“Eat first.”
The stilted words amuse me. His control is frayed to the nubs, all because of me. Knowing that makes me feel like a queen. Powerful and ethereal. DiAngelo has a way of making me feel regal, even when I think I don’t deserve it.
He feeds himself a bite, then scoops up pasta sauce on his finger to bring to my lips. I eagerly suck his finger into my welcoming mouth.
“Fucking Christ, knew I shouldn’t have done that.” His other hand lowers the zipper at the back of my dress before he eases the garment down over my shoulders, exposing my bare chest.
A sliver of worry trickles down my spine.
I don’t care if he sees my top, but I’m not ready for him to see my belly. I want to enjoy whatever this is between us without marring the moment.
Please, God. Let me have just this once with him.
“My turn.” He scoops up another finger full of sauce, then paints my nipples with it. When his mouth latches onto me, my eyes roll back into my head.
“Oh …D… that’s so good.”
He pulls himself free of my flesh with a pop. “Fuck eating. It can wait.”
The next thing I know, he’s pushed the plate aside and set me on the wood table, laying me back with my feet on the edge, my knees bent in the air. My black dress is pooled around my waist. I discreetly place my hand on the wadded fabric below my belly button to make sure it stays in place.
Towering over me, he is a vision of masculine rapture.
While his golden-green eyes devour the sight of me, his hand cups his straining erection through his pants. He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip as he lays his palms flat on the table.
“Keep those knees wide for me. I want to see you open and weeping for me.”
He slowly lowers himself, kissing and nipping a trail down my inner thigh toward my center. The anticipation sucks the air from my lungs. And when his strong hands take hold of my thighs, and his mouth closes over my core, my entire body spasms with the intensity of the sensation.
I let out a moan worthy of Aphrodite herself.
DiAngelo’s devilishly talented tongue teleports me to another dimensional plane. Nothing exists but him and the crescendoing orchestra of pleasure singing in my veins. He works me until I’m so close that my legs quiver and shake. My back arches, and my heart beats without rhythm.
Until suddenly, he’s gone. Everything stops.
“Wha—” I start groggily.
“Little firefly, I want to know why you feel responsible for your husband’s death.”
His words fight to penetrate the blissful haze fogging my mind. “You what?”
“I want to know…” He slowly licks from my entrance to my clit, making my body jerk alive. “Why do you feel responsible for Craig’s death?”
I don’t know why he’s doing this. And why now?
“Please, D. Please don’t stop,” I beg him.
He gives one more languid lick. “Answer the question, and I’ll let you come. The truth, remember?”
“I … I know Renzo lied to me. I know it wasn’t just a mugging.” There. I said it. I didn’t think I’d ever admit to that because there was no point, but this is just another exampleof the many ways DiAngelo is changing me. I hardly recognize myself, and I’m not sure if it’s for better or worse.
Another lick.
Another wanton moan.
“His bad choices aren’t your fault, Rina. I want to hear you say it.”
I can see where he’s coming from, but at the same time, I don’t fully believe it. Craig would probably still be alive if he’d never met me. That’s just a fact.
