My Italian is getting better, and it's all because I long to know what he says to me in times like this.
"I love you, Mario."
He lifts his head, and I can see the love and possessiveness in his eyes.
"I love you, amore. Now, and for the rest of my life."
Then kisses his way up my body, and his lips capture mine. I taste myself on him.
His hand slips down my belly, and when his fingers brush my clit, I jerk in his hold, moaning into his mouth.
"So sensitive," he teases, rubbing the little nub, sending shock waves of pleasure through me.
"Please, please, please," I chant, lifting my hips to get more friction.
"Shhh, it's okay, amore," he coos, slipping his fingers back inside.
The heel of his hand presses against my clit, and he grinds his palm against me.
I moan loudly, and he captures the sound with his mouth, using the opportunity to slide his wicked tongue against mine, mimicking the movement of his fingers.
My hands go to his hair, gripping the silky strands tightly as the sensations build and build until I feel like a string stretched tight, ready to snap at any moment.
He releases my mouth and nips at my jaw.
"Do you need to come, amore?"
"Yes," I say breathlessly.
"I want you to come," he murmurs against my neck. "I want to feel your sweet cunt hold me tight."
His dirty words have me aching and grinding down on his fingers.
"But not on my fingers."
"N-no," I cry. "Don't stop. Don't stop."
But it's too late. He's already withdrawing his fingers.
I cry out at the loss, and he gives me a wicked grin.
"You are so eager for it, sporcacciona."
"Yes," I moan, lifting my hips, hoping to find the friction I so desperately need.
He chuckles and presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth.
"Patience, mia bella ragazza," he whispers against my lips, then captures them in a deep, slow kiss.
His hands roam over my body, teasing and taunting, until I'm panting with need.
"Please, Mario," I beg.
"Do you want my cock, amore?"
"Yes, please," I cry, needing to feel him inside me.
"Hmmm."
