Page 69 of Out of Control

I keep my eyes on him as I make a show of getting on my knees. Of staring at him over my shoulder as I lower myself to my elbows. As pushing my ass up in the air at the same time his cock presses ever so gently at my entrance.

“Christ,” he grits out the same time there’s laughter outside the window from unknowing passersby.

I push back and onto him slowly until he’s as deep as I can take him. The longing for him while he’s been gone along with the desperation of knowing how good he feels combines for an enhanced anticipation that has my nerves buzzing and my pulse racing.

“Sofia. God. Yes. Fuck me.”

I smile. It’s for myself, but I fucking smile, because there’s something about hearing what I do to him in the gravel of his voice that’s a seduction all in itself.

And so I do what he asks. I begin to rock my hips back and forth onto his. Teasing and taking and angling so I get as much as I can out of this.

He fists a hand in my hair and pulls my head up so my neck arches. “You’re beautiful like this. Your ass. Your pussy stretching around me, taking me as deep as you can. Your arousal coating my balls. Take me, baby. Take all of me.”

There’s no grace in our actions. No finesse in skill. Just two people desperate for one another. Two bodies needing the release the other one can give. Two lovers covered in paint, laughing when a knee slips in it or my elbow slides some.

But his lips find my shoulders and his cock hits all the right places.

And soon we’ve forgotten about paint on our bodies and people wandering by outside. The outside noise has gotten lost to the feel of each other. To the delicious pressure and the surge of bliss as I get dragged beneath the first swell and he follows soon thereafter to a tidal wave of sensations.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Sofia

“You have paint . . .” He breaks out in a grin. “Everywhere.”

“I wonder how that happened?” I reach out and dab a fingertip of white paint on his nose, about the only place on his face that I haven’t already marked.

“I don’t know but I’d be more than willing to give you a full-body inspection to see if you need more.” He holds out a fork with pasta wrapped around it for me to take a bite of. “Eat.”

“Mm. That’s good.”

“I know. That’s why I got it.” He offers me a shy, lopsided smile. “Good thing you had everything taped off and covered.”

“Good thing.”

“It gives a new meaning to body painting.”

I laugh. It feels so good to. I’ve been stressed over this place. Stressed that someone would figure out that Rossi and I are involved—because regardless of labels, when you get off an airplane and go straight to the other person, you are in fact involved in one way or another. Over the impending feeling of waiting for el patriarca to acknowledge this gallery. Just . . . everything.

“Thank you for coming to see me,” I whisper as we both lean back against a yet-to-be-painted wall and look at each other across the short distance.

“You talk a good game, Bellissima,” he says referring to our numerous sexy text exchanges over the past two weeks since we last saw each other. “I needed to make sure you could back it up.”

I blush and roll my eyes, my body already heating beneath his praise. “And?”

“Well, while your painting skills need a bit of work”—his grin widens—“you can definitely back it up.”

Our gazes hold a few seconds longer. This is supposed to be fun. Supposed to be sex. It’s not supposed to be me feeling all mushy when he shows up here unexpectedly to feed me, to sex me up, and to help.

But that’s exactly how I’m feeling every time he looks at me like that.

He blows out a breath and turns his head to survey the space in front of us.

I immediately get nervous, wanting him to like what I’ve done here and understand why I selected this space. “It doesn’t look like much but—”

“I see your vision.” He points to the blueprint I have taped to the paper on one of the windows. “And it’s going to be incredible.”

“You think?”