The room is exactly what I expected. It’s elegant and intimate. A large bed dominates the space, covered in dark sheets that look expensive. There’s soft lighting from recessed fixtures, a small sitting area with a couch, and a door that presumably leads to a bathroom. In the sitting area, there’s a bar cart stocked with practically everything imaginable.
I realize that we’re alone. Valentina has stopped in the center of the room, her back to me, and I can see her breathing. Her shoulders are tense.
"Having second thoughts?" I ask, keeping my voice gentle.
She turns to face me, and I can see the determination in the set of her jaw. "No. Are you?"
"No."
She watches me approach, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths. When I'm close enough to touch, I stop.
"Tell me what you want," I say softly. I want to reach out and touch her more than I want to draw my next fucking breath, but I want to know what she wants first.
"I want you to touch me,” she whispers. “Just… any way you want.”
She reaches up as she says it, and for a moment, I think she's going to take off her mask. But instead, her hand goes to my face, fingers tracing the edge of my jaw. Her chin trembles, ever so slightly. "Can I kiss you?" she whispers.
I can feel every line of my body tense, my cock twitching against my thigh, aching for relief. "Yes."
She rises on her toes, and her mouth meets mine, soft and almost hesitant, like she’s still nervous. Her hands press against my chest.
The world stops.
I've kissed a lot of women. I know what good chemistry feels like. But this feels like something else entirely.
Her mouth is soft and uncertain at first, like she's not quite sure. But then she makes a small sound, half gasp, half moan, and suddenly she's pressing closer, her hands fisting in my shirt and her body molding against mine.
I'm fucking lost.
I kiss her back with an intensity that takes me by surprise. I reach for her waist, pulling her closer, and she responds by wrapping her arms around my neck. I slide my hand up her back, between her shoulders, walking backward toward the bed as I devour her mouth. I’ve never had a kiss like this. She’s kissing me like she’s desperate, like I’m every single thing she’sever wanted, like she can’t bear the thought of this being over. I can feel the hunger in it, and it drives me insane.
My hands slide down to her hips, and she gasps against my mouth. I can feel her trembling. I should slow down, be more gentle, maybe. I can feel my fingers digging into her hip, curling into the leather of her skirt. I want to rip it off, strip her down, and maybe I’m frightening her.
But she's not kissing me like she wants to be gentle. She's kissing me like she's drowning and I'm air. Like she can’t get enough of me.
I sink back onto the bed at the edge of it, pulling her astride my lap. Her skirt pushes up her thighs, and I grip her hips as she breaks the kiss, looking down at me with eyes that have gone wide and dark beneath her mask. We're both breathing hard, and I can see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her lips are swollen from kissing.
"Okay?" I ask, my voice rough.
"Yes." She reaches for me, leaning in again. She sounds breathless, almost like she can’t believe we’re doing this. I’ve never met a woman so hungry for me. It’s fucking intoxicating. "Don't stop."
I kiss her again, slower this time, trying to regain some control. But she's not having it. Her hands are everywhere—in my hair, on my shoulders, sliding down my chest. She explores, taking what she wants, and fuck, it's the hottest thing I've ever experienced.
I start to turn us both, to lay her back onto the bed, but suddenly she plants her hand against my chest. “Wait,” she gasps, and I stop instantly.
“Do you want to stop?” I ask, forcing the words out even though every part of my body is demanding that we keep going.
“No… I…” She pauses, her tongue running over her lower lip nervously. The sight sends what feels like a jolt of electricityrippling through my veins, my cock jerking against the front of my trousers desperately. “I want to try to touch you first.”
Before I can say anything, she’s slithering out of my lap, down onto her knees on the floor. Somewhere in the back of my head, it occurs to me that I should give her a pillow to put under her knees, dosomethingfor her comfort. But all I can do is stare at this gorgeous, nervous, masked woman who is suddenly kneeling between my legs, her hands sliding up the inside of my thighs toward where I’m aching for her to touch me.
She looks at me hesitantly, as if she’s waiting for me to tell her to stop, but there’s not a chance in hell. I want her to touch me more than I want to fucking breathe. My heart feels like it’s going to pound out of my chest as her fingers reach for my belt, the clink of the metal loud in the nearly silent room as she undoes it.
Every movement is slow, drawing it out, and that only makes it both better and worse somehow. My cock feels like it’s going to fucking explode, and when the side of her hand grazes against it as she reaches for my zipper, I suck in a sharp breath. But God, the slowness makes it feel so fucking incredible, too.
When I suck in that breath, she pulls her hand back, startled. “I… should I…”
“You should keep going. If you… want to.” My voice sounds strangled in my throat; I’ve never heard myself sound that way before. When she draws down my zipper, a low groan rumbles from my chest, even though she hasn’t actually touched my skin yet.
