“Please,” I groan, the word more a plea than permission.
“And it’s my choice?” she asks, licking her lips.
Chapter 23
Alina
“Of course,” Raffaele says, his voice a deep rumble that vibrates through the air between us.
My hand hovers near him, trembling slightly as I gather my courage. The enormity of what I’m about to do hits me all at once—I’ve never touched a man like this before, never seen one completely naked and aroused.
His body is a study in contradictions—beautiful yet intimidating, inviting yet dangerous. When my fingers finally make contact with the hot, silky skin of his shaft, a shuddering breath escapes both of us.
I wrap my hand around him tentatively, surprised by how impossibly hard yet velvety soft he feels. Like steel wrapped insilk. My fingers can’t close around his girth, and the realization sends an unexpected pulse of heat between my legs.
“Like this?” I ask, my voice hardly more than a whisper.
Raffaele’s jaw tightens. “Harder,” he instructs, covering my hand with his much larger one. “Don’t be afraid to grip me.”
He guides my movements, showing me how to tighten my fingers, how to stroke from base to tip in one fluid motion. His skin slides beneath my palm, and I’m fascinated by the contrast—the rigidity underneath that impossible softness.
“That’s it,” he encourages as I find a rhythm. “Fuck. Yes. Just like that.”
His hand falls away, allowing me to continue on my own. I watch his face carefully, cataloging every reaction. The way his nostrils flare slightly with each exhale. The tightening of the muscle in his jaw. The slight furrow between his brows that deepens when I twist my wrist experimentally at the end of a stroke.
I look down at him, taking in every detail. Prominent veins run along the length, and when I trace one with my thumb, he hisses through his teeth. The head is smoother than the rest, and as I continue stroking, a bead of clear fluid forms at the tip.
“What’s this?” I ask, running my thumb through it.
“Fuck,” he growls, his hips jerking involuntarily. “Pre-cum. It means I’m enjoying what you’re doing.”
The knowledge that I’m the cause of his pleasure emboldens me. I spread the moisture around the head, watching with fascination as his stomach muscles contract in response.
Sweat has begun to bead on his forehead, and a vein stands out prominently on his neck. Each breath he takes is deeper than the last, his chest rising and falling in a quickening rhythm that makes the tattoos across his skin seem to dance.
“Can I…” Pausing, I clear my throat. “Can I touch you elsewhere?” I ask, my free hand hovering uncertainly.
“Anywhere,” he pants. “Touch me anywhere you fucking want.”
I let my palm rest against his chest first, feeling the thunderous beating of his heart. Then I slide my hand lower, over the ridges of his abdomen, tracing the sharp V of his hips that points like an arrow to where my other hand continues its steady rhythm.
His muscles twitch beneath my exploring fingers, hard and defined in a way that makes my mouth go dry. When I reach lower and gently cup the heavy weight of his balls, he lets out a strangled sound that’s half curse, half groan.
“Is this okay?” I look up at him, oddly thrilled by the tension I see in every line of his body.
“Cazzo, yes,” he rasps, his accent thickening as he slips into Italian. “You’re driving me crazy.”
I squeeze him gently at the base while my other hand continues to cradle him, and his eyes roll back slightly, lips parting as a guttural groan escapes him. The sound ignites something primal inside me—a heady sense of power I’ve never experienced before.
I’m the one doing this to him. Me, Alina Brewer, the girl who’s spent her entire life trying to make herself smaller, is reducing this dangerous, powerful man to desperate groans and uncontrolled thrusts.
His reaction gives me the courage to increase my pace. His hips begin to move in rhythm with my strokes, seeking more friction. Fascinated, I watch the muscles in his thighs tense and release with each thrust.
“Fuck,” he growls, his hand suddenly covering mine again, adjusting my grip to be even tighter. “Just like that.”
Sweat now glistens across his chest and shoulders, highlighting the contours of his muscles. His breathing hasgrown ragged, punctuated by curses in both English and Italian that fall from his lips like prayers.
I feel the way he pulses in my hand, growing impossibly harder—larger. His entire body is coiled tight like a spring about to release.
