An all-new Cinderella retelling with a sexy twist is coming tomorrow from J.T. Geissinger, and I have a delicious little sneak peek for you.
The two women I heard laughing fall silent when we walk in. Plump and grandmotherly with identical uniforms of black with starched white aprons, they could be sisters.
In unison, they curtsey.
I barely know any Italian, but I do know they just called Matteo “My lord.”
When I snort, he slants me an irritated look. He says something to the ladies, gesturing toward the stainless-steel refrigerator on the other side of the room. Then he nods at them in farewell and leads me away as they gape after us in surprise.
As soon as we’re out of earshot, I snicker. “Where are you taking me, my lord?”
He’s still holding my hand, which he uses to pull me around a corner. Then he whirls on me and presses me against the wall.
Shocked, I stare up at him. His eyes are dark, and that muscle in his jaw is jumping.
I’m in trouble.
He says roughly, “If it were up to me, I’d be taking you to bed and putting that mouth of yours to good use. Now I can see why your attitude is so bad—there’s no way in hell that boy you were going to marry could ever satisfy a woman like you.”
His blistering gaze drops to my mouth.
Surely he must be able to hear the scream of sheer joy my uterus is making. It’s so loud I’m deafened for a moment.
My body erupts into flames. I can’t catch my breath. My armpits go damp, and so do my panties. The wall is cool and hard against my back, but Matteo is all heat against my front. Heat and muscle and palpable desire.
My hands are somehow flattened against his stomach. His hands are flattened on the wall on either side of my head. Neither of us moves, except for our chests, which are both heaving.
“You think you can do better?”
It’s out of my mouth before I have any idea I’m going to say it, a husky whisper that sounds like I’m auditioning for a role in a porno. Apparently my uterus has taken control of all my bodily functions because though I should be pushing him away, what I really want to do is let him show me exactly what his eyes are saying he wants to do to me.
All the dirty, wonderful things.
He lowers his head and puts his mouth next to my ear. “Bella,” he chides. “You know I can.” Then he takes my earlobe into his mouth and gently suckles it as if it’s my clitoris.
I almost die from the blast of lust that explodes inside my body. His mouth is wet and soft, his breath down my neck is hot, his stomach under my hands is as hard as steel. The little gasp that leaves my lips makes him chuckle.
He whispers, “Don’t you?” and bites me on the neck.
It’s not hard, not enough to break the skin or even leave a mark, just enough to be dominant. To let me know that he’s the man. He’d be in control of whatever we did in bed, and he’d make sure I fucking loved every second of it.
It’s a good thing my knees are locked because there’s no way they’d be holding me up otherwise. He’s turned my bones to gelatin.
He shifts his weight forward so I know he’s as aroused as I am. I feel every long, thick inch of him, and exhale a breath that inconveniently sounds exactly like a moan.
Matteo takes my face in his hands. I take fistfuls of his shirt. He holds me there against the wall with his hard cock pressed into my crotch and looks deep into my eyes.
This time it’s not a question. It’s a promise and a dare and above all an invitation. An invitation to say yes, to admit I know that if I had sex with him, he’d ruin me for all other men. That I know he’d pay close attention to my every arch and moan and shudder, that he’d read my body like a book and make it sing like a violin under his patient, plying hands.
That he’d break me and make me beg before he’d give me everything I never knew I needed.
When I’m silent too long, he softly warns, “Kimber.”
My uterus pulls the final plug on my brain functions. I breathe, “Yes,” and stand on my toes and kiss him.
He allows it just long enough for my nipples to tighten and begin to ache until he takes control back and pulls away. He keeps my face in one of his hands. The other he flattens against my chest. He spreads his big hand wide, the heel of his palm resting at the top swell of my breasts and his fingers flared out, as if he’s claiming the space.
When he kisses the corner of my mouth, I close my eyes and give myself over to sensation.
He nips my lower lip, taking it between his teeth and then gently sucking on it. He slips his tongue into my mouth with soft, delicious suction, using that hand on my chest to hold me back when I become impatient, leaning into him because I want more. I want it deeper.
Against my mouth, he murmurs, “Sei così dolce.”
I’m wet and throbbing between my legs. I want him to do the earlobe-sucking thing down there. I squeeze my thighs together restlessly, and he chuckles again.
“Voglio mettere la mia faccia tra le tue gambe.”
“Are you . . . are you talking dirty to me?”
He slants me a heated look and smiles.
Oh dear sweet lord in heaven. That burning smell is my panties going up in smoke.