He bends his head and takes one nipple into his mouth, and I cry out, the sensation a sharp, sweet shock. He sucks gently, then not so gently, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak.
My hands clutch at his shoulders, my body arching, seeking more. He gives it to me, his hand coming up to roll my other nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
“Roberto,” I gasp. “Please.”
He lifts his head, his eyes dark with a need that matches my own. “Please what?”
“Everything,” I say, the word a breathy confession. “I want everything.”
He kisses me again, a rough, desperate kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. His hands are everywhere, skimming my back, my sides, my thighs, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
He’s still mostly dressed, the crisp cotton of his shirt a rough, exciting friction against my nipples. I want it gone. I fumble with the buttons, my fingers clumsy with desire.
He helps me, shrugging out of the shirt and tossing it aside. His chest is broad, inked, and defined, an enticing V narrowing and disappearing beneath the waistband of his trousers. I trace the path with my fingers, and he shudders.
My hands go to his belt, and I unbuckle it, the metal clinking softly in the quiet car. I move to unzip his trousers, but he stills my hands with his.
"Not yet," he says, breathing unevenly. "It'll be over too fast."
I don't understand until he slides his hand up my thigh, his fingers finding the damp lace of my panties. He traces the line of them, a slow, teasing touch that makes me squirm.
He pushes the fabric aside and slides a finger inside me. I’m so wet he meets no resistance. I gasp, my hips bucking against his hand.
He adds a second finger, stretching me, filling me. He finds a spot inside me that makes my vision white out, a spark of pure pleasure.
“Roberto,” I sob, my head falling back against the wall. “Don’t stop.”
He has no intention of stopping. He moves his thumb to my clit, circling it in a rhythm that’s somehow both gentle and insistent. My body starts to tighten, a coil of tension winding in my belly.
I’m so close so soon. The anticipation and thinking about him non-stop for the past two weeks has wound me up. I’m a rubber band pulled taut, and he’s the hand that’s about to let it go.
I’m writhing on his lap, my hands clutching at his shoulders, my breath coming in short, sharp pants.
His name is a chant on my lips. A prayer. A plea.
He bites my neck, a sharp, possessive sting, and that’s all it takes. The coil snaps. A wave of pleasure crashes over me, so intense it borders on pain. I cry out, my body convulsing around his fingers.
He keeps moving,drawing out my orgasm until I’m a boneless, trembling mess in his arms. I collapse against his chest, my face buried in the crook of his neck. My breath comes in ragged gasps.
He shifts, reaching for the jacket that was folded under me. He lays it out on the floor.
Then, he lifts me easily, settles me onto the wool. He kneels over me, and I look up at him.
He looks powerful. Dangerous. His face is shadowed, his eyes burning.
I can see his cock straining against his zipper. My mouth waters, and I ache to touch him. Have him inside me.
But he doesn't pull it out just yet. He takes each of my hands and presses them flat against the carpet, lowering himself over me. He nudges my knees apart with his own, settling between my thighs.
I arch, my pussy practically begging for him to fill it.
"Are you still with me, Olivia?" he asks, and I can feel the vibration of his words through my whole body.
I nod, unable to form words.
He lowers his head and kisses me again. This one is different. It's slow and deep, and it’s full of a tenderness that’s more overwhelming than the fire from before.
My skirt is now bunched up around my waist, but I don't care to stop for a second to take it off.
