“Phew.”
I chuckled. “So, go on then. Spill.”
“That night, when we were on the terrace at Martinez’s place… I wanted to sit you on the balustrade and show you that you belonged to me.”
I pressed my forehead to his jaw. “And how were you going to do that?”
His hand, so large in comparison to my own, spread out against the softness of my stomach. The tips of his middle and pointer fingers curved over my pubis, sending striations of heat toward my center.
“No one can see you here.”
“No cameras?”
He grunted. “Maybe cameras.”
“We’ll have to watch the footage together.”
That had him stiffening behind me.
In more ways than one.
A growl escaped him. “Porca troia, Kitty, what you fucking do to me!”
My lips curved, but I remained pliant as he whirled me around and lifted me onto the balustrade with a smoothness that spoke of his control and strength over me.
Every independent bone in my body ceded to his dominance because I felt safe.I felt cherished. I feltseen.
His hands dropped to my ankles, nudging me so he could step between my calves.
I thanked the heavens that I’d chosen the loosely skirted dress because it rippled along my thighs as he moved deeper into me.
When barely an inch separated us, the backdrop of a twilit sky cast shadows over his face that only darkened his expression further.
God, being at the center of his focus had become an addiction.
I shuddered when he traced circles at the tops of my thighs, flirting with the lacy top of my stocking, bowing his head until our foreheads were pressed together, his breath tantalizing as it brushed over my lips.
He shot my nerves to pieces with his proximity and his stillness.
I expected him to pounce, but I should have realized that Stan wasn’t like that.
Stan studied.
Stan devastated.
Stan conquered.
And I was ready for all three.
My eyes closed as he finally moved—his lips brushing along the curve of my jaw. I shuddered again, feeling the tiny hairs along my spine stand to attention at the barely-there caress.
When he lowered his head, settling by my throat, I groaned as he attacked my pulse point, tasting the thready nature of it for himself.
Whimpering as sensation coursed through me, I let my hands clench in his hair, tugging at it as he tormented the sensitized area before turning his fingers toward my center, slipping underneath my panties to toy with my clit.
Yearning for more, for him, for everything, I breathed, “Oh, god, Stan, to the left a little.” My hips bucked. “There. Fuck. Yes.” God, he took direction so well. “F-Faster. No, t-too fast.” When he complied again, I savored the lack of hard feelings and of bruised ego.
This was about pleasure.
