My eyes roll back.
"You like that?"
"Yes, yes, God, yes."
"Tell the world."
"Mario," I moan, and my orgasm builds and builds. "I love it. More. I want more."
"More? Are you sure?"
"Yes," I say without hesitation.
"As you wish."
His thrusts get rougher, and my cries get louder.
"I want to see you," I beg, squirming.
"Why?"
"Please, Mario."
"Tell me why," he demands, his pace not slowing.
"I-I want to see your face when you come," I moan.
"Ah, amore della mia vita," he groans, slowing. "How can I deny such a request?"
His hand goes to the back of my head, and he pulls off the tie.
Sunlight floods my vision, and I blink, waiting for my eyes to adjust.
And when they do, the sight before me steals my breath.
I can't move, still trapped beneath him.
Still impaled on his cock.
But he is glorious.
His hair is messy, his gaze is intense and focused and fierce.
The sunlight outlines his face, highlighting the stubble on his jaw, the curl of his lips, the possessive gleam in his eyes.
"You're beautiful," I breathe.
"I think you have that the wrong way around, amore," he murmurs, his hand sliding into my hair and fisting there.
I shake my head. "No. Not at all."
"No," I argue. "You are."
His lips find mine again, and the kiss is softer, gentler, full of something I'm afraid to name.
He begins to move again, and the feeling is incredible.
"Come," he says, his mouth by my ear. "I want to feel your sweet cunt milking me."
