The Mistress That Tamed De Santis

A groan ripped from him when he finally looked. She looked down too, saw how her breasts thrust up towards him, her nipples tight and needy and erect—begging for more than his visual attention. They wanted touch. He muttered something unintelligible. Before she could ask him what he’d said he bent his head and took her nipple in the hot cavern of his mouth. Her breathing came quick and erratic as she watched him take pleasure in her body—in pleasuring her.

She closed her eyes, sprawled back on the desk, basking in the sensations as he explored her more fully. He pushed between her legs, grinding against her, and cupped her other breast in his hand, his fingers teasing that taut peak. When he pushed her full breasts together to lave both nipples with his tongue, she almost arched off the wood completely. All her restraints were now off, her need unleashed. She bucked, thrusting her hips against his, wanting him to strip her, touch her and kiss her where she was hot and wet and so, so ready.

Never had she been ready for a man the way she was for him. Never had a man made her feel this aroused. The ache between her legs burned, her blood ran faster in a quickening beat of need. She reached out, wanting to explore him too. His skin was hot to the touch. His jaw bristled but it was so good as it gently abraded her tender skin. She raked her hands across his back, the heat of him burning through his sweatshirt.

His muscularity surprised her. He was only ever pictured in suits so she’d never have guessed he’d be this defined. Granite muscles like these meant he worked out—regularly and hard. She wanted to see them. Wanted to touch. But he pressed down, smothering her attempts to pull his sweatshirt up, distracting her from that goal by simply kissing her again and again and again while running his hands over her bared breasts with wicked skill.

And she couldn’t resist succumbing to the pleasure of it.

That it could be this man who pulled this feeling from her? This unadulterated lust. He left no room for regret or reason. There was only this, only now. His breathing roughened but he said nothing more. He kissed down her neck, then lower to tease with fiery touches across her quivering belly, then back up to her breasts. But his hand worked lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her flimsy short pyjama bottoms. She parted her legs further without thinking about it, aching for him to touch her there. He growled guttural approval as his fingers cupped her intimately. She shuddered at the intensity of desire that consumed her as he gently stroked. She was so close. The pleasure built so shockingly quickly. She’d never been so close with anyone.

‘Antonio...’ She breathed the quietest plea as she arched against him, right on the edge.

He froze, then glanced up to look into her eyes for a heartbeat. Dazed, she didn’t register his tormented expression. But then he pulled away from her, his face now utterly impassive.

‘You’re stopping?’ She gasped in disbelief. ‘Now?’

His lips twisted but he didn’t reply. Running his hand through his hair, he huffed out a harsh breath and stepped back from her.

Astonished, she stared, realising what he’d done. He’d done this to prove a petty point. And he’d proved it already. But it was also a punishment. He was putting her in her place in a humiliating show of power—he could have her any way he wanted, however he chose.

But now he chose not to.

That he’d use his sensual dominance over her this way was most especially cruel because she’d never felt anything like this. No man had made her want in this way and this one time she’d almost felt pure, sensual pleasure, it had been snatched from her. She swept her hand over her belly, as if she could press away the ache deep inside.

‘I don’t need you,’ she muttered angrily. So hurt. ‘I don’t need any man.’ She didn’t need any one.

He turned back, his gaze smouldering. Her legs were still splayed. She was so exposed, half-stripped and spread on her own damn desk for him to toy with but she refused to cover up and show how shamed she felt.

‘What are you doing?’ His words sounded raw and accusing.

She realised he was staring at her hand pressed low on her belly. Bitterness rose in her throat. Because yes, the only way she’d ever experienced an orgasm was by her own action. But as if she’d do that now?

Heat burned in his narrowed eyes. Outrage burned in her. She wasn’t giving him the pleasure of watching. She curled her fingers into a fist, her vision swimming with acidic tears.

She heard his groan and a muttered word, but she didn’t know what he said because suddenly he was there. Back where she needed him. Bending between her parted thighs, his spread hand raking up her body.

‘It wouldn’t be as good,’ he muttered, leaning close, catching her gaze with his.

She tried to turn her head away but he moved too fast, holding her chin with a firm grip. He almost smiled as he moved closer.

This kiss was cautious and tender.

