He tugs me away from the wall, toward the bed. The bedroom is silent around us, the muted city glow spilling through the windows as we move. He lays me on the bed. Not roughly, but with a kind of intense control that makes my breath catch.
He braces over me, studying me, deciding exactly how he wants to undo me. His fingers find the button of my jeans, popping it open with infuriating patience, then sliding the zipperdown. He eases them, and my panties with them, down my legs, lifting my hips with one big palm until I’m bare under his gaze. I hear the quiet rasp of his own belt and zipper, but he leaves his jeans hanging low on his hips, like he’s savoring every step.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs. “And I’m going to make you feel every second of that.”
Heat ripples through me. Turo lowers his mouth to my throat and kisses down, slow… slower… painfully slow. Every inch he travels is a tease, a promise, a denial.
His hands move over me—my waist, ribs, hips—firm touches that make my back arch but never quite land where I need them. My brain starts to unravel. He pushes my thighs apart with a sure, commanding touch, but instead of giving me what I’m silently begging for, he drags his mouth along the sensitive inside of my thigh.
Just breath. Just heat. Just torment.
“Turo…” I choke out.
He looks up at me, pupils blown wide, lips glistening from the trail he’s left on my skin. “That’s right,” he murmurs. “Say my name.”
His thumb strokes slowly up my thigh, stopping just shy of where I’m shaking for him.
“Say it again, when I make you come apart without even touching you the way you think you want.”
The shock of it steals my breath. Then he lowers his mouth to me, but even then he takes his time, teasing around the edges of sensation, finding every nerve that lights me up without giving me the direct pressure I’m desperate for.
Heat floods through me in dizzying waves. My hands twist in his hair, helpless. He reacts instantly, pressing my hips down into the mattress with one arm, pinning me so I can’t chase more.
“Uh-uh,” he growls, dark with satisfaction. “You don’t get to run. You take what I give you.”
I gasp. I can’t help it. It comes out of me like a tremor, that hot crackle of humiliation and need. He finds it delicious. I can see it in the glint of his eyes as he looks up from between my legs, lips parted, tongue glancing against his teeth.
He’s not going to let me win. Not one bit. Every flick of his tongue is calculated, a careful study in just enough to tip me over but never let me go under. My body starts to buck, but he’s strong, pressing me down, holding me still. He circles, circles, almost a touch too light at first, until I think I’ll scream, then suddenly the pressure deepens and I do scream, the sound bright and shattering in the quiet room.
Every slow stroke, every soft flick of sensation, drives me higher. He adjusts constantly, reading me, timing me, keeping me dangling right at the edge. My breath breaks. My thighs tremble. My voice is a mess of pleading sounds I can’t control.
“That’s it,” Turo murmurs against my skin. “Feel it. Don’t rush it.”
I’m shaking so hard, I can’t think. He gives me one sharper movement, one powerful stroke, and the world snaps open.
I shatter, helpless and shaking, his name ripped from my throat. Turo holds me through it, gripping my waist, anchoring me, kissing the inside of my thigh, calming the wild he intentionally unleashed.
When the tremors finally ease, he kisses his way back up, slow, intentional, savoring. He hovers above me, brushing his thumb along my cheek.
“You okay?” he whispers.
I nod, breathless. “Better than okay.”
“Good,” he murmurs, smiling wickedly. “Because I’m not done teasing you yet.”
His mouth trails up my ribs, my chest, my throat, then captures my lips in a slow, consuming kiss. I kiss him back, fingers in his hair, pulling him down harder. He groans, a raw, uncontrollable sound.
“Careful,” he breathes. “You grab me like that again, and I’ll pin your wrists above your head and drag you through another one until you beg.”
My breath stutters. “I didn’t beg.”
He laughs softly, darkly. “Lucia, you begged with every part of you.” He catches my jaw, tilting my face toward his. “Look at me.”
I do. I can’t not.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, rougher now. “You want more.”
Not a question. “Yes,” I whisper.
