He’s salty. Musky. Addictive.
I wrap my mouth over his broad, rose-blush crown, suck him into my mouth.
“Fuck. More,dragunidda. Give me more,” he utters gutturally.
Encouraged, I take him deeper.
Wrap my lips firmer around him and drop my head. He fills my mouth to breaking point, and my jaw aches as I struggle to take even more, greedy for more of this feeling, this… control.
He hits the back of my throat and even the gag that flares up is welcome.
I raise my gaze to his and watch his mouth gape open, his tongue sneaking out to stroke his bottom lip before he sucks the flesh into his mouth, teeth visibly digging in as he groans.
“Look at you, blowing your husband like you were born to it,” he mutters, eyes gone totally black. “Be a good girl and give me more, baby.”
I commence a rhythm I’ve watched many times on sites I shouldn’t have visited.
And with my hand, my tongue, a surprisingly intense suction that makes him suck in his breath and groan repeatedly, I pleasure Giovanni until his hands clench the armrests, his fingers digging in as his hips rise to meet my descending lips.
“Lucia,” he warns in a barely audible tone.
I know what’s coming, pun intended, and I glance at him, eyes watering as I moan.
And with a roar that startles birds from the nearby trees, Giovanni erupts in my mouth, his powerful body caught in ripples of release.
I take everything he has to give, noting with surprising alarm how my own body has grown hot and slick with arousal, the act of giving sending waves of pleasure through me.
Several minutes pass as he catches his breath.
And when it’s over, he pulls me up and kisses me slow and deep and deliberate, unabashed about tasting his release on my lips. His forehead rests briefly against mine, his breath warm against my skin.
“We’ve taken another step,” Giovanni says quietly, hands now iron-tight on my hips. “There’s no walking this back. And I reserve the right fully to demand this kind of breakfast going forward.”
My heart pounds, uneven and unrepentant, the need to blurt yes pushing forcefully up my throat before I swallow it down.
“I think the words you’re looking for areGrazie,Lucia.”
He studies me for a long moment, an unfathomable look in his eyes, then nods once.
“You can visit your uncles,bella.”
“But let me guess, with conditions?” I say dryly.
“With protection,” he corrects. “And don’t mistake my agreement for surrender.”
“Sure, noted.”
I’m too flush with triumph to argue the toss.
When I pull away, he lets me go, his eyes fixed on me until I leave the terrace.
I retreat to the bathroom, my reflection flushed and unfamiliar, my emotions tangled and raw as the water heats and steam fills the space.
And after a leisurely shower, I dress carefully, choosing elegance over defiance, strength over softness, because if I’m walking back into Queens, I’ll do it on my own terms.
The car ride feels longer than it should, the city rising around us with a familiarity that hurts.
Eighteen months.
