The Italian's Pregnant Prisoner

She looked over at him, his face illuminated as they passed a lit-up storefront. His expression was blank.

“I did not leave you,” he said finally.

“You didn’t?”

“No. I was...told that you left. I was told you had gone to marry the man of your father’s choosing. The path of least resistance.”

She laughed. But there was no humor in it. “I suppose the fact that either of us believed anything relayed to us by Josefina or my father makes us fools. They were master manipulators, always. And that wasn’t even a very master manipulation. It was just two vulnerable people ready to believe the worst, I suppose. Ready to believe the worst of the world and all of the people in it.”

“Why would you ever believe anything else?”

Silence stretched between them.

“I do want this,” she said, curling her hands into fists. “Do you?”

The streetlight caught his exquisite face, highlighting his razor-sharp cheekbones, the curve of his lips. Her heart stuttered.

“I have wanted little else for the past five years. I have amassed a great fortune, Charlotte, and there are two things that I have never been able to obtain in spite of my newfound wealth and power. My sight, and you. You, I can have. You, I will have. Seeing as I cannot have the other.”

The car pulled up to a beautiful building, all ornate stonework, well lit, exquisitely visible even in the dark.

“We have arrived,” he said. He removed his hand from her shoulder, and the two of them sat in the car and waited. The driver opened the door, and Rafe got out, his hand resting on the car as he walked around to the curbside, his cane sweeping the ground.

Her heart folded up like it was made of paper. Fragile and easily torn. Of all the misunderstandings between them, this was not one of them. Rafe had lost his sight, and though she had known it for a while now, it still hurt her. It wounded her that he was hurt. That he had lost something of himself.

And the fact that her father and stepmother had lied to them both...

Yes, she and Rafe did deserve this night. Whatever else lay ahead, they deserved this.

Her door opened, and she looked out to see Rafe, extending his hand to her. She hesitated, but only for a moment. And then she curled her fingers around his, and he lifted her from the limousine. She landed against his chest, her palm spread over his muscles, her hand over his beating heart.

It was raging. Just as hard as her own.

“Rafe...”

“We must go inside,” he said. “Now. Otherwise, I’m likely to take you up against the side of the building.”

For a moment, Charlotte couldn’t quite work out why that would be a bad thing. “Okay,” she said, her voice thick.

With a firm hand, Rafe led her into the building, and the two of them walked across the small gilded space to an elevator with golden doors. They swung open, and she followed him in, having to take two steps to his one.

Clearly, this was his domain. There was no hesitation in any of his movements. The only indication that he wasn’t able to visualize his surroundings in the quick sweep of his cane across the floor.

Suddenly, her breath was coming harder, faster. She hadn’t seen this man in five years. It had taken two weeks of physical intimacy to build up five years’ worth of fantasies. And now she was here. Now she was here, but he wasn’t her Rafe anymore. Wasn’t a man in indentured servitude to her father, but one of the most powerful businessmen in the world. A man with billions of dollars. A man newspapers wrote of in hyperbolic phrasing. A man that women spoke of with awed reverence.

That thought sent a kick straight to her gut. She wondered how many women he’d been with since their time in her tower. How many women he’d touched. Kissed. Been inside.

Of course, she had never truly had him. So it seemed silly to worry about who else might have.

Well, you’ll have him tonight. And those other women won’t matter. This isn’t about them. This is about you. It’s for you. It’s not for anyone else.

Yes, she had been stagnant for so long, and she was done with it.

Tonight, she would have Rafe, and she wouldn’t concern herself with the consequences.

Before she was prepared, the lift reached its destination and the doors slid open. They were here.

They hadn’t even kissed. In five years, they hadn’t kissed. She had said yes to this because of a mere touch. Because of his firm, warm hold on her throat.

She couldn’t go back now. She wasn’t even certain that she wanted to.

He took her hand and led her inside, and she followed.

The loft was Spartan. Wide swaths of floor left blank, furniture pushed more or less against the walls.

He took his jacket off and hung it on a peg, and then placed his cane in a holder by the door. He straightened, his focus on the black space before them.

“My circumstances have changed quite a bit,” he remarked, gesturing to the space around them.

