He darts his tongue once over my parted lips, tasting the lust on my breath.
“Tell me,” he pleads.
I lick my dry lips, the tip of my tongue grazing against his mouth. Sparks blind me at the sensation. I haven’t touched another man with my tongue in so long, but he’s standingso close.
“It feels… smooth.” I swallow. “Slippery…”
His eyelids fall closed and a sound vibrates behind his pinned lips.
“My clit is, um… firm. A little hard.”
“Mm,” he moans. “You’re turned on.”
“I am,” I whisper. “I’m all wet.”
“Porca puttana,” he murmurs and drops his forehead to mine. “Does it feel good?”
My breaths shorten as I peer up at him as best I can through my lashes.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He shifts his body closer and I take a step back. He steps in again. I step back.
Then my back hits the wall and his hands come up either side of me, planting his palms just above my shoulders.
His forehead is still snug against mine, his eyes still closed, like he’s doing all of this through his other senses.
“Slower,” he murmurs. “A little firmer.Vai avanti. Don’t stop.”
Following his instructions, I feel weightless. Having him close his eyes makes it easier for me to relax. I feel less self-conscious. When he licks his lips, my fingers become drenched. Just the sight of him making these small, sensual movements is sending me a little crazy.
A traitorous whimper flutters through my lips and his eyes flash suddenly, hooking onto mine from beneath his mask.
“Keep talking.” His voice has turned to gravel.
“Um—” I can’t find words because my vision is tilting and I have nothing to grip onto. I want to melt into him, which doesn’t make any sense—he hasn’t even touched me. “I think I’m going to come.”
More Italian is punched from his mouth but this time his eyes stay open.
“Eyes on me when you come, Pfeiffer,” he clips, his voice suddenly crystal clear and almost desperate.
“Don’t blink, don’t tip your head back. I want to seeeverything.”
I nod, my mouth falling open. “Oh God?—”
“Fuuuck,” he breathes. “Madonna, sto per venire.”
I don’t know what he’s saying, but I smooth my fingers over my clit, harder and faster, and my head drops forward. I keep my eyes on his, but it’s hard. My whole body heats like a furnace and I spasm on my feet while I keep working my fingers.
“Keep going,” he commands, the sound of his words obliterated by thepump, pump, pumpof blood in my ears.
“Can you feel your come? You’re so slippery, I can hear it. Keep coming for me.”
I fall into him with a loud gasp, my shoulders convulsing against his chest.
“Bellissima fottuta traditrice,” he whispers, breathless.
He stays still, letting me use him for stability while he inhales my whimpers.