She didn’t close her eyes and when he drew back a fraction to gauge her response, she kept glaring at him. But then he kissed one eyelid. Then the other. Making her close her eyes. Then he caught her mouth with his again. Not cautious at all. Not holding anything back. Just that passionate teasing, stirring her to react again. To want.

And heaven help her she did. So quickly she was there again, lost in the lust he roused within her. She couldn’t wriggle away from him. Couldn’t break the kiss. Rather she moaned in his mouth—a mixture of hurt and want and pleading.

In answer he slid his hand firmly over her stomach, wrapped his broad palm around her fist and lifted her arm, pressing it back on the desk beside her, clearing his path down her body. He cupped her breast, then teased his way lower again, to where she was still wet and hot and wanting. All the while his lips were sealed to hers, his tongue stroking and teasing and claiming her the way the rest of her wanted to be claimed.

She moaned again, nothing but want this time. She wanted him naked, wanted to touch him everywhere, wanted him to thrust deep inside her and ease this hellish ache. He didn’t. He just teased—decadently, mercilessly until she was sweat-slicked and shivering and mindless.

She bucked against his hand—wanting faster, deeper, more. He groaned in approval, kissing her harder, letting her feel more of his weight. She wanted to take it all. Her hips rocked, undulating in an increasing rhythm, matching the stroke of his fingers and tongue. She wanted to force him to break free of his control. She wanted him to stop holding back. She wanted him to just take her.

But he didn’t relinquish his restraint for one second. He kept kissing her. Kept touching her where she needed him most. Stirring, rousing, until she was almost out of her mind with desire, until she was moaning a song of need into his mouth, her body trembling beneath his, her nails clawing into his skin as she hurtled towards the peak. Finally he broke the passionate kiss, letting her gasp as the rest of her arched, utterly rigid in that unbearable moment before release. Oh, it was here. He’d pulled her through the burn and made her feel it. Her eyes closed, she cried out as the wave of pleasure hit, sweeping her away in that powerful turbulent crest. She clutched him fiercely as the sensations tumbled within her, drowning her in almost unendurable bliss. He pressed hard against her as she convulsed, not letting her pull back from the intensity he’d stirred. His fingers rubbed relentlessly, ensuring she received every last spasm of pleasure from her orgasm.

Finally she fell back on the desk, limp as the warmth spread along her veins, sending her into a lax, dazed state. Raggedly she gasped, trying to recover her mind, but it was impossible to catch her breath. Impossible to wipe the smile from her face. Impossible to believe what had just happened.

Never had a man made her feel so good. It wasn’t just the orgasm, it was the heat and vitality he’d seemed to pour into her. He’d made her feel wholly alive, here and now. Twin tears escaped her closed eyes before she had the chance to brush them away but she was smiling at the same time, because it was so good and such a surprise and she was so happy.

Yet even now, despite that mind-blowing pleasure, the ache within burned anew. Suddenly she felt empty even with that elation still zinging around her. She wanted all of him. And she wanted him now.

Shocked at her surging hunger, she opened her eyes and looked into his.

‘Antonio,’ she whispered, shocked when she read what was so obvious in his unguarded expression. Torment—desolation and desperation. Feelings she understood all too well.

‘Please.’ She reached out to cup him—to make him feel as good as he’d made her feel. But he gripped her wrist and stopped her, his hand painfully tight.

‘Don’t touch me,’ he ordered through clenched teeth.

His words hit like physical blows. It was utter, raw rejection.

She closed her eyes but his spurn had already slammed the lingering sense of pleasure from her. Emptiness ripped her open. Now their imbalance struck her forcefully. She was almost naked. He was fully clothed. She was vulnerable and exposed. He was sealed and silent.

But they were both angry.

He released her wrist, pulling away to put three feet of distance between them. He stopped and stood with his back to her, his hands on his hips, his head bowed. She could see the exertion in his breathing, as if he’d run a race to the death. He was trying to slow it, regulate it and recover his equilibrium. Well, so was she. But she was failing.

She sat up, yanking her top down to cover herself, confused and lonelier than ever. ‘Maybe it’s time—’

‘I behaved like—’ he interrupted her harshly, then broke off. He twisted to face her. Tall and proud and formal. Icy again. ‘I behaved inexcusably,’ he said in those remote, clipped tones. He bowed stiffly. ‘I apologise.’