“Your circumstances never mattered to me.” She examined him, the hard set of his jaw, that cold, closed-off expression on his face. Tension radiated from that big, strong body in waves. She wanted to touch him. Wanted to move away from him, as well. He was frightening. Compelling and magnetic. All at the same time.

Finally, he spoke. “My circumstances mattered a great deal to me.”

“Of course they did,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean...”

“I do not want your apologies, Charlotte. This is not an evening for recrimination. Not now. You and I should’ve both forgotten about a youthful dalliance a long time ago. Clearly, we did not. So, there is business yet to be finished between us. And I, for one, need to see it done.”

After that, there was no waiting. He reached out, and she went to him. Then, he wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her up against his hard, muscular body.

He took hold of her chin, as he had done back at the party. Only this time, he didn’t stop. This time, there was no slow, careful examination. There was no hesitation at all.

His lips crashed down on hers, unerring, his tongue parting her, delving deep into her mouth, slick and hot, and somehow even more than she had remembered.

He had been her first kiss. Her only kiss.

She had never let a man get so close to her since then. She had known that that way contained only heartbreak, and she had no desire to experience heartbreak again. Not when everything in her life was still in such peril. When it was still dangerous to breathe in too deeply, much less forge any kind of true emotional bond with somebody.

And it had never seemed...it had never seemed right to pursue a purely physical relationship. Perhaps because of the intensity of what she had felt for Rafe. She wasn’t sure. Either way, the idea had never really appealed to her.

Except, that was what she was doing now. With him. There had been no promises made, and she wouldn’t ask him for any.

This was about creating a new life. The life that she wanted, on her own terms, and free of her father’s influence. She supposed that meant being free of Rafe’s influence, as well.

And after tonight, she would be. At least, that was the hope.

But this kiss didn’t taste like freedom. It tasted like deep, crushing need. Like willing bondage. Like she was committing herself to him again with each pass of her tongue against his.

But she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t. If she was going to take this night, then she had to be committed to her plan. To her freedom.

Freedom was the one thing she’d never had. Her life on her own terms. She couldn’t steal it from herself. Not before she had ever had a chance to hold it in her hands.

But she had never had a chance to hold him either. And now it seemed imperative. Necessary. Like the thing she needed more than air...

He bit her bottom lip and desire arrowed down straight to her stomach, down farther between her legs. She remembered this. It had rested in the back of her mind, a half-faded memory for five years. But now it was back. Bright, sharp and clear.

This thing that she had felt only ever with him. This thing that was like a wild, untamed beast inside of her. The only thing that ever was. The only thing that ever had been.

She had been hidden away, kept apart from the world on the estate, locked away from the world in a tower. And the only wild, untamed thing in her had always been for him.

It was astonishing how true that was now. How quickly she was transported back to that time. To her bedroom. When the only good and wonderful thing in her life had been Rafe. He had been worth everything. Worth risks she knew both of them took great pains not to dwell on.

They had of course spoken of the need for them not to get caught. But it had been like children sneaking around. Rather than two people who were in very real danger should they ever be discovered.

But there was no one to discover them now. There was no danger. Those things that had made it feel all the more special, forbidden, were gone now. There were no walls. No one was in chains, so to speak. They were here of their own free will. Making this choice.

She was not the only available body that he might find pleasure in. She was not a trapped girl who had met no other men that appealed to her.

No, she hadn’t dated anyone but they just hadn’t called to her. Not in the way that Rafe did.

No one ever had. No one.

She reached up, ready to unpin her hair, which he had always liked. Something he had always asked of her.

He gripped her wrist. “No.”

“But—”

“There will be none of that. Leave it up.”

Those words scraped her raw. Left her wounded. She couldn’t quite fathom why. Except that maybe, no matter what he had said, he didn’t want to be so conscious that it was her. He couldn’t see her, after all. And asking her to keep her hair up was truly like asking her to stay shrouded in darkness.

She would have to decide, she supposed, if that wounded her enough to make her walk out.

No. It didn’t. Because this wasn’t about her. It wasn’t about her feelings. It certainly wasn’t about trying to recapture something that had happened between them long ago. This was a step forward. The closing of the door. She had to allow it to be that.

She had to allow it to be unique. Its own experience. And if he wanted to keep her hair up, then that was fine by her.

