I groaned against her mouth, and my hands moved automatically to her waist, gripping her like I’d been thinking about doing all night. All week. Hell, since the first day she walked into my apartment and ruined my perfect little bubble of solitude.
I felt her fingers tangle in my hair, nails scratching lightly against my scalp as she deepened the kiss, her body pressing flush against mine. I dragged my hands up her back, feeling the curve of her spine, the heat of her skin, through her thin shirt.
She was always like this. Always testing me, always pushing to see how far she could go before I snapped. And maybe that was the worst part, knowing I let her.
Because I wanted her.
I wanted her in ways I shouldn’t. In ways that made me reckless; that made me ignore every fucking reason I should be keeping her at arm’s length.
But I didn’t care.
Not when she kissed me like this. Not when she rocked against me, her breath hitching, her hips shifting just enough to make my fingers tighten on her waist.
I pulled back slightly, just enough to see her face. Her lips were already swollen, her pupils blown wide, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. I felt her hands reach between us, her fingers unbuckling my belt, popping the button on my slacks.
I groaned into her mouth, my patience unraveling by the second. She thought she was in control. Thought she could keep running her mouth, pushing me, making me want her more than I already did.
Before she could get my zipper down, I gripped her hips and stood, turning her around and pressing her chest against the desk. She let out a small gasp, hands splaying against the wood, but she didn’t resist. If anything, she arched her back like she wanted me to pin her there. Like she knew exactly what was coming next.
“All this time wasted arguing, when apparently, all I had to do was turn around,” she flaunted.
“I like you better like this anyway,” I murmured, my hand splaying against the curve of her hip. “You talk too much when you’re facing me.”
“Maybe if you fucked me right, I wouldn’t have anything to say.”
“All that attitude. Let’s see how long you keep it.”
She bit her smile. “Longer than you’ll last.”
I yanked her back against me fully then, feeling the way she gasped, how her fingers flexed against the desk like she was trying to hold onto something solid. I pressed my lips to her ear. She stiffened just slightly. Just enough for me to catch it.
“No one else has ever had you like this before, have they?” I asked. I let my fingers slide down, teasing the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh, moving slowly, just to prove a point. “I bet you gave them hell,” I murmured. “Talked back, ran your mouth, tried to make them work for it.”
Valentina swallowed hard.
I smirked. “But with me?” I trailed my lips down her neck, feeling her heartbeat race. “With me, you get real fucking quiet.”
Her breath hitched.
Then, in true Valentina fashion, she let out a low laugh, her fingers curling against the desk. “Maybe I just don’t have anything to say.”
“That’s a first.”
She shivered beneath me. “Savor it. Won’t happen again.”
I pressed her harder against the desk, feeling the way her breath stuttered, the way she tensed—not from hesitation but anticipation. From knowing exactly what was coming.
I lined myself up, taking my time, letting her feel it—how thick I was, how much I was making her wait.
Her fingers clenched against the desk. “Marco?—”
I pushed into her.
She gasped, her back arching, the sound caught between a moan and something desperate—something that made my grip tighten.
Valentina’s breath came out in a slow, shuddering exhale, her knuckles white against the desk. I leaned forward, pressing my chest against her back, my lips ghosting over her ear.
“Still got something to say?”
