I won't let him.
I look up at him, my gaze meeting his. His eyes are dark with desire, his jaw tight with restraint.
I press a soft kiss to the skin just above the waistband of his trousers. His hips buck again, a more desperate movement this time.
I take my time, pulling his pants down a little at a time. He lifts his hips, allowing me to pull them off completely.
He's magnificent. Hard, ready, and all mine.
I look up at him again, a small smile playing on my lips. I can see the war in his eyes, the fight between his desire and his sense of duty.
I won't let him win.
I take him in my mouth, a slow, deliberate act of possession.
He cries out, his hands fisting in my hair. I can feel the last of his control shattering. He's mine now. Completely. Utterly.
I take him deep, my tongue swirling around him, tasting him. I set a rhythm that is both a torture and a pleasure, bringing him to the brink of release before pulling back.
"Olivia," he growls, a warning. A plea.
I don't stop. I want to break him. To push him over the edge.
I take him deep again, and this time, I don't pull back. I suck on him, my movements faster, more demanding. He lifts his hips, driving himself deeper into my throat.
Even under my hands, he still has to have control, ownership.
I love it. I want it. I want more.
As if he can read my mind, his fingers tighten in my hair, a delicious, pleasurable pain.
His hips move again, this time faster, taking control.
This is the same old dance. One I’m not tired of. One where he is the leader and I am the willing follower.
He pulls out, and I suck air in desperately, wanting him back in my mouth as soon as humanly possible.
I take him again, opening my throat so he can use me to get what he wants, what he needs.
He continues to move, his hips moving rhythmically, his hands in my hair, guiding my movements.
He is close. I can feel it in the tensing of his muscles, in the desperate sounds he's making.
He pulls back, and I can feel the loss of him like a physical blow.
I whimper at the loss, my eyes finding his. I lean forward to take him in again, but he holds fast to my hair.
He's looking down at me, a dark, possessive look in his eyes.
"Roberto," I say, breathless. "More."
"You want more?" he asks hungrily.
I nod.
"Come here," he says, pulling me up to a sitting position.
I think he's going to flip us around and take me, but he doesn't. He guides me onto my back, so my neck is supported bythe arm of the sofa.