For a long moment she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t believe he’d become this remote statesman again. Did he feel guilty? Was he upset that he’d sullied the memory of his dead lover because he’d felt up the tart from the nightclub? Was that what this was?

Fury burned but oddly pity was entwined with it. She felt sorry for herself. Sorry for him. Sorry this whole moment had started.

But she only had to look at him to know any attempt at conversation would be futile. He’d scorched any sense of connection or compassion. There was simply nothing left. Yet he remained standing like a statue in the middle of her room, staring at her with that damned unreadable expression.

In the end she could only whisper, ‘You behaved like a human.’

His nostrils flared but he didn’t reply. He swiftly turned and strode to the door.

‘You didn’t want to be seen,’ she called scornfully as this next rejection scalded her all over again.

He still didn’t hesitate. He just walked out without a word, rapidly descending the stairs.

Bella closed her eyes until the sound of his footsteps receded completely. She understood anyway. He’d rather risk being seen leaving her club than staying another second in her company.

He didn’t want to be near her ever again.

CHAPTER THREE

CARS ROARED: a relentless mass of humming metal and fuel. Distracted, Antonio almost forgot to applaud when the first passed the chequered flag. He’d not been looking at the finish line because she was down with the winning team’s pit crew, and she was dressed not to be seen, but to stun.

Photographers called and clicked constantly, like seagulls incessantly circling a kid with an ice-cream cone. Bella paused long enough to send them a glittering smile, then turned to snap a selfie with the winner of the race. Doubtless she’d upload it once she’d filtered it to her satisfaction.

I don’t need any man.

Her vehement denial replayed in his mind, but the vulnerability that the harsh-edged words revealed echoed loudest of all. Those tears after she’d come apart in his arms haunted him. He’d broken past that slick, sophisticated façade and found her to be tender and he’d been a jerk. Because he hadn’t reciprocated. He hadn’t been as honest with her as she’d been with him. And she’d been mortified.

But now, only hours later, her façade was back—beautiful and bulletproof. Grimly he fought the urge to take her somewhere isolated and break her walls down to get to that genuine, emotional response again. As if she’d allow him to now.

While he’d returned to the palace without detection that morning he was in no way pleased. He was a leader of not just an army, but a nation, and he never ran from a situation. Yet he’d run from the desire she’d aroused in him. Now regret and anger burned alongside it.

For the best part of a decade he’d staved off sexual want, using extreme exercise to gain self-control; his honed physique was a by-product of that intense discipline. Because he refused to hurt anyone the way he had Alessia and he refused to use women to satisfy purely physical desires. Discipline had become habit. It had almost become easy.

Until today.

Maybe his apparently uncontrollable desire for Bella had been a reaction to tiredness and stress. Or maybe it was because it had been so long since lust had burned him, it had been able to slip his leash like quicksilver...

He could come up with reasons, but they still didn’t excuse his actions. And they didn’t explain why he was unable to look away from her now.

She was ravishing, putting on a performance for more than the thousands in this crowd and her online audience of millions. This fortnight on San Felipe was packed with festivities and events, ones he had to attend while sandwiching in the vital trade talks and tax-exemption debates with the foreign politicians who’d come to work during the day and party at night.

Bella would use this fortnight to build her brand and define her club as the most ‘it’ venue on the island—if not the world. This was the reason for the glamour, the smiles and selfie-central behaviour. All those society events that he had to attend, she would be present at too. There would be no avoiding her. Not in the immediate future.

His jaw ached with the effort of holding back his frustration.

As soon as the race formalities had concluded, he returned to his large office in the palace. He listened to the requests of his aides, read through the official papers in the scarlet box on his desk and braced himself for the celebration reception that evening.

As he’d figured, she was there, draped in an emerald-green silk dress that skimmed her curves before falling in a dramatic swathe to the floor. He was even less talkative than usual, preferring not to circulate at all. It would hammer home his icy reputation even more, but so be it. If only Eduardo weren’t away—his brother had more social patience. Antonio just wanted to get back to the paperwork and the important decisions.

Except that wasn’t quite all he wanted.

He endured her presence three more times over the next two days. At a charity brunch, at the unveiling of the plans to redevelop the marina, at the opening night of the new exhibition in the national art gallery...

