She blinks at me, lips swollen from my kisses, cheeks flushed with arousal. “W-what?”
“Your weight,” I clarify, squeezing her hip. “You’re not sitting on me. You’re keeping yourself up on your knees. Lower yourself.”
The blush on her cheeks deepens, spreading down her neck. “I-I’m too heavy,” she mumbles, unable to meet my eyes. “I don’t want to crush you.”
A laugh escapes me—dark and incredulous. Is she serious? Does she honestly think her body could be anything but a pleasure against mine?
“You really are a novice when it comes to pleasure,” I growl. Sliding my hand between her spread thighs, I cup her pussy, feeling the wet panties. “How can you think feelingthisagainst me would be anything short of fucking hot?”
“Raffaele,” she gasps.
“Tell me to let you go. Tell me to stop touching you, and I will,” I tell her. “But if you don’t say it, I’ll keep my hand here while wondering if it’s the jeans or your own arousal making your panties so wet.”
She makes a strangled sound, but doesn’t tell me to stop touching her. “That feels…”
“Yes?” I prompt when she trails off. “Tell me what you’re feeling.” I rub the heel of my palm against her clit.
“T-tingly,” she gasps. “It’s—” Her words cut off when I move my hand faster, harder.
“Good,” I rasp, watching her face transform with pleasure.
The expression—half-shock, half-bliss—is addictive. I want to see how many variations of it I can draw from her before the night is through.
Her eyes flutter closed as I continue the rhythmic pressure against her clit, her breathing becoming more erratic. Her hips are moving against my hand, small unconscious movements she’s probably not even aware of making.
“Look at me,” I command, and her eyes snap open, hazy with desire. “I want to see your eyes when you feel this.”
I slide my fingers beneath the elastic of her panties, finally touching her bare flesh. She’s soaking wet, her arousal coating my fingers as I explore her folds. Virgin or not, her body knows exactly what it wants.
“Fuck,” I hiss when my middle finger finds her entrance. She’s tight—so fucking tight—the muscle clenching around just the tip of my finger. The thought of how she’d feel around my cock makes me throb painfully against my sweatpants.
“Raffaele,” she whimpers, her voice breaking on my name. “I’ve never… this is…”
“I know, Piccola,” I rasp. “Just feel. Let yourself enjoy it.”
Her forehead drops to my shoulder, her breath hot against my skin as I tease her pussy with the tip of my finger. It’s fucking torture not to push it all the way inside.
“You’re so fucking tight,” I growl, moving my thumb to circle her clit. “And you feel fucking amazing.”
Her entire body jerks against mine. “Raffaele,” she cries out.
“That’s it,” I encourage, feeling her cunt squeeze my finger. “You’re so responsive. So perfect.”
The words seem to affect her as much as my touch. She moans, a soft, broken sound that shoots straight to my cock. I add a second finger, stretching her hole gently, preparing her for more even though I know we won’t go all the way tonight.
Not yet. She’s too valuable to rush.
“I can feel how close you are,” I murmur against her ear, increasing the pace of my fingers. “Come for me. Let me feel you come around my fingers.”
She tenses, her thighs trembling on either side of mine, her breath catching. Then she shatters, crying out as her inner walls clamp down on my fingers in rhythmic pulses.
“Raffaele. Oh God. Raffaele. Ohmygod.”
I continue stroking her through it, drawing out her pleasure until she collapses against me, boneless and panting.
I withdraw my hand slowly, bringing my fingers to my lips. Her eyes widen as she watches me taste her essence, licking my fingers clean with deliberate slowness.
“Sweet,” I tell her, satisfaction coursing through me at the way her cheeks flush anew. “Just as I knew you’d be.”
