“I’ve always wanted to go to Milan,” she gushed in the seat next to him on the aeroplane, radiating a nervous energy as her foot bounced agitatedly on the floor.
He smiled affectionately at her anticipation – she looked like a kid at Christmas, her face was just lit up beneath the dim lighting on the air craft.
It had taken four hours to get everything in order, and then another two waiting in the terminal to board, so that dusk was descending around them nicely, and faint shards of moonlight were running across her delicate features as she looked out of the window in absolute awe, watching the distant lights a thousand feet beneath them. They’d decided to stay until Wednesday, leaving them two nights in Milan, which was all that he could really spare from his schedule. Apparently, he had a few imperative things to sort by the end of the week, but Shannon didn’t think to ask what.
She’d typed out a quick text to Rory on her way to the airport, careful not to let Nate know. She’d not exactly lied about him staying with her, but Rory’s disappearing act had made it easier, and Nate hadn’t given a thought to it.
She really didn’t want to rock the boat, not just yet, so she’d carried on skirting the issue, and Nate hadn’t pressed it.
“I know you have,” he said smugly, reaching for her hand and entwining their fingers, “Why do you think we’re going? I don’t even like Espresso!”
“You’re such an old Grouch,” she giggled, “There’s more to Milan than coffee! Besides, I’ve seen you drink it before!”
“Americano,” he grumbled, “And I’ll only tolerate that when I watch how these little fashionistas can’t make a brew. I’m not paying good money for that dishwater!”
For the rest of the plane journey, she curled into his side in comfortable silence – just watching the sky from the window with a Cosmopolitan in hand (first class really did have its perks!).
************************************
The hotel that he took her to was literally steps away from the piazza del duomo – an incredible array of architectural perfection, towered by the white marble cathedral. She’d only ever read about it in the magazines – sighed wistfully over the flat photographs. How he knew to bring her here – to this particular cultural landmark – to this one place she’d dreamt of since she first stepped foot in the industry, she didn’t have a clue.
She didn’t argue though, as she followed his lead into The Gray. The hotel was a wonderland for her untrained yet incredibly creative eyes, and each simple feature seemed to lend itself to a brand new world of design possibilities – even the door handles became vibrant sculptures – live and inviting when they were set against the cosmopolitan sleek lines, and the vast expanse of glass that cloaked one wing of the building.
The only downfall as far as she was concerned was the beautiful young girl on the reception desk. The dark-haired beauty whose sultry green eyes lingered on Nate’s full lips as he spoke. The pale blue shirt that he wore was strained across his heavy muscular frame – Shannon could almost make out the stark ridges in his six pack as the material dropped shadows over the indentations, and the dark ink bled through the thin cotton to accentuate his broad chest, and it seemed that the other woman had seen it also – and wasn’t entirely immune to it.
He looked drop dead, make-your-heart-jump-into-your-throat-and-do-a-can-can sexy, and the conservative looking little minx behind the desk seemed to think so too. The other girl’s eyes never strayed from his for a second – Shannon could probably have broken out into a hula dance right there on the polished marble floors and the girl wouldn’t even have noticed.
“Lorenzo here will deliver your bags to your suite, Mr. Casey,” the girl rasped out in husky, sensual broken English, gesturing to the young bell boy that stood to the left of them, “Is there anything else at all that I can help you with?”
She smiled, her eyes darkening with sexual promise and lit from behind with the hope in her features, and Nate just smiled lazily in response and shook his head, taking the keys with one hand, and searching for Shannon’s clenched fingers with the other as he felt her stiffen next to him.
“Thank you for all of your help,” Shannon said pointedly, her features clouded with irritation, and the young girl shrugged and turned to another customer as they left.
“What was all that about?” he chuckled, drawing her into the glass elevator to take them up to their floor.
“Did you not see how she was looking at you?” she harrumphed, “As if she wanted to lay you out on the desk and cover you in whipped cream.”
“Jesus,” he muttered, “That’s a disturbing image.”
She chuckled softly, looping her fingers into the belt of his jeans to bring his body closer, and leaning up to his lips for a soft kiss.
“Really? I thought it had a certain charm ...!”
