How could I write about everything I was feeling when I couldn’t even admit it to myself? How could I put words to the way my skin still tingled where his hands had been? The way my lips still burned from his kiss?
The way my cunt was throbbing, wet and empty and desperate for something I’d sworn I wouldn’t give him?
I set the pen down, hand still shaking.
For ten minutes, I tried. I wrote a few lines about the ceremony, about his father’s rudeness, about the champagne. Safe topics. Boring topics. But my mind kept drifting back to the wall, to the way his body had pinned mine, to the growl in his voice when he’d said, “I’ll make you pay for making me wait.”
The wordpayshouldn’t have made me wetter, but it did.
And with that, I slammed the journal shut.
This was ridiculous. I was a grown woman. I had needs, and I wasn’t going to lie here aching for a man I barely knew—a man who’d bought me like a piece of property, who spoke of ownership and possession as if they were words of love.
I reached into my suitcase and pulled out my vibrator.
It was sleek, silicone, curved perfectly to hit that spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyes. I’d bought it after the last disaster of a relationship had left me raw and bleeding. I’dsworn off men, sworn off letting anyone close enough to hurt me again.
The vibrator hummed to life in my hand, a low thrum that made my clit twitch in anticipation.
I closed my eyes.
And immediately,hewas there.
Lorenzo’s face. The sharp cut of his jaw, the darkness in his eyes, the way his lips had curled when he’d said, “you’ll beg for it.” I tried to push the image away, to focus on something else—a faceless lover, a fantasy from a book, anything buthim—
But my body had already chosen.
I pressed the vibrator against my clit, and a gasp tore from my throat.
The fantasy was already unfolding behind my eyelids.
I’m back against the door. His hands are on my hips, bruising and possessive. But this time, when he leans in, I don’t push him away.
This time, I let him kiss me, feel me.
His mouth crashes against mine, and I open for him, my tongue meeting his in a dance that’s all hunger and demand. He tastes like whiskey and sin, and I drink him in like I’ve been starving for years. His hands slide up my ribs, dragging the fabric of my shirt higher until my breasts are bare, my nipples hard against the cool air.
He breaks the kiss to look at me.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathed.
Then his mouth is on my neck, hot and wet, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin just below my ear. I arch into him, my fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling him closer. He groans against my throat, and the vibration sends electricity straight to my core.
His hand finds my breast, palm rough and calloused, thumb circling my nipple until I’m whimpering. He pinches, just hardenough to make me gasp, then soothes it with a swipe of his tongue.
“Lorenzo—”
“Sì, Tesoro. Keep saying my name.”
He dropped to his knees.
My breath catches as he pushes my jeans and panties down , exposing me completely. His eyes darken, pupils blown wide as he takes in the sight of my wet, glistening pussy. I don’t feel exposed or vulnerable. Instead, I feel powerful—because the way he’s looking at me, I’m the most magnificent thing he’s ever seen.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “So fucking beautiful.”
He leans in.
His tongue touches my clit, and I see stars.
