silky blond waves was lethal.
She was magic to him. All those years of heartbreak, of anger, of no sleep, watching over his family and feeling terror for them, came down to this woman. She was worth every single second of those years. Every moment he felt alone and apart from the others. He had saved her. He didn't need a DNA test to know that Mariko was a Tanaka, and yet it wouldn't have mattered if she hadn't been.
If she were forever Mariko Majo, he would want her. He knew now how important what he'd done all those years ago was.
She was sexy to him. Everything about her. How sweetly feminine she could look and then she'd turn tiger and step into a shadow, snap a neck and return as serene as ever. The moment he saw her, his body reacted. Sometimes, like now, it was a slow burn, but other times, like in the studio when he'd tied her, it was a brutal inferno, but he always reacted to her.
He kissed her because kissing her was as necessary as breathing. When he kissed her, her arms went around him, her hands were on him, moving over his body, claiming him almost without her knowledge. Her fingers moved over his skin and his heart reacted, hammering loudly. Thunder roared in his ears and his cock pounded with hunger.
He couldn't explain joy because he'd never felt it until Mariko. How could joy be wrapped up in the savage, primitive way she made him feel? He wanted to pound into her, be surrounded by her, taken deep. He wanted them to go at it so hard they rolled off the bed onto the floor and didn't even realize it. At the same time, he wanted gentle for her. Tender. He wanted her to feel the love overwhelming him, the joy sweeping through him. He wanted her to know she made him . . . more. Whole. Better. So much more and better of a man. Every cliche he'd heard and thought was total bullshit. He felt all those things for her.
"God, I love kissing you," he whispered against her throat. "I could kiss you forever." He wanted to watch her undress slowly, or come to him just as she had in the studio. He couldn't get enough of her, clothed or otherwise. She was . . . spectacular.
The rain started, drumming outside, hitting the roof and the sides of the house as the wind kicked up and drove it into the windows. Tears, he thought. Tears neither of them had shed when they should have. He kissed his way down her throat, feeling her pulse jump under his lips. Tears of sorrow. Tears of sheer joy.
He'd never felt skin like hers, softer than silk. He'd noticed that the first time she'd modeled for him, and he'd found every excuse possible to touch her skin. That was a first for him, too. Always before, with other models, his entire focus had been on his art. With Mariko, he was totally focused on her. Just as he was now. He lost himself in her.
He'd been right about her. She was a little wildcat in bed. There was no shyness, no holding back. Her hands were everywhere, stroking, caressing, urging him to move faster. He didn't, of course, because she needed to be ready for him and he wanted every experience they enjoyed together to be more than just good for her.
Mariko couldn't get enough of touching his skin. She loved the way he felt against her bare body. All the hard muscles covered by a satiny texture that she couldn't resist. His mouth was at her breast, pulling strongly. Hot. Hard. His tongue rasping against her nipple, then the sharp scrape of his teeth sending fire streaking through her. It was so beautiful she wanted to live in that moment.
She scraped her nails down his chest, savoring the feel of his muscles rippling beneath the hot satin of his skin. Her gaze was on his face, watching him shudder, watching his eyes go dark, drenched with a desire so dark and intense it stole her breath. He breathed her name, a whisper of sound that moved in her soul.
She kissed his throat, feeling his pulse hammering beneath her lips. The heart of him. Every beat. For her. She would remember this moment for the rest of her life. Each separate beat under her lips, on her tongue, beneath her palm. She inhaled, drawing him into her lungs. Deep. Holding him there. He smelled fresh, clean, with that faint outdoor scent that was so elusive.
Outside, the rain poured on the roof and beat a rhythm against the window, drenching it so the water ran like a waterfall off the glass. The sound was beautiful to her, like a symphony, violins weeping in the background, her heart and his drumming a beat that she knew she would always remember.
He was never still, his hands and mouth as busy as hers. She loved that, too, that need in him, the driving hunger, as if he had to know every inch of her body. She felt that way, almost desperate to touch every single inch of his skin. Her fingertips followed the path of his scars, the long ridges that took her to the rows of muscles along his abdomen. Her mouth followed, kissing those scars, the signs of his courage and integrity. The marks he wore proclaiming he'd saved her.
He made a sound, deep in his throat, a dark, sexy groan that made her sex clench and her body shudder with desperate need. He'd given her release with his mouth in the studio, but that tension was back and this time it was a thousand times worse. Every nerve ending was on fire for him. She couldn't get enough of touching him, of having every part of his body touching every part of hers. She felt almost frantic for the sensations he gave her with his hands . . .
Her head went up and she looked at his face, realizing it wasn't the sensations so much as the need to be as close as possible. To give him pleasure. She wanted him to feel the way he'd made her feel. More, she wanted to worship his body the way he always seemed to worship hers. His hands moved over her, his mouth trailing kisses on her shoulder and down her arm, while his palms took in as much of her flesh as possible.
It was Ricco's face that caught and held her attention--made her breath catch in her lungs and a million butterflies take wing in her stomach. For the first time, she looked beyond the dark sensuality carved so deep in the lines of his face, beyond the desire, the passion, and saw something else there she realized she'd seen before when he was with her. There was a vulne
rability that was never there with anyone else.
She'd seen it on the street when he'd been thrown off the hood of the truck and was injured. She saw it when they were in his studio and he was creating his art. It was there now on his tough, handsome features. He was beautiful, and in that moment, he was all hers. She wished she could fully interpret that look, because she knew it was hers alone, but all she could do was memorize it and hold it close to her heart.
She breathed him in with every breath she took, wanting to gorge on him, absorbing every sensation, so that every detail was imprinted on her soul. She wanted to keep this memory, have this part of him, for all time.
Her heart clenched. Hurt so much. She rested her forehead against his belly as the realization swept over her. Not a moment. Not a memory. She desperately wanted him for her lifetime--beyond if she could. She had thought the ropes intimate, their connected shadows intimate, but this, the way he touched her body, so reverently yet at the same time with such dark passion--this was true intimacy. Not the ropes. Not the shadows. Not even the sex. Tears burned her eyes. She wasn't going to ever get over him.
At once he lifted his body slightly up, propped himself up on one hand and looked down at her, studying her expression. There was no getting away from those dark, piercing eyes. He saw everything. Saw right into her.
"Amore, tell me."
His palm curled around her throat and then moved down her chest to cover her right breast. She was acutely aware of his heat. Her nipple pushed right into the center of his palm, just as her heart had beat into it. She couldn't tell him she knew he was going to have a night with her and, as with all the rest of his women, that would be enough for him. It would never be enough for her.
"Mariko." His voice was gentle. Tender even. "You have to talk to me. You promised you would."
She had, but in the ropes. Not lying under his gorgeous body without a clue what she was doing, but wanting it desperately. Wanting him desperately. She had to think of something fast if she was going to keep one shred of dignity.