“Shh. Quietly.”
He opened me with his thumbs, exposing my clit to his tongue. He was good, so good. Skilled, yes, but he loved it. Loved every inch of my body. Loved every place we joined and touched. No one could do what he did without love.
I dug my fingers into his hair and put my legs on the armrests. I pressed my hips into him, whispering, “Yes, yes, yes.”
The closer I got, the slower his tongue got. I was engorged, soaked, gasping for breath, and the tip of his tongue barely touched the very edge of my clit.
“Please, Capo, I’m so close.”
He said nothing, answering by keeping his movements slow and light. The build, drop by drop, filling an ocean of tension, felt impossibly taut.
But still… he was slow and steady.
“Please, please. Oh, God let me go.”
I looked at him. He moved his face from me, smiling. The air touching my clit was going to bring me right to orgasm.
“Stay there,” he said, getting his pants down. “Don’t move.”
He sat on the footrest, his cock a waiting rod. He pulled me up, and I maneuvered myself to straddle him and brought myself onto him. I was so close already, so full of blood, tight as a drum, that when I slid my body onto his length, my body crackled to life. I moved back up and slowly, slowly back down again. The pace left me time to feel every inch, every trickle of pleasure, building at the next perfectly timed stroke.
I exploded, curving against him, biting back a howl. He held me still while he pounded me from below, and I came in a torrent, wiped clean of worry, stress gone, just a flood of love. When I looked at him, his lips were parted and his breath had become ragged. He held my face and pulled me close. I moved along him, still feeling shots of pleasure where we joined. He put his face to mine, his short breaths against my mouth.
“Ti voglio bene, Theresa. Ti amerò sempre. Fino alla fine dei miei giorni.”
His eyes closed in utter surrender, and he came inside me, giving me everything.
We panted together for a few minutes, clutching each other, his dick still inside me. We had ten or fewer short breaths together before he pulled back.
“You ready?” he said, looking at his watch.
I got up, dripping. “I could be if I knew what we were doing.”
He yanked up his pants. “We’re trusting me. We’re not being afraid.” He tucked in his shirt.
“We’re staying together.”
He held out his hand. When I took it, he kissed it. “Let me check outside first.”
He took me back out into the lunch room.
I let him, because he asked me to. I slid a paper cone from the sleeve and rested my hand on the watercooler lever. I let him walk to the door because I didn’t think anything of it. He’d asked me to trust him, which was redundant, because I trusted him already. He’d tried to leave me to protect me four times, and all four times he’d come back to me.
So why would I expect a fifth time?
That would be crazy.
Right?
I released the water lever when the cone was full, watching him in admiration of his grace. He looked out the door, the angle of his body as desirable in my satisfaction as it had been ten minutes earlier in my ache.
He looked back at me, fingers sliding along the edge of the door. “You should never doubt that I love you.”
“Neither should you.”
“I’m not trying to protect you,” he said.
“Thank you for that.” I brought the cone to my mouth. The water numbed my upper lip with an icy shock.
He clicked a button on the door’s edge. “This is something else.”
He stepped outside and closed the door with a resounding click, and I dropped the paper cone, splashing cold water on my feet.
Then the fire alarm started.