The space is lavish and expensive, dominated by a king-sized bed that makes my stomach flutter. Alessio touches a panel on the wall and the lighting warms, wrapping the room in a private glow. He turns back to me, and every nerve in my body tightens.
He cups my face, careful in a way that makes me feel breakable. His thumb strokes my cheekbone, and then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is demanding and deep, hungry without crossing into cruelty. I’d braced for fear, for regret, but what floods me instead is want.
Pure, reckless want. It blindsides me, sharp and undeniable, and I can’t bring myself to fight it.
When his tongue slides past my lips, I moan, the sound ripped from somewhere low and aching.
His hands move down my body, broad palms mapping my curves, and I feel the thick press of his cock against my stomach. The knowledge that I put that heat in him sends a sharp pulse between my thighs.
I shove his jacket off his shoulders. He lets it fall and opens his shirt, button by button, until ink and muscle fill my vision. Black tattoos of skulls, fire, and violence spread across his chest, turned into art by the body that carries them.
I should be afraid. My pussy tightens instead.
He pulls my shirt over my head. When he sees the red satin bra, his whiskey eyes ignite. “Fucking gorgeous,” he says, rough and reverent at once.
By the time we’re down to our last layers, my nerves have transformed into something else entirely. When he guides me back onto the bed, I don’t feel like a victim or even a reluctant participant.
I feel like a woman about to take what she wants.
His gaze drags down my body, greedy. He wraps his fist around his cock, and my breath stalls. There is a glint of silver through the flushed crown. A barbell piercing sits at the head, two small metal balls catching the light.
My mouth goes dry.
“Like what you see?” he asks, stroking himself in a slow, lazy pull.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, heat crawling over my skin.
He smiles like a sinner. “Wait until you feel it.”
My thighs part before I can think. His knuckles graze my soaked panties, then he drags the damp fabric aside and slides a finger through my slit. Teasing. Testing.
I tremble. “Quit messing around,” I quip, breathless.
He laughs softly, wickedly, as his hand skims up my inner thigh, light enough to spark goosebumps. “Messing around? I’m savoring. Maybe you’ve just never had a man who bothered to take his time, to revel in what he’s got spread out in front of him.”
Damn it, he’s not wrong. I can’t argue with that even if I wanted to.
“But since you’re so needy…” His voice drops, low and taunting. He yanks the fabric aside again and lowers his head. This time his tongue connects with my sensitive flesh, dipping into me while I jerk in shock at the jolt of raw pleasure.
“Alessio—fuck—oh my God,” I cry out, my hands clawing at the sheets.
He doesn’t stop.
His tongue circles my clit, his lips dragging over me, fingers thrusting deeper until I’m writhing, every nerve lit up. The pressure coils tight, my body arching as it snaps, the orgasm slamming into me in waves that leave me shaking and gasping, utterly undone.
He licks me clean and rises, cock flushed and heavy, piercing gleaming.
My body is still trembling, too sensitive, and the sight of him preparing to take me again sends a fresh rush of heat and urgency through me.
He rolls the condom on, his eyes never leaving mine, and heat races up my spine. Then he presses a hand to my shoulder and urges me forward, guiding me onto my stomach. The mattress dips beneath me as he takes my hips and positions me on all fours.
His grip is iron, grounding me even as anticipation spikes through my veins.
“Hands and knees, Temptress. I want to watch this tight pussy take me.”
The blunt head presses at my entrance. He pushes in slow, inch by thick inch.
