Page 20 of Devil Among Men

He works his way down my body, his mouth tracing every curve and hollow, tasting my skin like he is relearning a language he was afraid he had forgotten. By the time he settles between my thighs I have lost any coherent thought. His tongue finds my pussy and strokes slow and unhurried, learning me again, reacquainting himself with every place that makes me gasp.

My fingers fist in his hair as he works me over. He seals his mouth over my clit and sucks, gently at first and then with focused intention that makes my back arch off the mattress.

He groans against me— a low, hungry sound—and the vibration of it shoots straight through me. He slides two fingers inside me, working them in a rhythm that matches the relentless press of his tongue, and I stop trying to hold anything back. I ride his face and his fingers without a single ounce of self-consciousness, chasing every stroke, my heels pressing into the mattress, my hips rolling forward, and when I finally shatter it is with his name on my lips and my fingers pulling his hair hard enough that he’ll feel it tomorrow.

He works me through every wave of it, unhurried and thorough, not easing up until I am twitching and oversensitive and have to tug at his hair to pull him up.

He doesn’t give me time to recover. He’s moving up my body, mouth finding mine, and I taste myself on his lips.

Settling between my legs, I reach down and wrap my hand around his big dick, slowly stroking him.

“Fuck Portia,” he groans.

“You spent a very long time down there. I’m simply returning the favor.”

“Sei una tortura,” he grits out. His hips involuntarily press forward, seeking more friction.

I smile against his jaw. “I agree. So how about now? I’ve waited long enough.”

He pushes into me and we both groan at the fullness of it, at the particular relief of finally closing the distance that weeks of fear and stubbornness and mutual wrongheadedness kept between us. I feel every inch of him, thick and throbbing, my walls stretching and clenching to accommodate him, and when he is fully seated inside me we both go still for a moment, breathing ragged, foreheads nearly touching.

“You feel—” He cuts himself off, his jaw going tight. “Cazzo, Portia. You feel like—non ho le parole.”

I don’t have the words.

His strokes are long and deep, brushing against my sensitive nerve endings. His hips roll and I dig my nails into his shoulders and meet his rhythm.

His pace builds, the headboard knocking against the wall. I continue clawing at his back and shoulders. Pleasure builds sharp and relentless at the base of my spine.

“Yes, go harder!” I gasp.

He instantly obliges, one hand bracing against the headboard and the other gripping my hip so hard I will wear his fingerprints for days.

The new angle drives him deeper. The obscene slick sound of us fills the room alongside the knock of the headboard and my own broken, breathless noises.

“Sei così bella,” he grits against my throat, hips pounding into mine.

You are so beautiful.

“I love you,” I whimper. “I love you and I am furious at you and I love you.”

“Ti amo, dolcezza.” The words tear out of him between ragged breaths.

My orgasm crashes through me before I fully see it coming.

My walls clench around his dick in fierce rolling waves as I cry out against his shoulder and drag him down into a bruising kiss. He drives into me through every second of it, groaning at how I grip him.

He shudders and then spills inside me.

Once completely spent, his arms give out and he collapses between me.

We lie still, neither of us moving.

“Portia,” he rasps, lifting his head and brushing hair from my brow. “That was⁠—”

“Hmmm?” I hum, peering at him curiously.

The corner of his mouth curves. “Era tutto.”