“The only way that would ever happen,” he said huskily, kissing his way to her ear, “Is if afterwards, I could take you out onto the balcony that I specifically requested this room have – overlooking the piazza, and all those unsuspecting tourists and shopping moguls milling around down there. If I could strip you down once we were out there, so that the wind hit every piece of your delectable naked body, while I slammed into you from behind. You’d be filled up my cock while any one of a thousand could just look up and see it ...”
With each word, he notched up her arousal by another degree, so that by the time they reached their floor, her body was a raging furnace waiting for his touch – a throbbing, trembling desire consuming her that only could assuage.
He shut the door ominously – softly, resolutely, and incredibly controlled.
She stood in the centre of the room, her hands fidgeting with her small silver clutch as each cell in her body refused to turn away from him – his body calling to hers with the strength of her own need.
“We’re in Milan,” he said softly after a second of intense, lingering appraisal – his dark, half-lidded gaze dancing over every inch of her tall, slim body, “I think the first thing we should do is christen it.”
Oh, hell yes! She thought, flinging her purse onto the bed behind her in agreement.
“Strip.”
Deftly, her hands went to work on the white pinafore dress that she wore –its stark colour bringing out the deep olive tan she’d acquired over the summer. Rolling the straps off her slender shoulders, she shimmied the constrictive material down over the soft curves of her slim body, until she kicked it off one foot at a time, struggling for balance in the six inch silver heels.
“Leave the shoes on,” he murmured, his arms crossed over his chest as he leant back against the doorframe.
“But they’re Loboutin’s!” she worried her lip between her teeth, looking up at him from underneath her long, curved lashes.
He fought back a smile, arching one dark eyebrow over his hooded gaze.
“Are you arguing with me?”
That dangerous glint in his steel eyes – that sardonic smirk on his beautiful face – proved to be her undoing as she shimmied out of the pale lemon lacy underwear, dropping to her knees in nothing but a very expensive pair of shoes at his feet.
She dropped her eyes to the pale carpet that abraded softly against her knees, his fingers running through her dark hair pulling her gently underneath his spell.
“You’ve driven me crazy today,” he spoke clearly, his voice dark and sensual as it ran over her tender flesh, shimmering the air around her somehow, “All I’ve been able to think about is getting inside you.”
Her breath caught in her lungs – sawing in and out of her slightly parted lips as she followed his words. She was so aroused that the second his fingers began to descend anywhere near her distended nipples, she began to moan softly in anticipation of his touch.
“No, not yet,” he murmured, his free hand moving to the button on his jeans, the release of the clasp echoing inside her mind as her body hummed in anticipation, “Later. First, I want to see your mouth on me.”
She raised her eyes to his – he’d never once in all of their time together told her to lower them, it was just instinctive for her once she’d realised the dynamics in their sexual chemistry.
He ran his tongue across his bottom lip in a gesture so carnal and primitive that she clenched her thighs – the sensitive flesh between them tightening viciously at the sensual promise that lay behind his gray gaze.
Grazing the zip down its jagged path, he urged her towards him as he fisted his body softly, “Open for me baby,” he muttered.
She complied, taking his thick, solid length into her mouth, bringing up her fist to take over from his at the base as he thumped the wall at his back with his clenched fist with a drawn out hoarse groan.
“Fuck, Shan,” he murmured, his hand cupping the back of her head as he brought her down onto the full length of him, “I’m a fucking animal with you ...” His voice was guttural – rasping from his throat as he swallowed down his groans, trying to restrain himself. She laboured her breathing – relaxing her throat so that she didn’t gag on his forceful thrusts as he took what he wanted – what he needed from her body. “I just look at you and I want to be all over you ... however I can ... I feel like I want to mark you ... possess you ...”
His words stoked at her desire – thrilling her. Reaching up with one hand, she toyed lazily with the two swollen globes that hung below, hollowing her cheeks to a stronger suction – she could feel tension in every line of his body – she could feel he was close and she hungered for the taste of him, for the thrill and the pride of bringing him to the precipice of his arousal.
Bracing himself against the wall, he fisted his hands in her hair to still her as he jerked his release into her mouth with a primal growl, “You’re so fucking mine!”