"Where were we?"
I have to think for a moment, my mind clouded with desire. "My bed."
"Your bed," he repeats, a low, thoughtful rumble.
He shifts his weight, settling between my legs. He's pressed against me, hot and hard, a promise of what's to come.
"Did you come?" he asks, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw.
"Yes," I say, my head falling back.
"Did you imagine my cock inside you when you did?"
I nod, unable to speak, a fresh wave of heat washing over me.
"Show me."
My eyes fly open. "What?"
"Show me how you touched yourself," he says, his voice a low, rough command.
He moves off me, stretching out beside me, propping his head up on his hand, his gaze hot and heavy.
My breath catches. He's serious.
"I..." I trail off, not knowing what to say.
"It's just us, Bibi," he says softly. "Just you and me. And I want to see you. I want to see what you do when you think of me. Do it now, Bibi."
He makes it sound so simple, so natural. But it's not. It's intimate, vulnerable. It's baring myself to him in a way I've never bared myself to anyone.
But Giovanni’s eyes burn with the promise of a man raised in power and violence—he’s about to take me without pause, without mercy, just raw need and absolute dominance—and every part of me aches for it.
I take a shaky breath, my heart thudding against my ribs. I close my eyes and move my hand slowly, hesitantly, down my body. I cup my breast, my thumb brushing over my nipple, a shiver running through me. I pinch it, a gasp escaping my lips.
I open my eyes, and he's watching me, his gaze intense, unwavering, his mouth slightly open. There's no judgment, only raw, hungry desire.
Emboldened, my own desire surprisingly heightened with him watching me, I continue my exploration, my other hand sliding down my stomach, my fingers tracing a path over my skin.
I slide my hand between my legs and part my folds. I’m soaking wet, even more than when I woke up from the dream, and I gasp when my fingers find my clit swollen and sensitive.
I circle it, a slow, deliberate rhythm, my breath hitching. I remember waking up, the dream so real, the ache of an unfulfilled desire so intense it was a physical pain. I remember the way my body pulsed, the way my hand had slid down my stomach, my fingers seeking the release I hadn't found in the dream.
I close my eyes again, my mind drifting back to the dream, to the thought of Giovanni, to the feeling of him inside me.
I increase the pressure, the pace, my fingers moving faster, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Look at me, Bianca."
I open my eyes, and his are dark, feral, a predator's gaze.
"That's it. I want you to look at me when you come," he says, his voice a low, rough growl in my ear.
His words are my undoing. I tip over the edge, my body arching, a cry of pleasure tearing from my throat. I'm lost, adrift in a sea of sensation, my body convulsing, my mind a blur of pleasure.
When I come back to myself, I'm breathing heavily, my body trembling. Giovanni is watching me, a look of pure, unadulterated masculine satisfaction on his face.
His long fingers circle my wrist and pull my hand away, bringing my glistening fingers to his lips. He licks them clean, one by one, savoring the taste.
