She gasps, her hands fisting in my hair again. I suck, hard, my tongue swirling, until she’s writhing beneath me, her hips rocking against mine.
“Giovanni,” she breathes, a plea.
I answer her plea with a kiss, a deep, possessive one, my hands roaming, memorizing every curve, every hollow, every soft, secret place. I’m a man dying of thirst, and she is the cool, clear water I’ve been searching for.
I reach behind her, my fingers fumbling with the clasp of her bra. It gives way, and I slide it down her arms, baring her to my gaze. She is perfect, more perfect than I could have ever imagined.
I lower my head, my mouth finding her other breast, my tongue tasting, my teeth teasing. She arches into me, a soft, needy sound escaping her lips. My hands roam her body, my fingers tracing a path down her stomach, to the waistband of her jeans.
I pause, looking up at her. Her eyes are dark, her cheeks flushed. She’s breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.
“I’m going to show you exactly how a Conti takes what he wants,” I tell her.
She nods, her lips finding mine in a hungry, desperate kiss. “Yes,” she whispers against my mouth.
I undo the button, the zipper, sliding the denim down her hips. She lifts her hips to help me, and I pull the jeans off, tossing them aside. She’s wearing simple white lace panties, and I can see the damp patch at the center, the evidence of her desire.
I kneel before her, my hands on her thighs, my thumbs stroking the soft skin there. I look up at her, my eyes locking with hers.
“I’ve wanted to take you since I met you,” I say, my voice low, rough.
"I had a—" She swallows and licks her lips.
"Had what?" I whisper, pressing a teasing kiss to her inner thigh.
She drops her head back and breathes out.
"I had a dream about this, about you." Her thighs fall wider. Her head is still thrown back, exposing the long, vulnerable line of her throat. She can't see my face, so I let my smile turn feral.
I lean in, my mouth hovering just above her, so close I can feel the heat of her, smell her arousal. I blow gently, a soft, warm breath, and she shivers, a full-body tremor.
"Tell me your dream, la mia piccola tentazione," I whisper.
My little temptation.
She whimpers, her hands clenching into fists on the cool surface of the island. "You. Here. Like this."
I give her what she wants, my tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path over the wet lace. She cries out, her hips bucking, seeking more.
I tease her, my tongue circling, never quite touching where she needs me most. She’s writhing now, a string of incoherent pleas falling from her lips.
I hook my fingers in the waistband of her panties, pulling them down her legs, and toss them aside. And then she’s bare, open, and so beautiful it hurts.
I lean in, my breath warm against her most sensitive flesh. I look up at her, her head still thrown back, her eyes squeezed shut.
“Look at me, Bianca.”
She does, her eyes dark, dazed with desire.
"Tell me more." I lick my lips, and her eyes follow the gesture hungrily. "Your dream. Tell me more." I kiss the soft skin of her inner thigh, higher than before.
"We're in your kitchen in New Jersey," she says on a breathy gasp as my other hand traces a path up her other thigh. I like the direction this is going. I nip her skin, and she jolts.
"And?" I press.
"You—you kiss me. Like you did before. And then you lift me onto the counter."
"What do I do?" I ask, my thumb brushing against the juncture of her thigh, but still not touching her where she needs it the most.
