“Leave it,” I say, rougher than I intended.
She turns to face me. The soft smile she’s wearing falters as she reads my face, as she feels the shift in the air.
“I haven’t finished my breakfast yet,” I tell her, holding her gaze so there’s no doubt what I mean.
Her breath stutters. “Oh...”
I don’t give her time to think.
My hands find her waist and I lift her, setting her down on the marble island. The dress slides up her thighs, and I step into the space between her legs, my palms pressing over her bare skin.
I lean forward, until my mouth hovers just short of hers, our breaths tangling, her body already reacting to the briefest contact.
“To start my day right...” I murmur, nipping at her lips, drawing out the moment. “I want another taste of you.”
I watch her chest rise and fall, feel the tremor beneath my palms. She leans closer and that alone is answer enough.
Needing to be sure, I hold her eyes, searching her face for the slightest doubt or hesitation. “Unless you don’t want to.”
She bites her lower lip, her gaze moving to the door, then to the wall of glass to our right.
“What if someone comes?” she whispers.
Cupping her jaw, I guide her eyes back to mine. “No one comes here unannounced,” I promise, my voice leaving no room for doubt. “Not while you are with me.”
I watch the tension drain from her shoulders, changing into something deeper than desire: trust. That is the breaking point.
I take her mouth, chasing the taste of cinnamon on her tongue. I take my time as the kiss deepens, turning more demanding.
Trailing my lips along her jaw, I move down the curve of her throat, feeling her pulse hammering.
All the time there’s only one word chanting in my mind.Mine.
Not by possession. By choice.
“Alexander...”
Dio—the way she whispers my name.
I slide my hands up her legs, savoring the smooth skin against my calloused palms, as I bunch the fabric of the dress at her waist.
The sight alone is nearly enough to undo me.
She is wearing simple black cotton panties, and it’s by far more erotic than any elaborate lingerie could ever be.
I hook my fingers into the waistband and drag them down, my eyes devouring every inch of skin revealed. As the fabric clears her ankles, I don’t toss it aside. I ball the cotton in my fist and shove it into the pocket of my sweatpants.
I spread her legs wider, and seeing her like this—vulnerable, open for me on the island—is a vision I want to ruin and worship at the same time.
“Sei bellissima,” I murmur, never tiring of telling her how beautiful she is.
My fingers trace her pussy, parting the soft lips to reveal the pink flush. I rub the wetness between my thumb and forefinger, fascinated by its texture—the slick evidence of her desire. A deep sound rumbles in my chest.
I begin to circle her clit with my thumb while I lean in to reclaim her mouth. My other hand yanks the straps of her dress down, freeing her breasts.
I take her nipple into my mouth, sucking hard, scraping it with my teeth while my fingers work below. She writhes, her hips lifting to meet my hand, getting wetter by the second.
Cecilia moans, her head falling back, offering the long, elegant line of her neck.
