My breath catches. "What?"
"Show me how you touch yourself when you think about me."
I should be embarrassed. Should tell him to get out. Instead, I find myself sliding my hand deeper, two fingers slipping inside while my thumb works my clit. His eyes never leave my face, watching every flicker of expression.
"Good girl," he murmurs, and the praise makes me whimper.
Then he's beside me, one hand tangling in my hair, tilting my head back to expose my throat. "Let me," he says against my skin, and then his hand is replacing mine, larger, stronger, more skilled.
I cry out as his fingers slide inside me, finding places I didn't know existed. His mouth claims mine, swallowing my moans as he works me expertly.
"You're so wet," he groans against my lips. "So fucking perfect."
I'm lost, drowning in sensation, my hips rocking against his hand. He whispers filthy, beautiful things—how good I feel, how perfect, how he knew from the moment he saw me that I'd be this responsive, this sweet.
When I come, it's with his name on my lips, my body arching off the bed. He holds me through it, his eyes never leaving my face, like my pleasure is a gift he's been waiting his whole life to receive.
Afterward, he doesn't stop. He undresses me slowly, reverently, pressing kisses to each newly exposed inch of skin. By the time he removes his own clothes, I'm ready again, aching for him.
When his mouth drops to my inner thigh, I gasp. He leaves a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along sensitive skin, moving steadily higher. His dark eyes flick up to mine, holding my gaze as he settles between my legs.
"I need to taste you," he growls. "Been thinking about this since I first touched you."
The first swipe of his tongue makes me cry out. My fingers twist in the expensive sheets as he devours me like a starving man. His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wider for his mouth. I can't look away from the sight of his dark head between my legs, his broad shoulders keeping me open for him.
"Oh God," I whimper, my hips rising to meet his mouth.
He hums against me, the vibration sending shockwaves through my body. Through half-lidded eyes, I notice his right arm moving rhythmically. He's touching himself while he tastes me. The realization makes my core clench tight.
"Are you—?" I can barely form the question.
He lifts his head just enough to answer, his lips glistening with my arousal. "Can't help it. The way you taste..." He groans, his arm still working steadily. "The sounds you make..."
Then his mouth is on me again, more urgent now. His tongue circles my clit with devastating precision while his free hand slides two thick fingers inside me. The combination is too much. I'm already sensitive from my first orgasm, and the knowledge that he's pleasuring himself while pleasuring me pushes me over the edge.
"Fabio!" I cry out, my back arching off the bed.
He doesn't stop, doesn't slow down. If anything, he doubles his efforts, drinking in my release like it's sacred. His own movements grow more frantic, his groans vibrating against my flesh.
When he finally tears his mouth away, his face is transformed with pleasure. He rises to his knees, his hand working furiously over his impressive length. His eyes never leave mine—dark, intense, possessive.
"Watch me," he commands, voice strained. "Watch what you do to me, angel."
I can't look away. His powerful body is taut with restraint, muscles flexing with each stroke. He's magnificent—sculpted and scarred and perfect. I've never seen anything so erotic in my life.
When he comes, it's with my name on his lips, his release spilling over his fist. The sight is so intimate, so raw that I feel tears prick my eyes.
After, he cleans us both with gentle efficiency, then slides into bed beside me. His arms wrap around me, pulling me against his chest. I should feel trapped. Instead, I feel protected.
"Sleep now," he murmurs against my hair. "I've got you."
And for the first time since I stumbled into that chapel, I believe him completely.
five
. . .
Fabio
