He tries everything.
His tongue moves faster, then slower. Circles and flicks then long, dragging strokes that make me gasp. He slides two fingers inside me, curling them just right, and I hear myself moan.
“That’s it, princess.” His voice is velvet against my sensitive clit. “Let me hear you.”
His words make me even wetter. “Such a good little slut for me, aren’t you? This perfect pussy, all mine to fuck. You love my tongue on you, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I whisper, because I do. I love it. But I also know where this is going.
His fingers work faster, his mouth more insistent. I can feel his frustration building in the tension of his shoulders and the way he grips me. He’s trying so hard, working so determinedly, and that wall stays exactly where it’s always been.
After what feels like beautiful, torturous hours, he pulls back, his face flushed and wet. His jaw is tight, a muscle jumping beneath the stubble.
“Why won’t you come?” It’s almost accusatory, but I know he’s not mad at me; he’s mad at himself. At this point, I know him well enough to tell the difference.
I touch his face gently. “It’s okay, Vincenzo. Really. That felt amazing.”
“Don’t patronize me.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, dark eyes blazing. “I’m not some amateur who can’t make a woman come.”
“I know you’re not.” I sit up, pulling the sheet around me. “It’s not you. It’s me. It’s always been me.”
He stares at me, breathing hard. “What do you mean?”
How do I explain this? That my body doesn’t work the way it should? That no amount of skill or technique has ever been enough?
“Other men have tried,” I say quietly, looking down at my hands. “Every trick, every technique. Some of them were very skilled, but it just… doesn’t happen for me.”
“Tricks and techniques,” he repeats slowly. Then his expression changes, like something clicked. “But that’s not what you need, is it?”
I blink at him, unsure where he’s going with this.
He moves closer, his hand cupping my face with unexpected gentleness. “You said you want closeness. Caring. Emotional safety. Feeling like you are home when you’re in someone’s arms.”
My heart stutters in my chest. Oh. My. Gosh. “Yes.”
Without a second thought, he pulls me into his arms, cradling me, my cheek against his chest. His mouth is next to my forehead, his arms solid and warm around me.
“Relax,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice softer. “I’ve got you.”
One hand slides down my body, between my legs, but the touch is gentle. He finds my clit and circles slowly while his other arm anchors me against him.
“Touch yourself,” he whispers. “Show me what you like.”
My hand joins his. I’m shaking, I’m so nervous.
“That’s it.” His lips brush my temple, my cheek. “Don’t stress. Don’t overthink it. Just relax.”
His fingers move with mine, learning my rhythm, my pressure. But it’s his voice in my ear, his solid warmth surrounding me, that changes everything.
“I’ve got you, Sophia. You’re safe. Right here, right now, you’re completely safe with me.”
Something inside me starts to crack open, the tingling warmth spreading through my body.
“Let go,” he breathes. “I’m not going anywhere, Sophiaregina. I’m right here.”
The wall, that impenetrable wall, begins to crumble.
My breathing becomes ragged, and the warmth that was building suddenly turns to heat, shooting through my limbs like wildfire. My fingers move faster on my clit, his fingers guiding mine, his other arm holding me so tight I can barely breathe.
