"You feel so fucking good," he growls against my ear, and I just about come undone from the sheer force of it. I love this raw, dominant side of him. The way he takes what he wants, the way he isn't afraid to be a little rough, a little demanding. He's not a brute, but he is so unapologetically him, and I have never been more turned on.
"So do you," I gasp, my nails raking down his back, scoringhis skin.
He likes it. I can feel him shudder, his hips bucking, a guttural groan rumbling in his chest.
"Harder," I demand, my own voice low and husky.
"Anything you want,amore mio," he rasps, and he gives me exactly what I asked for.
He drives into me, harder, deeper, the force of it stealing my breath. My head falls back, a silent scream tearing from my throat as he hits that perfect spot deep inside me.
He shifts slightly, changing the angle, and then he's hitting it with every thrust. My vision goes blurry, my body tensing, a familiar pressure building in my stomach. My nails dig into his shoulders, unable to handle the sheer pleasure coursing through me.
"You're so tight, Elsa," he pants, his forehead resting against mine. "So fucking perfect. Made for me."
"Antonio," I sob, my body shaking. "I'm... I'm..."
"I know," he says, his voice a low, soothing murmur. "Let go,sporcacciona. My naughty girl. I've got you. I'll never let you go."
That’s what that means? Naughty girl?
Oh God.
My body convulses as a blinding, white-hot orgasm tears through me, ripping a ragged cry from my throat. It's so intense it's almost painful, a violent, beautiful storm thatleaves me gasping and shaking, clinging to him like he's the only solid thing in a world that's spinning out of control.
He doesn't stop. He works me through it, drawing out my pleasure until I'm a quivering, sobbing mess, and then, with a final, guttural groan, he follows me over the edge.
I feel him pulse inside me, a hot, wet flood of warmth that fills me with him. His body goes limp, and he slumps against me, his full weight pinning me to the wall. For a moment, we just breathe, our ragged gasps the only sound in the steam-filled bathroom.
He holds me, his body trembling, his face buried in my neck, and we stay like that for a long moment, two bodies entwined, our ragged breaths the only sound in the steam-filled room.
Slowly, carefully, he lowers me to my feet. I tighten my arms around his neck. My legs are shaking so badly I'm not sure they can hold me.
“Don’t laugh at me,” I whisper, my face buried against his chest.
He pulls back just enough to look down at me, a slow, devastatingly handsome smile spreading across his face. “I’m not laughing, Elsa.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Okay,” he concedes, and the smile turns into a full-fledged grin. “Maybe a little.”
He kisses the pout off my lips in a soft, sweet kiss that’s full of affection and a smug, masculine pride that’s so ridiculously endearing I can’t even be annoyed.
“I love that you react like that,” he says. “It’s so damn adorable.”
“It’s never happened with anyone before," I insist, and I know instantly that was the wrong thing to say because his smile grows wicked and arrogant.
"No?" he asks, his voice dark and husky. He shifts, pressing against me. “Just me, huh?”
The smugness is unbearable. And so hot. I scowl and push at him, my hands flat against the hard wall of his chest, but it's a weak, ineffectual attempt. I'm still boneless, still clinging to him.
"You mean you've never been fucked so well, so many times, that you couldn't stand up?" he asks. "Never come so hard, for so long, that your legs just give up on you?"
They're not questions. Not really. He knows it. He's proud of it.
I narrow my eyes, trying to maintain my indignant attitude. Really, I'm in no position to be indignant since I'm basically clinging to him because he did, in fact, fuck me so well that my legs barely function.
"Good." He kisses me again, a quick, possessive peck on the lips. "Because I plan on making that happen again. And again. And again.”
