"Don't." I back against the wall, needing distance. "Please don't."
"She made you cry." Not a question. His jaw clenches, hands fisting at his sides. "That dried-up bitch made you cry."
"She told the truth." The words tumble out between gasps. "I'm nobody. A new-money nobody playing dress-up. Pretending to be somebody."
"Stop." He moves closer, caging me against the wall. His body heat makes my nipples harden despite everything. "Stop right now."
"You don't understand," I sob, the panic making me reckless. "I never even wanted all this. Money, fancy parties, any of it."
"I know." His voice is soft, dangerous. "Let me take care of you."
He drops to his knees.
The sight stops my breath. Alessandro Rosetti, who commands rooms with a glance, who makes grown men tremble, is kneeling on the bathroom floor in his Armani suit. The position puts his face level with my hips, and my pussy clenches at the implications.
"What are you."
"Worshipping what's mine." His hands find my thighs through the Chanel skirt, thumbs stroking in circles that make me wet despite my tears. "You are the most precious thing in my world. Do you understand that? Not the name you wore at our wedding. You. Emma. Whatever name you choose."
"Alessandro."
"That woman out there?" His voice drops to a growl that vibrates through my bones. "She's nothing. Dust. Forgotten the moment she dies. But you?" His hands slide higher, bunching the designer skirt, fingertips finding bare skin above my stockings. "You're everything. My obsession. My perfect corruption."
"I'm nobody."
His mouth presses against my inner thigh through the silk stockings, and my protest dies in a moan.
"You're mine," he murmurs against my skin, teeth grazing through the delicate fabric. "And I worship what's mine. Let me show you what you do to me, how hard you make my cock when you just breathe."
He pushes my skirt higher, revealing the lace underneath. French, expensive, chosen by him this morning. I'm already soaking through it, my body betraying me even in distress. His eyes darken as he sees the wet spot spreading across the delicate fabric.
"Fuck, look at you," he groans. "Already dripping for me. Your pussy knows who it belongs to, even when your mind doubts."
"We can't. Not here."
"We can and we will." His fingers hook in the lace, dragging it down slowly. "I'm going to make you come on my tongue while two hundred women sit outside. You're going to grip my hair and ride my face until you forget that bitch's name."
The lace slides down my legs, catching briefly on my heels before he tosses it aside. Cool air hits my exposed pussy, making me shiver. I'm completely bare beneath the designer skirt now, vulnerable and aching.
"Spread your legs," he commands, and my body obeys before my mind can protest.
He looks up at me from his knees, green eyes burning with possession. "Watch me worship you. Don't close your eyes. I want you to see who's on his knees for you."
His mouth finds my most intimate place without warning, tongue sliding through my untouched folds in one long stroke that makes my knees buckle. Only his hands on my hips keep me upright as he introduces me to a pleasure I've never known.
"Oh God," I gasp, hands flying to his hair, gripping the dark strands, overwhelmed by this first invasion.
The sensation is shocking, foreign—this is territory no one has ever explored. I feel vulnerable, exposed in a way I've never been before. My body responds to him instinctively, though my mind still struggles to process this new feeling.
"Not God," he growls against the center of my innocence. "Just me. Your husband claiming what no man has tasted before."
He works me with his tongue, alternating between broad strokes and targeted flicks against my swollen clit. Two fingers slide inside me without warning, curling forward to find that spot that makes me see stars. The wet sounds echo off the marble walls, obscene, unmistakable.
"Listen to how wet you are," he murmurs, pumping his fingers faster. "This pussy is fucking soaked for me. Dripping down my hand. You're going to come all over my face, aren't you?"
"Alessandro, please."
"Please what?" He sucks my clit between his lips, making me cry out. "Please make you forget you were ever anyone but mine? Please fuck you with my tongue until you scream? Please show you exactly what you're worth?"
