The lock rattles. Someone trying to get in.
"Occupied," Alessandro snarls, never lifting his mouth from my pussy. "Fuck off."
The footsteps retreat, but the reminder of where we are, what we're doing, sends a dark thrill through me. My pussy clenches around his fingers, and he groans against me.
"You like that," he observes, adding a third finger, stretching me. "Like knowing anyone could hear you getting tongue-fucked by your husband. Like being claimed where anyone could catch us."
His tongue finds my clit again while his fingers pump deeper, harder. The dual sensation builds something explosive in my core. My thighs shake, my breath comes in pants, my fingers tighten in his hair hard enough to hurt.
"That's it," he encourages. "Use me. Ride my face. Take what you need from me."
I roll my hips against his mouth, chasing my first release. He lets me control the pace, lets me grind against his tongue while his fingers curl inside me, exploring places no one has ever touched. The pressure builds and builds.
"Come," he commands against my clit. "Come on my tongue. Let me taste how perfect you are."
My orgasm crashes through me like lightning. I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood, trying not to scream as waves of pleasure wrack my body. My pussy pulses around his fingers, clenching and releasing as he works me through it.
"Good girl," he murmurs, lapping up every drop of my release. "My perfect, beautiful wife. Coming so hard for me."
He doesn't stop. His tongue keeps working my oversensitive clit, his fingers still pumping slowly.
"Too much," I gasp, trying to pull away.
"Never too much." He holds me in place easily. "You're going to come again. Going to soak my face properly. Show me what this pussy can do."
His mouth is relentless, worshipping every inch of my pussy with devoted attention. He traces patterns with his tongue, spells his name against my clit, claims me with every stroke. My legs shake so hard I can barely stand, but he holds me up, holds me open, holds me exactly where he wants me.
"I can feel you getting close again," he says, voice rough with arousal. "This pussy is clenching around my fingers, begging for my cock. But you're going to come on my tongue first. Going to scream for me."
"Someone will hear."
"Let them." He curves his fingers just right, and my vision goes white. "Let them all know that Alessandro Rosetti worships his wife's pussy. That I'd rather be on my knees for you than standing above anyone else."
The second orgasm builds slower, deeper. He reads my body perfectly, adjusting his rhythm to match my needs. When I'm right on the edge, he pulls back slightly, making me whimper.
"Tell me your name," he demands.
"Emma," I gasp.
"And what are you?"
"A Rosetti. I'm a Rosetti."
"That's right." His mouth returns to my clit with renewed vigor. "You're Emma Rosetti. My wife. My obsession. My perfect fucking everything."
This orgasm destroys me. I come so hard my knees give out completely, only his strength keeping me upright as I shake and pulse and soak his face. He groans against me like my pleasure is his own, lapping up everything I give him.
When the aftershocks finally fade, he rises slowly, keeping me pressed against the wall. His face glistens with my arousal, and he doesn't wipe it away. Instead, he kisses me deep, letting me taste myself on his tongue. I can feel his cock straining against his pants, rock hard and pressing against my stomach.
"You are not nobody," he says against my lips, grinding his erection against me. "You're Emma Rosetti. The woman who makes me so fucking hard I can't think straight. The woman I would destroy anyone for."
"Alessandro."
"I need to be inside you," he growls. "Need to feel this pussy gripping my cock."
But footsteps approach the door again, multiple sets this time.
"But I won't let your first time be in a bathroom. Later," he promises, adjusting himself with a pained expression. "Tonight, I'm going to fuck you so hard you forget any name but mine."
