“Are you certain, Mariko?” More than anything he wanted to be inside her with nothing at all between them.

“I’m certain.”

His hand slid to cover her sex. She was hot. Damp. So ready for him. He didn’t wait, and this time he entered with one hard thrust. Her inner muscles protested, tried to keep him from invading, reluctantly giving way when he drove deep. At once he was surrounded with heat and fire. “You’re so fucking tight, amore.” He clenched his teeth against the streaks of fire racing up and down his body, radiating from his groin.

Mariko’s breath hissed out of her as Ricco all but slammed her to the bed. He was stronger than she’d ever imagined a man could be, his hands always sure when he touched her. He liked touching her nearly as much as she liked him doing it. When he jerked her hips up and back toward him, her body had gone liquid with need. Her skin felt hot and her breasts ached, nipples on fire against the cool of the sheets.

His hands stroked her back, down her spine, and rubbed her bottom. All the while his cock pistoned into her, every stroke hard and dominant. She’d loved how gentle he’d been the first time, his touch reverent, almost as if he worshiped her with every caress. This was different, a wild, almost abandoned taking of her.

He reached places he hadn’t before, his cock sliding heavily over the bundle of sensitive nerves, sending streaks of fire racing through her body. The tension inside her wound higher and higher, tighter and tighter. Her breath came in little sobs. Her breasts ached, nipples brushing back and forth on the sheets with every forceful thrust. It was glorious. Beautiful. So perfect.

He leaned over her back, repositioning. A little cry escaped her throat. So good. She’d never known anything could be so good. He drove out the voices in her head, the ones that argued reasonably that leopards didn’t change their spots. The voices that told her she would never be enough woman for a man like Ricco.

Ricco showed her, in so many ways, that he wanted her – Mariko Majo, the female devil. How could he touch her with such beauty? Even in his wild, his touch was all about love. She felt that, and there weren’t any shadows connecting them together. She felt his love with every stroke of his cock. The way he put her pleasure before his own. Every time he changed position it took her higher. When she gasped because the pressure inside her grew until she feared she would lose all control, he leaned into her and whispered into her ear.

“Let go for me, farfallina mia. Fly. Fly with me.”

He reached down and found her clit. The relentless stroking of his cock, pushing his way through her tight folds, the feel of it, strong and male, the connection, making it so they shared the same skin, all came together with the realization that Ricco Ferraro had showed her things he’d never showed another woman. He’d told her things he’d never told another woman. He allowed himself to be as vulnerable as she was. He’d given her power over him. He’d told her he loved her, and she hadn’t said it back.

The feelings were overwhelming, turbulent love and lust mixed together until she couldn’t separate the two. She pushed back against him with a little half sob of pure happiness, her muscles locking around him, squeezing down like a vise as his cock pistoned into her, spreading flames everywhere. She felt him swell, pushing against her sensitive muscles even as the fiery friction sent her hurtling over the edge.

She screamed. In her entire life, she’d never screamed over anything. It wasn’t done. Certainly not with such abandon, but the sound was wrenched from her as the fire consumed her. She felt the hot splashes of his release deep inside her and then he collapsed over top of her. His arms held her tight, his body crushing hers.

Still on her knees, head down, she turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. His eyes were on her. Dark desire was stamped into his hard features and every sensual line of his face, but there in his eyes, she could see love. She’d never seen it before. Not ever. She hadn’t recognized it for what it was, but now it was so plain to her. She smiled at him.

“I can’t move.” She couldn’t. She was exhausted, her body feeling like a wet noodle. “If they come for us tonight, you’ll have to do all the fighting. I’ll watch and cheer you on.”

His smile was slow, genuine and beautiful. So beautiful, what little breath she had in her lungs rushed out.

“That might be difficult, amore. I can’t move, and we’re attached.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it, and the sound startled her. He’d given her so many beautiful moments. So many things she’d never expected to have. Lying on his bed, surrounded by his body, his arms tight around her, the feel of his hair sliding over the bare skin of her back, it was all surreal. Perfection.

“You have to find your rings. They were somewhere on the bed.” Ricco turned his head to survey the sheets.

“In my hand,” she said and lifted her fist from the sheets to show him the little box had been guarded carefully.

He pressed kisses down her spine, making her shiver. He gripped her hips suddenly, as he was withdrawing. “Mariko. I don’t want this to be over.” Once more he laid his head on her back, just holding her. “I don’t suppose you could go to sleep like this.”

Laughter bubbled up and she shook her head. He eased out of her, the movement triggering another ripple of pleasure mixed with muscles burning a bit in protest. She gasped and rolled over as he sank back to his heels.

Ricco caught her ankle as she drew up her knees. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“There it is. The other thing women say that is total bullshit. If it was ‘nothing’ you wouldn’t have gotten that particular look on your face.”

She found herself smiling. Feeling happy. Shocked at the realization that despite the circumstances with why and how they met, she was happy when she was with him. She loved that he paid attention. “When you moved, I had another mini-orgasm that was really, really nice and at the same time realized I was a little sore.” There. She’d told him the truth and managed not to turn beet red. She was a bit of a rose color, but not lobster red.

He rolled off the bed in one smooth motion, coming to his feet. “Stay right there. If you don’t, I’m going to find other uses for my ropes than decorative art.”

She let him get to the door of the master bathroom before she answered. “You’ve already found other uses for them and we both like it.” That was daring of her, but she liked teasing him.

He paused at the door, looking back at her. His cock jerked and he fisted it. “Woman, you’re going to kill me.” He gave her a wicked grin and then disappeared into the bathroom. “You need to soak in the tub. I don’t want you so sore we can’t continue.”

A bath sounded nice, but really, she was just too tired. She closed her eyes and let herself drift.