He laps at me like he’s been thirsting for years, like I’m the only water in a desert. His tongue circles my clit, flicks, presses—each stroke sending bolts of pleasure through my core. I’m gripping his hair, riding his face, my hips bucking against his mouth as he groans against me.
“Lorenzo, please?—”
“Please, what, Mia Moglie?”
“Please—I need?—”
He stands abruptly, his mouth glistening with my wetness, and I whimper at the loss. But then he’s lifting me, wrapping my legs around his waist, the head of his cock is pressing against my entrance.
“You need this?” he teases, pushing just the tip inside before pulling it back out. Over and over again as I clench around him, desperate. “You need me inside you, filling you, fucking you until you forget every man who came before me?”
“Yes—yes?—”
He slams into me.
The stretch is perfect, exquisite, the way he fills me completely, hitting that spot deep inside that makes my vision go white. He fucks me against the wall, hard and fast, his hips slapping against my thighs, his cock sliding in and out of my wet heat of my pussy with obscene, wet sounds.
His mouth finds my breast again, sucking, biting, marking me as his.
“I own you,” he growls against my skin. “Every part of you. This pussy—” He thrusts deeper. “—is mine. These tits—” He bites down on my nipple. “—are mine. That come you’re about to give me—” He reaches between us, fingers finding my clit, circling hard. “—is mine.”
I’m close. So close. The pressure is building, coiling in my belly like a spring ready to snap.
“Are you done making me chase you?” He asks, his voice dripping with heat.
“Y—Yes.” I choke out.
“Good… Now come for me, Zara.”
His command breaks me.
I came so hard my vision went black.
The vibrator was still pressed against my clit, buzzing away, but I was too far gone to care. Waves of pleasure rolled through me, each one pulling me deeper, until I was nothing but sensation and heat andhim.
“Fuck, Lorenzo,” I gasped, the name falling from my lips like a prayer.
I bit down on my hand, hard, stifling the cry that wanted to escape. My teeth sank into the soft flesh between thumb and forefinger as the last aftershocks rippled through me, leaving me trembling and soaked and utterly, miserablywanting.
My eyes flew open as I’m hit with the reminder that I was in my room.
Alone.
The vibrator still humming in my shaking hand.
He was down the hall.
Lorenzo Falcone.
My husband.
The man I’d sworn I wouldn’t let touch me. The man whose name I’d just cried out as I came.
I pulled the vibrator away and stared at it, slick with my release. I should feel satisfied. I should feel like I’d won—I’d taken care of my needs without giving him anything.
But the hollow ache in my chest told a different story.
I set the vibrator aside and curled onto my side, pulling my knees to my chest.
