Page 21 of Forbidden Bride (Forbidden 1)
He scoops a pile of noodles onto his fork and takes a big bite, waving his other hand in a circle to indicate that I’m to follow his lead.
“Okay.” I laugh and do the same, trying to let go of my nerves.
We settle into eating quietly, taking in the cool calm of the late night, the orchestra’s music still audible from far below us. It’s peaceful and easy out here with Marco next to me. For once I’m not being watched or measured up or chastised for chewing too loudly.
“This is nice,” I say after a while, when I’m down to just the wine in my glass.
“Mm,” Marco agrees as he finishes packing up the dishes. Closing up the basket, he leans back on his elbows, stretching out beside me, and says, “The man you were with tonight—Pietro. The race car driver. I’m assuming he’s not your brother.”
I clear my throat, not wanting to answer. “No, he’s not. We’re not related.”
He makes a sound. “So then…”
This night will be ruined if I don’t stop this line of conversation in its tracks. “He’s a family friend. We sponsor his car.” There. That’s not even a lie. Before he can ask anything else, I quickly continue, “Tell me about these noir grapes.”
Marco considers, and then says, “How much do you know about wine?”
“Zero,” I tell him. “Do these make black wine?”
He laughs. “They make pinot noir. Have you heard of it?”
Now I’m laughing, too. “Yeah. Okay. Noir grapes. That makes sense.”
After explaining that he’s not the resident genius of the grapevines—apparently his sister-in-law Frankie is, though when I try to draw him out about the rest of his family he steers the conversation back to the winemaking—I get a brief but informative rundown of how the whole winery operates. Planting to harvesting, pressing, and aging, and then, finally, bottling. At which point there may be even more aging, depending on the wine.
It’s all new to me, so I ask a lot of questions. Marco answers them graciously.
“Sounds like quite a process,” I tell him.
“It is.”
“You must love it. The way you talk about it, it sounds like…magic.”
He turns onto his side to look at me. “Maybe. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like it. But racing is what I love. The speed, the adrenaline, the…freedom. It’s like flying. That’s magic.”
“I can’t even imagine,” I admit. “I barely drive around Napa.”
He smiles. “Every race is like my first time all over again. When that starting gun goes off, I feel like I’m going into battle. It’s a high like no other. Well…almost no other.”
Marco reaches over to cup my face, brushing his thumb across my lower lip. When our eyes lock in the candlelight, I feel my whole body go hot. I think I know exactly what kind of other high he’s talking about, and I wonder if he suspects the truth about me—that I’m a virgin.
“I should stop talking,” he says quietly. “I’m probably boring you.”
“Never. And besides, there’s nothing you can say that would make me want you any less.”
My heart skips a beat at my own boldness, and Marco’s face grows dark with an expression I’ve never seen before. It’s almost predatory, as if he could swallow me whole. Is this what raw desire looks like? His hand moves around to the back of my head, and he draws my face close to his. My body goes on high alert, my skin begging for his touch.
“So what do you love, bella?” he asks, his breath warm against my mouth.
“This,” I say.
I close the gap between us with my lips parted, and I’m instantly consumed by the fire in his kiss. It’s different this time. The pleasure is more intense, more encompassing, as if it has a life of its own. This passion could break me, tear me in half before it puts me back together.
“Marco.” His name flies from my lips with a gasp, and I’m not sure why. But it feels good to say it, so I say it again. And again.
Suddenly, I’m flat on my back and he’s leaning over me, staring down into my eyes with the moon and stars behind him. His breath is hard but controlled, and I can tell something is different this time for him, too.
“How much will you let me give you? How much pleasure?”
My breath shudders. “I don’t know how to answer that.”
Cupping my cheek again, he presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth, my brow, my forehead, so tender I die a little inside. This sweetness will be my ruin.
Still, I can’t hold myself back when Marco whispers, “Then let me give you that pleasure. Let me explore you, and you tell me when to stop.”
I nod and try to relax as his hands start exploring my body over my dress. My skin comes to life at the feel of his fingers running lightly over my torso. Dipping his head low, he cruises my neck with his lips and takes my earlobe lightly between his teeth. I gasp, gripping his shoulders tightly. His hands move along the neckline of my dress, giving me goosebumps, and then down my bare arms. So slowly, so gently, drumming up trails of pleasure wherever they go. His lips move along my jaw and then meet my mouth. I sigh with contentment as our tongues tangle. My thighs fall open then, as if my body knows exactly what it wants.
What it needs.
“Marco.” It comes out desperate this time. I’m aching with a desire that I don’t know how to fulfill.
He puts his wet, open mouth over my breast, breathing hot through the fabric of my dress. It takes my breath away, my nipples perking and tingling against the skintight layers of material. My hips push against his with a mind of their own and I want this stupid dress gone, I want nothing between us but skin. But I know we have to be careful. My clothing has to be perfect, not a single bead out of place, so no one will know what I’ve done.
Marco pulls back, breathing hard. “I know you can’t spend the night with me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make you come.”
I’m already panting, but his words send a fresh wave of heat to my core. I can feel my knees trembling as his hand goes under my skirt, stroking my ankle, my calf, my inner thigh. And then his finger is stroking between my legs, rubbing the fabric of my underwear.
Startling at the contact, I take a deep breath and try to relax, widening my legs to give him better access. He takes full advantage, two of his fingers now rubbing lightly up and down my crease through my soaked panties. I watch as Marco tenses, his whole demeanor focused and serious, as if he’s only got one thing on his mind: Me.
When he slides his thumb over my clit, white light flashes behind my eyes. I let out a moan as he captures my lips and kisses me hard, deep.
He doesn’t try to take my underwear off, doesn’t even try to slip his fingers under the material, but he also doesn’t let up. He strokes me faster, light and soft, then harder, deeper, as if he’s trying to feel me, the real me. I can’t hold still as sparks of pleasure spiral through me. He’s touching there, right there, as if he knows exactly what I like.
“You’re so wet for me, my sweet Juliet. If I pumped my fingers inside you right now, how much wetter would you be?”
My cheeks flame at his dirty mouth, but I love it. I want more.
