His other hand brackets my ribs. He breathes me in like I’m a dish he’s wanted all night. He makes himself stop. I feel it—the restraint. It shouldn’t make me so needy. It does.
“Tell me to go,” he says, voice rough.
I don’t.
He tips my head back with the hand on my jaw and looks me right in the eye. Something dark passes over his face.
My hands move. They don’t ask for permission. They reach. The buttons of his shirt give way. He lets me get all the way down, and then he takes my wrists and pins them at my sides. I make a noise. Protest or plea, I can't tell. He makes one back.
His thumb brushes the underside of my breast, featherlight. My breath catches. My body arches, searching. He watches. He does it again. This time, his nail grazes, and the spark lights between my legs.
The counter digs into my back. The rest of him is right there. His hands holding mine hostage. His chest against my breasts, my ribs, his hips flush with mine. He doesn't move. I can't. I feel him everywhere, and still not enough.
His forehead drops to mine. We breathe. I can't remember what it felt like not to have him this close.
I don't say anything. I can't.
His tongue touches the corner of my mouth, a small taste. "You'll let me," he says. It isn't a question.
I will.
I should tell him to stop.
Instead, I lift my head and take his mouth.
He releases my hands. I use them. His belt goes. The button and zipper of his jeans. He breaks the kiss and pulls my shirt over my head. His shirt follows. My hands find skin, and it's everything I imagined and more.
He doesn't wait. He doesn't need to. We're already on the edge.
One hand dips into the back of my panties, fingers splayed across the curve of my ass. His other slides between my legs, and he tests me with two fingers. It's all I can do not to moan and arch and beg.
"Bianca," he says. It's almost a growl. Almost a plea.
I can't speak. He's there and not, and I need him there. I don't care what happens after.
His fingers are gone. They find the waist of my panties and push down, and then I'm naked. He lifts me onto the cool countertop, and I wrap my legs around his waist.
His mouth is back on mine, and his hands are everywhere, and I feel him right where I want him. He breaks the kiss to breathe against the shell of my ear, his voice thick. "Say it."
"Yes," I whisper, and it's the best and worst thing I've ever said.
His mouth falls to my shoulder. His teeth graze the skin, and it's almost, almost too much. I don't have the words. I have my hands in his hair, nails against his scalp.
He reaches between us, and the blunt head of his cock replaces his fingers. It's a lot.
His hips roll, and I'm not prepared for the pressure or the stretch as he fills my pussy. His fingers grip my thighs, pulling me closer.
My body opens and takes him. He buries his face in the side of my neck and makes a noise that goes straight to my clit. He doesn't wait. Doesn't ask. He starts to move.
My eyes fly open and I jerk awake, crying out "Giovanni!" into the dark room.
I blink. Stare at the ceiling. Breathe.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I turn onto my side and bury my face in the pillow.
