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He laughs, the sound wrapping around me like silk. “Greedy, Fina. I love it.” His grin disarms me. It's boyish, dangerous.
“Wait here,” he says, pulling on loose pants, the fabric clinging to his hips. He leaves, and I’m alone, the quiet heavy with anticipation. I grab a silk robe from his chair, slipping it on, the fabric gliding over my skin, cool, sensual. It’s his, oversized, smelling faintly of him, and I savor it, my fingers tracing the hem.
I’m sore, body aching from two rounds, yet my pussy throbs, craving him still. It’s madness, this unyielding hunger. He’s dangerous, my enemy. I shouldn't be frolicking with him. Thisnew territory is treacherous and uncharted. I should stop, pull back, but I can’t, my desire drowning the voice of reason.
He returns—the object of my inner turmoil—carrying a tray that includes crostini with olive tapenade, prosciutto, a bottle of Barolo and two glasses. The scent of olives and wine fills the air. He sets it on the bed, but his eyes catch the robe, and they narrow to slits.
“Take it off,” he murmurs, his voice commanding, yet soft. “I want you bare, principessa.”
I raise an inquiring brow, but comply, letting the robe slip to the floor. I sit cross-legged, unashamed, my skin flushed under his gaze. We eat, eyes locked, the air crackling with tension that's tight enough to break. I bite a crostini, licking tapenade from my fingers slowly. I watch his gaze darken in reaction. I lower my gaze, and I catch the moment his cock stirs and harden, tenting his pants.
Damn. So soon?
I don't want to give in to it, to him yet. I need to pull back for a while to consider what exactly the fuck I'm doing. I try to distract him. “You look… homely,” I say, breaking the heat. It's a playful jab, because he’s anything but. He's all danger and allure.
He laughs, his eyes glinting. “Homely? Wait till I’m inside you, principessa. You’ll sing a different song.” His words unravel me, heat flooding my core, shattering whatever sensibility I'd managed to gather.
As if in a spell, I shove the tray aside, crawling toward him. My lips crash into his. He kisses back, his mouth against mine, gentle, tasting of wine. His tongue penetrates the seam of my lips, clashing with my tongue, teasing slowly and deliberately. I moan, softly, my hands sliding over his chest, feeling his warmth, his strength. His fingers graze my back in a light caress, igniting shivers, and I’m melting, consumed by his tenderness.
His lips trail my jaw, kissing softly, making me tremble. I straddle his lap, thighs framing his hips, my pussy grazing his cock through his pants, warm and tempting. He groans, hands resting on my hips, guiding but not forcing, letting me lead. I kiss him deeper, out tongues dancing. My breasts press against him, nipples tight and aching.
I pull back, hands tugging his pants down, freeing his hard cock, hard. I marvel, stunned, at how fast he’s ready again, mere minutes after our last lovemaking. My touch alone, my gaze, brings him to life, and it’s thrilling.
He kicks his pants off and lies back, eyes burning, inviting me to take control. I hover over him, my pussy brushing his tip teasingly. I lower myself slowly, savoring the length of his cock as it fills me. It's just perfect. I moan, hands splaying on his chest to anchor myself.
His hands find my waist in a gentle, encouraging move, not bruising. I move sensually, hips rolling, taking him deep smoothly. Each glide is exquisite, pleasure blooming, soft and intense. His groan is low, his eyes never leaving mine. I’m alive, radiant, every nerve humming, and he’s mine, surrendering to my rhythm.
I lean down, kissing him, lips soft, lingering, our breaths mingling. My hips circle, drawing out his moans, making him tremble. His hands slide to my breasts to cup them. His thumbs brush over my nipples, sending gentle waves through me. I gasp, arching, my movements steady, controlled, savoring every inch of him.
My hands trace his chest, fingers grazing his sugar skull tattoo, roses vivid on his forearm. His heartbeat races, matching mine, and I’m captivated, lost in him. I ride him expertly, hips swaying, gliding. My pleasure builds. It's warm and consuming. The wet sound of our bodies is soft, intimate, filling the room, and I’m moaning quietly.
His hands guide my hips, light and encouraging, his groans growing desperate. I keep the pace, sensual, unhurried, letting pleasure swell. I kiss him again, tongues slow, tasting each other, and my moans blend with his, the air thick with our heat. My pussy tightens, pleasure cresting, gentle, overwhelming.
I’m close, my movements steady, hips rolling, chasing release. His hands cup my breasts, squeezing softly. His thumbs circle my nipples, pushing me higher. I moan, louder, my body trembling, pleasure blooming, warm and unstoppable. I grind down, taking him deeper, and I come, a soft cry, my pussy shuddering, waves rolling, enveloping me, shattering gently.
He follows, a low moan. His release is warm, filling me. Our bodies are locked, trembling, sated. His hands hold my hips, grounding me. His eyes take on a soft and adoring hue.
I collapse onto him, breathless, my body limp and fulfilled. He pulls me close into his warm and solid chest. Our breaths slow, ragged, mingling in the quiet. I rest my head on him, listening to his heartbeat steadying, a rhythm I sink into. It's safe and comforting—this moment feels too real.
The air is heavy with sex, sweat, us, a scent that lulls me. My eyes grow heavy, his warmth wrapping around me, protective, intimate. I’m drifting, his breathing soft, the only sound in the room, a gentle cadence that soothes me, anchors me.
I’m tired, bone-deep, yet my mind stirs. My skin tingles, warm from our intimacy. Tonight—our bodies tangled, lost in each other—burns in me. I’m addicted to him, to this fire, this need. It’s trouble. It's a betrayal of our pact. We’re enemies, bound by duty, not desire.
I try to reason, to see the danger. This marriage is a truce, a facade, yet I ache for him, my body defying logic, still hungry despite the ache. I’m too tired to fight it, to parse the risk of this craving. My thoughts blur, heavy, unable to hold the weight.
The realization softens, wrapping me like a blanket. His warmth seeps in, the sugar skull tattoo on his forearm faintly visible, roses stark in the dim light. My eyes flutter heavily, his heartbeat a steady guide, easing me down.
I’m sinking, my body molding to his. His arms hold me gently, too tender for our truth. My mind quiets, the problem of my need a faint whisper, fading, comforting in its persistence.
My eyes close, his heartbeat a lullaby, steady, slow. I’m slipping, dozing, wrapped in his embrace, the air thick with our intimacy. I surrender, letting sleep take me, lost in him, in us—whatever the hell we are.
15
Enzo
Sunlight filters in through the curtains. It’s soft, pale, barely lighting the room. The air smells of vanilla and sex. It’s raw, sharp, waking me up. My legs are tangled with a woman’s. Her skin is warm, bare, pressed against me. I blink. My mind is slow and hazy.
It’s Serafina. She’s in my bed. Her body fits mine closely, soft curves melding into the hard planes of my body. Her face is tucked into my neck. Her breaths are feather-light, brushing my skin. Her leg rests between my thighs. It grazes my cock. It jerks to life, hardening fast. Memories from last night rushes back—her moans, her fire, her hunger.