Every time he saw her, the craving bit harder.

He avoided speaking directly to her, but more than once he met her gaze. Across the crowd in the gallery, during speeches, every glance seared, stopping that breach in his armour from sealing shut again.

Three days since that morning in her office, he seethed at his inability to wrest back his self-control. His mind wandered every chance it got. When he should be focused, when he should be listening to someone else, when he should be thinking about things so much more important than himself, he thought about what he’d do to make her writhe in his arms until he heard her soft cry of release again.

That cry had made him harder and more wanting, yet more satisfied than he’d ever been in his life. He’d revelled in it for one incredible moment. Then he’d remembered. He couldn’t have any kind of relationship.

Then he’d run.

But that cry had tormented his dreams day and night since. Now it was all he could think of.

He glanced at the valet pointlessly polishing Antonio’s already buffed-to-brilliant shoes. He had a performance at the opera house to attend tonight and there was no way Bella Sanchez wouldn’t be there.

‘Leave me.’ Abruptly he dismissed the man.

‘Sir?’ The servant looked nonplussed at the sudden command.

Varying from his schedule was impossible, given how crammed it was, but Antonio needed to pull himself together and cool this burn with a reality check. He needed to see through Bella Sanchez and remind himself she was merely a woman. And he’d refused hundreds, if not thousands of women. It was in their best interests that he had.

‘I need ten minutes alone,’ Antonio ordered.

His valet swiftly bowed and left. Antonio picked up the tablet he used to scan newspaper headlines. With a couple of swipes he opened up a video channel. The simplest of searches retrieved an endless list of clips. He clicked on the first. Lifted from a performance at one of the US’s most prestigious ballet theatres, it had been viewed millions of times.

Bella Sanchez dancing the title role of Carmen. In this scene she was seducing a soldier to get him to do her bidding. Antonio watched, his gut tightening, as Bella sent the man a smouldering look over her shoulder—alluring, enthralling, practised. It was a move she performed on stage night after night after night, yet she made it utterly convincing. At the end of her solo the audience exploded, chanting her name over and over, stomping their feet, delaying the rest of the performance for a full five minutes while they called for encores. He stared at the screen, as spellbound as everyone in the audience had been, watching as she didn’t break character for even a second. Haughtily she waited, accepting the adulation and keeping them in her sexual thrall as if it was only to be expected.

But when she’d lain before him, warm and exposed, she’d not been at all practised or polished. She’d been unrehearsed and real and what had happened had taken her by surprise as much as it had him. And the raw emotion in her eyes when he’d pulled away from her?

He’d hurt her. He regretted that. He regretted touching her.

Yet all he wanted was to do it again.

He tossed the tablet back onto the desk. Reduced to watching her like this, like some unbalanced stalker, was no way to find relief.

Why couldn’t he end this aching awareness of her? The slow burn threatened to send him insane. He’d resisted already, hadn’t he? He’d stopped before taking the pleasure he’d wanted so badly. He’d proven himself.

But he was tired of having to prove himself, tired of devoting every minute of his life to his crown. Maybe resisting had been the wrong action.

Why shouldn’t he have something for himself for once? He’d been restrained for so long. Every other damn prince took lovers. His younger brother had been a total playboy. In other countries princes, politicians, people with power and wealth indulged their desires. Ordinary people did too. It was normal.

But not for Antonio.

Not when he knew the heartache the inevitable intense media coverage would cause. Nausea churned in his gut from guilt as he remembered. He was sure Alessia’s parents knew the truth of what he’d done to their daughter. They never discussed it, but they knew. So the least he could do was protect and honour both them and the memory of her. It was his duty. Having a public affair with a woman like Bella Sanchez would destroy everything he’d worked so hard to maintain. And an affair would become public.

Slaking this haunting lust was impossible.

But still his blood burned.

At the theatre he saw her immediately. She’d made that unavoidable. A scarlet petal in a sea of black suits, she wore the colour of seduction and vampishness, unapologetically sensual and attention stealing and a bold choice given the red highlights in her hair. Held up by thin straps, her dress was cut low over her generous breasts, their size and shape accentuated by her slender waist. Her strappy sandals made her almost tall enough to look him in the eye. Except tonight she refused to look at him at all.

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