He presses me against it, the city sprawling far below us, and I’m suddenly aware of how high up we are. How exposed. Anyone in a nearby building could see us. Cristiano Montoni pinning a woman to his penthouse window, her legs wrapped around him, her dress riding up.
“This dress.” He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes raking down the plunging neckline, the hem bunched around my waist. “You wore this for him. For that nobody.”
“His name is Danny.”
“I don’t care what his name is.” His fingers find my zipper and drag it down, slow and deliberate. “He’ll never see you again. He’ll never touch you. He’ll never even think about you without remembering the night I carried you out of my restaurant.”
The dress loosens and pools at my waist. I’m bare from the waist up and Cristiano’s eyes go dark.
“Mine,” he breathes, cupping a breast in his hand. “These are mine.”
He lifts me farther up, and his mouth closes over my nipple. I cry out, my head falling back against the glass.
He works me with his tongue, his teeth, until I’m writhing against the window, grinding against his stomach. It’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough.
“Please,” I gasp. “Cristiano, please—”
“Please what?” He switches to my other breast, and I feel his smile against my skin. “Tell me what you want.”
“You know what I want.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Fuck me.” The words come out desperate. “Please, just fuck me.”
He groans, low and rough. He adjusts his grip, holding me like I weigh nothing, and his hand slides between us, pushing my underwear aside. His fingers find me, slick and swollen and aching, and he makes a sound like I’ve wounded him.
“So wet.” He strokes through my folds, circling my clit until my thighs are shaking. “All this, just from kissing me?”
“From you telling me you wanted to kidnap me and keep me prisoner.” I don’t know why I say it. Maybe because I want to see his reaction.
His eyes flare with heat. “That turns you on?”
“Apparently.”
“Fuck, Mina.” He pushes two fingers inside me, and I clench around him, gasping. “You’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect.”
He works me hard, his thumb on my clit, his fingers curling to find the spot that makes stars burst behind my eyes. I’m close already, embarrassingly close, and he seems to know it, reading my body like a map he’s memorized.
“Not yet.” He slows his hand, keeping me on the edge. “Not until I’m inside you.”
“Then get inside me.”
He laughs, dark and breathless, and withdraws his fingers. I whimper at the loss, and he lifts his hand to his mouth, sucking my arousal from his skin while holding my gaze.
“I’ve dreamed about how you taste.” His voice is low and rough. “I need you so badly I can’t think straight.”
He sets me down just long enough to shove his trousers down his hips and pull my dress over my head. Then he’s lifting me again, my back against the window, his cock notching at my entrance.
“Look at me,” he commands.
I do, my arms wrapped tight around his neck. His amber eyes are burning and feral.
“I’m going to fuck you against this window,” he says. “And you’re going to scream my name. And tomorrow, when you’re sore and aching, you’re going to remember that you chose this. You pulled me down and kissed me. You begged me to fuck you. This isn’t something I took from you, Mina. It’s something you gave me.”
He pushes inside.
The stretch is overwhelming. It’s been five years, and he’s big, and my body has to remember how to take him. I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders, and he holds still, trembling with the effort of restraint.
