Modern Romance February Books 1-4. Maisey Yates

nerves with his tongue, as he tasted her, slowly, deeply. He shifted again, pressing his finger against the entrance of her body as he continued to lavish pleasure on her with his mouth. The invasion was foreign, but it felt good.

      He added a second finger, stretching her slightly this time, the vague painful sensation drawing her out of her reverie, but only for a moment.

      Before long she grew accustomed to that, pleasure mounting inside of her again as he established a steady rhythm, working his hands and tongue in time with each other. She felt need, tension, gathering in the pit of her stomach like a ball of electricity, scattering outward, sending shocks along her system as it continued to build an intensity. So hot, so bright, she felt like she might burst with it.

      And it did burst. Rolling over her in waves unending, unfathomable in its depth. She gripped the bed covers, trying to use something to root her to the earth, anything. Because without it, she feared that she would lose hold of herself entirely.

      He rose up above her, kissing her deeply, her own desire a musky flavor on his tongue. “Are you all right?” he asked, his chest rising and falling with the effort it took for him to breathe.

      “Yes. More than all right. I’m... Alex, I didn’t know it was like this.”

      “What did you think it would be?” His words slurred as though he were drunk.

      “I didn’t know. Because I didn’t know it would be you.”

      “Does it matter so much that it’s me?” She sensed a rawness behind that question, a vulnerability.

      “That’s the only thing that matters.”

      He growled, kissing her again as she grabbed hold of the edge of his button-up shirt, undoing the buttons as quickly as possible. She spread her hands over that broad expanse of chest. His hard muscles...that perfect sprinkling of chest hair that reminded her just how much of a man he was. How different they were. It was heaven to touch him like this. To finally have the promise of that glorious body fulfilled, in her hands. She pushed the shirt from his shoulders and threw it over the side of the bed, running her hands down his back, exploring the intricate musculature there. She parted her thighs, arching against him, feeling the evidence of his arousal against where she was wet and aching for him already. She should be satisfied, after what he had just done for her. She found she was far from it.

      “I need you. How can I need you this badly after all of that?” she asked, her voice trembling.

      “I would tell you that’s sex, cara. I would tell you that’s desire. But it is not sex or desire in any way that I know it. I do not shake for want of being inside of a woman. You make me shake. You make me feel as though I won’t be able to breathe until I have you. Until I’m joined to you. What witchcraft is that, Gabriella? You must tell me.”

      “How can I? I’m just a virgin. You are supposed to be wise. You’re supposed to be the one teaching me.”

      “How can I? When I feel you have so much to teach me.” He kissed her gently as his hands moved to his belt. She could hear him undoing the buckle slowly and a shiver of anticipation ran through her. She helped him push his pants and underwear down his narrow hips and he sent them over the side of the bed to join the rest of their clothes. She could feel him, feel his hot hard length, pressed against her heat.

      “I want to see you,” she said, her voice husky, unrecognizable to her own ears. “I’ve never seen a naked man before.”

      He straightened, a dull slash of red coloring his cheekbones. “So many honors I don’t deserve, Princess.”

      He sounded tortured, and at any other time she might have felt sorry for him, or wondered why. But not now. How could she feel sorry for him when she was too busy exulting in this triumph for herself?

      He was perfect. Masculine beauty depicted in sculpture could never have prepared her for Alex.

      Marble was cold, lifeless. It might show the shape of a man, but it didn’t show the vitality. His life, his strength. It was everything and more. His broad shoulders, perfectly defined chest and washboard stomach, bisected by a line of hair that ran down to his very evident desire was enough to take a breath away.

      He was so very...large. Thick. Part of her was made nervous by that, the other part marveled at the glory that was in front of her. The glory that would be hers.

      “You’re right,” she said, her words hushed.

      “About what?”

      “You are in possession of very rampant masculinity.”

      He laughed, the sound tortured. “I only hope that it isn’t too rampant for you.”

      “It’s just perfect for me. How can it be anything else?”

      He dropped forward on his knees, between her thighs, his hands on her shoulders. She looked up at him, her heart pounding heavily.

      “You’re beautiful,” she said.

      “And you are more than I deserve,” he said, kissing her, wrapping his arm around her waist and drawing her body hard up against his as he pressed the head of his arousal against the entrance to her body.

      She winced slightly, bracing herself for his invasion. It hurt. But she wanted it. There was no question. Even as he pressed forward, and she stretched around him, trembling as he joined their bodies together, she didn’t want anything else but this. It was desire so perfectly and beautifully realized, the fulfillment of fantasy. Not because it brought pleasure. But because she was joined to him. Because they were one. Even though it hurt.

      And when he thrust deep within, completing their joining, there was no pleasure to be found at all. Not in the physical sense.

      But her soul felt alive. Complete. For the first time.

      And as the pain slowly began to fade and the pleasure began to build again, she felt so full with it that she could scarcely breathe.

      Desire was a wild, needy thing inside of her. She wanted it to be satisfied. Needed it to be satisfied. And yet at the same time she wanted this to go on forever. Wanted to prolong the moment where she would reach her peak. Because once that happened it was the end. Of this perfect moment where they were joined. Connected. Where they were one with each other. The desire to cling to him, to cling to this, was doing battle with the desire to find completion. Ferocious, intense. She didn’t know which one would win. Didn’t know which one she wanted to win.

      “Gabby,” he said her name. Just her name.

      Gabby would always belong to him. Only to him. The very idea of someone else saying it made her ill.

      His teeth scraped the edge of her collarbone, the small slice of pain mingling with the pleasure, drawing her back to earth, making her feel so acutely aware of everything. So perfectly in tune with her body, and his.

      She could feel his building pleasure along with hers. Could feel how close to the edge he was as his muscles tensed, as his control frayed.

      She opened her eyes, determined to watch his face. Determined to watch this man who was everything she was not. Hardened, masculine beauty. Experienced. World-weary. She would watch him as he felt the same thing she did. As they experienced this storm of pleasure on the same level. It reduced them, this desperation, reduced them down to their souls. To ravenous, needy things that had nothing beyond this moment, this common need.

      It was how Princess Gabriella D’Oro, recent virgin and definite bookworm, met with Alessandro Di Sione, rumored fearsome monster and a man who claimed to have a hardened heart. How they not only met, but understood each other. Spoke in perfect words that each other alone could understand. How had she ever thought they were different? How had she ever looked at him and seen a gulf they couldn’t bridge? They had. She was closer to him now, in this moment, than she had ever been to another person in her life.

      It was powerful, fearsome, awe-inspiring. These needs that only the other could meet. That only the other could inspire. A hunger only he could arouse