“Where are you going? I’m not done with you yet.” His voice is a love song, soft and tender, deep with possessiveness and the promise of luscious sin. It dances over me like a caress, and I shiver in its wake.
“I want to touch you,” I complain, though it’s not really a complaint. How can it be when he’s reduced me to this quivering, boneless mass of warm lethargy?
His dark chuckle is knowing. “Later. It’s my turn now.”
Big, hot hands slide up my legs, cup my ass. I close my eyes and hug the rumpled bed covers as those talented hands delve between my thighs and spread them wide.
Exposed. Swollen and wet. He’s taken me twice now. Once on the terrace, and then on the bed, where he was slower, more thorough, taking his time, making me beg for it. And beg, I did, pleading and panting, losing my ever-loving mind.
He rewarded me for it, making me come until I wept, stroking my skin, telling me I was his good girl in that low, stern voice I’ll forevermore equate with sex and pleasure.
He uses it now, a weapon in its own right. “So pretty,” he says, from his spot between my thighs. “I knew you’d be so pretty.”
The need to please him rises up within me. I tilt my hips, lifting my ass higher, showing him more of me. He hums in approval, his hands caressing my lower back, behind my knee. His breath tickles my inner thigh, and then he blows on my clit.
I groan, fighting the urge to push down and catch his mouth.
He knows. The dirty bastard knows what he’s doing to me. I feel the smile on his lips as he presses a kiss to my butt. And, really, I should make him pay for that, but his hand slides up my thigh, and my breath stalls as the tip of his finger slowly circles my opening.
“Mmm,” he says, swirling his fingers around, gently teasing. “So pretty.”
He dips his finger into me, barely enough to feel, then slides back out, gathering my wetness only to sink back in, deeper this time.
A soft kiss to the sensitive swell of my clit makes me jolt. Gently, so gently. Barely there at all, and yet it holds all of my attention. The lazy flick of his tongue, a lingering suckle, little kisses, and all the while slowly fucking me with his finger.
I close my eyes, concentrate on his touch and the way he keeps teasing, collecting the slick wet pooling at my opening, then plunging deep.
My eyes snap open, a gurgle of shock leaving my lips. He’s pushing his come back into me.
It’s so fucking dirty, so illicit, that heat and lust take my breath. A shuddering moan leaves me. I undulate against his touch, begging. Slower. Deeper. Harder. Faster. I don’t care, as long as there is more.
A soft huff of breath against my skin, almost a laugh but lower, as if he too needs more. Slow kisses map their way up my back, as he presses me into the bed with the heat of his body. He doesn’t give me all his weight, just enough to make me feel him.
He kisses my neck, his breath coming faster as he sinks another finger in. He goes so deep this time, straining against me, it almost hurts. But it’s not enough.
“Gabriel,” I choke out, spreading my thighs wider.
“Shhh,” he whispers, kissing my cheek, sliding his hips between my thighs. His cock lays heavy and hot on my ass. His fingers work me, a slow plunge, a teasing drag.
“Now,” I rasp. “Now.”
“Darling,” he whispers. My name, an endearment. They’re one and the same now.
I lay beneath him panting and shaking, so hot I can barely breathe. But he’s right there with me, his breath a rasp, tremors running through him and into me. He lifts his hips, and his cock sinks into me, the fit tighter now because he hasn’t removed his fingers.
The stretch burns, and I’m coming before the first thrust. It washes over me in a slow, rolling wave. I cry out, sobbing.
Gabriel pulls his fingers out and grasps my hands in his. “Sophie,” he says as he begins to thrust, slow yet intense, as if he never wants to stop.
“Don’t,” I say, unable to form proper thoughts. “Don’t ever stop.”
He shudders and groans, his lips against my damp cheek. His answer is one word. “Mine.”
And it is everything.
* * *
Gabriel
* * *
“Look, this isn’t rocket science. Simply lift your leg and straddle it—”
“I’d rather attempt rocket science.”
“You’re kicking up too big a fuss over this.”
“It’s a death trap on two wheels. Tiny wheels.”
“It’s a Vespa, Darling. We’re going to tour the town on it. Very Roman Holiday.”
“We aren’t in Rome.”
“Stop nitpicking. Come along, get into the spirit. You love that movie.”
“True. You’d make a great Gregory Peck, but sadly I’m no Audrey Hepburn.”
“You’re definitely more a Marilyn.”
“I’m not seeing that as a compliment, mister.”
“Believe me, it is. Now onto the scooter with you, chatty girl. I want to feel those fantastic tits pressed against my back.”
“I’m beginning to think you have a preoccupation with my boobs.”
“I have a preoccupation with your everything. Stop stalling. The day is wasting, love.”
“You’re not going to let this drop, are you?”