Heat detonates in my stomach.
His tongue drags slowly, unhurried, taking the Nutella like he’s tasting me, and I make a sound I do not mean to make—small, needy, desperate.
He releases my finger with a soft, wet pull that makes my knees wobble.
Still boxed in, still not touching me with his hands, he tilts his head and watches my face like he’s reading me.
“Mmm,” he says, and I watch his throat move when he swallows. “Good.”
My skin feels too tight, too hot, too much, and I can’t look away from his mouth.
“You break one rule, Elsa,” he murmurs, “you break them all.”
My mind fizzles out. All my well-laid plans about professionalism, distance, and my career go up in smoke under the weight of the desire I have for this man.
He leans in again and closes his mouth over mine. My brain goes offline.
I kiss him back like I’m starving for him. My hands are in his hair, fisted, holding him to me. His body is flush against mine, but his hands remain where they are, on the counter, caging me in.
I want them on me.
"Touch me." I arch against him in a plea for him to put them on me, touch me anywhere, everywhere. "Antonio."
He doesn't. His tongue teases mine with a slow stroke that has me rising onto my toes to get closer.
He pulls back, just enough to speak, and I chase the loss. “Are you sure about that?” he breathes against my mouth.
My mind is a blank page. “What?”
His gaze is so intense it feels like a physical touch. “That you want my hands on you.” He pushes against me, letting me feel his hard cock through his pants, and my head falls back.
“Yes,” I say. “God, yes.”
“Feel how much I want you, Elsa,” he says, grinding into me. "I can't be gentle with you. Not this first time. Not after so long."
I want to tell him I don’t want gentle. I want hard. I want punishing. I want everything.
Instead, I drag my hands down from his hair to his shoulders, then lower, over the hard muscle of his chest. I toy with the waistband of his sweats, then let my fingers skim underneath, just enough to feel the hot skin of his lower abdomen.
His entire body tenses.
He grabs my hands, still caging me, and pins them to the counter on either side of my hips.
His grip is firm, holding me in place. His thumbs stroke the sensitive skin of my wrists.
“I told you what would happen,” he says, and it’s not a threat. It’s a statement. A fact. He drops his head, and I feel the hard, sharp nip of teeth on my earlobe. “That I wouldn't be able to control myself.”
He bites down again, harder this time, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to my clit.
"Fuck me, Antonio," I bite out. "Now."
He lifts his head, and his eyes are so dark they look almost black.
I’m so turned on I can barely breathe. I’m going to come just like this, with him pinning my wrists to the counter and grinding against me. All bets are off.
And I don’t care.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters, and I feel the last thread of his restraint snap.
