“So responsive.” He sounds pleased, almost smug. “I like that.”
He switches to my other breast, giving it the same thorough attention while his hand keeps working the first, rolling my nipple between his fingers just hard enough to make me whimper.
“Tell me what you want,” he says against my skin.
“You,” I breathe. “I want you.”
“Be specific.” His teeth graze my nipple, and I nearly come off the couch. “Use your words, Jess.”
I have plenty of words. Like ‘holy shit’ and ‘don’t stop’ and ‘marry me immediately.’
Fuck me fuck me fuck me now!
“I want—” My face heats up. I’m not shy aboutsex, but something about saying it out loud to Marco Fiore feels different. “I want your hands on me. And your mouth. And—”
“And?”
“And I want you inside me.”
He rewards me with a kiss that steals my breath. “Good girl.”
Two simple words that shouldn’t affect me so much, but they do. They send a fresh wave of heat between my legs, make me desperate for more.
His hands move to the button of my jeans. “Lift up.”
I rise slightly, and he unbuttons my jeans, slides the zipper down. His hand slips inside, over my underwear, and I can’t help the sound I make when his fingers press against me.
“You’re so wet.” His voice is rough, reverent. “You weren’t joking earlier at the bar about being wet, were you. That’s for me?”
“Yes,” I coo. “All for you. Panty-Wetting Marco.”
“Stand up.”
I do, my legs shaky. He hooks his fingers in my jeans and underwear, pulling them down in one smooth motion. And then I’m standing naked in front of him while he’s still fully dressed, and it should feel unbalanced, but somehow it just feels right.
His eyes travel over me slowly, taking in every inch, every curve. There’s no judgment in his gaze, only heat and appreciation.
“Turn around,” he says. “Slowly.”
I do, feeling more exposed with every degree of rotation. When I’m facing him again, his expression has intensified.
“Come back here.”
I move back to the couch, and heguides me onto him so I straddle his lap again. The rough fabric of his jeans against my bare skin makes me shiver. His hands run up my thighs to my hips, gripping firmly.
“Who do you belong?” he asks, his voice low and serious.
The question catches me off guard. It’s possessive, almost primal. It should offend my sensibilities, but instead, it sends a thrill through me.
“You,” I whisper.
“Say it again.”
“I belong toyou.” Right now, in this moment, it feels like the truest thing I’ve ever said.
4
Jess