Her hair was another thing that had had far too much importance attached to it for far too long.

Maybe that would be another change she would make when all this was done.

She had left it unchanged for all these years, after all. And she knew why. It had nothing to do with her father. As Rafe had said long ago, her father’s obsession with it had been nothing short of creepy.

This was for Rafe. Her hair was for Rafe. He had loved uncoiling it from its bun, loved wrapping it around his hand. Loved running his fingers through the silken strands. She had left it for him. For five years, she had left it.

Perhaps when this was over, she would not feel that compulsion.

Clearly, he didn’t require it of her anyway.

“Take your clothes off,” he said, his words cutting through the silence like a knife, slicing straight down into her soul.

She hesitated. Only for a breath.

“All right.” She reached around behind her back, and gripped hold of the zipper tab.

“I want you to tell me what you were wearing,” he said, speaking slowly. With supreme authority.

“To...to tell you?” she asked, the words choked.

“Yes. Tell me in great detail exactly what you were wearing tonight. A gown, I assume, and with an interesting material. Not silken. A thin layer over something heavier. Yes?”

“Yes,” she confirmed.

“Describe it to me as you remove it.”

He was standing in the center of the room, his expression impassive, his dark eyes resting behind her. Even if he had been looking directly at her, she knew that he wouldn’t be able to see.

“It’s...it’s red,” she began haltingly. She started to try to jerk the zipper down, but it was as halting as her words. “It has a V-neck, thin straps. It conforms to my figure. Hugs my hips. And follows my body closely all the way down past my knees. It flares out there. Like a mermaid’s tail.”

“Very interesting. And what is underneath this gown?”

She let the straps fall around her waist, a whispering noise as it fell away from her curves and pooled at her feet.

“Underneath...” She swallowed hard. “My bra is red. It matches the gown. It’s made of lace.”

“I see. And would I be able to see those beautiful nipples through it? They were very pale. I recall that clearly. All of you is very pale. Your nipples...they are a particular shade of pink that I find extremely arousing. Like candy. It makes my mouth water just thinking about it.”

She swallowed hard, trembling now. “Yes. You would be able to see them.”

“If I could see,” he said, his tone dark.

“Yes,” she said softly. “If you could see.”

“Please tell me that your underwear matches. That they are red and lacy, and that I would be able to see your beautiful golden curls through the fabric.”

She could hardly breathe. She felt dizzy.

“Yes.” She swallowed hard again. “The fabric is transparent.”

She had never played the part of seductress. Those weeks in her room he had been seducing her. And while she had certainly begged him to take things further—to take them all the way—he had still been the one in control of the situation. It felt different now. The air between them an electric shock. And his expression... Growing tighter, growing more tense as the moments wore on. His hands were curled into fists at his side, and he might have been made of stone.

Beautiful stone that looked as though it would be hot to the touch. There was a strange power in this moment. In him demanding that she paint a picture in his mind. She could have told him anything, but she found that she wanted nothing more than to give him honesty. Because here, in this strong man, was some sense of vulnerability. He was stronger than her. More experienced than her. As he had always been.

But she had some power. She did.

Because he had given it to her.

Even now, with things as they were between them, he had handed her this.

“I want you to remove the bra,” he commanded.

Without thought, she obeyed.

“Now tell me,” he said, his voice rough now. “Are your nipples tight? From the cold air? From my voice? From your arousal? Knowing exactly what I will do next. Because you know me, and you know I am insatiable when it comes to those breasts of yours. I’m going to suck one of those sweet buds into my mouth, lick you, taste you.”

She shivered. “Yes.”

“Yes, you want me to taste you? Or yes, they are tight?”

“Both,” she whispered, the word husky, her voice unrecognizable as her own.

A smile curved his mouth, and she would be tempted to describe it as cruel.

“The panties next. Push them down your hips slowly.” He smiled wider. “You did not tell me about your shoes.”

“Stilettos. Red. Like the dress.”

“And are you still wearing them?”

“You didn’t tell me to take them off yet.”

His mouth twitched. “Good. Leave them on.”

She complied with his wishes, pushing the thin scrap of fabric down her legs slowly, then kicking them off to the side. And she prepared for more commands.

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