Page 86 of Tainted Obsession 1

He removes one of the clamps, and I cry out at the shock of pain as blood rushes back to my abused nipple. He immediately soothes me with his tongue, a wickedly decadent sensation that makes my eyes roll back in my head. He removes the second clamp and licks me until I shudder with pleasure.

“One more,dolcezza,” he coaxes, nuzzling my hair. “I want one more.”

I’m floating, my body too spent for another orgasm. My hands curve around his broad shoulders, and my legs lock around his hips.

“Take me.” I barely recognize my lust-slurred voice. “I’m yours, Massimo.”

His control finally snaps. He thrusts into me, claiming me like a man possessed. With each deep stroke, his cockhead drags across my g-spot. Impossibly, pleasure builds again, like rumbling thunder gathering at my core.

“That’s it,” he hisses as I clamp down on him. “Come for me, Evelyn.”

My orgasm rolls through me, a slow, warm wave of bliss. He kisses the tears that wet my cheeks, tasting them with his tongue.

He murmurs to me in a low stream of Italian. I don’t understand the words, but I feel the warmth of his praise.

As the last shudders of my orgasm fade, he comes undone on a snarl, releasing his seed inside me. Heat lashes at me, branding me as his.

With his cock deep inside me and his diamonds encircling my neck, there’s no doubt in my mind: I belong with Massimo.

Chapter 32

Evelyn

“I’ve got you,” Massimo promises, his big hands grasping both of mine as he leads me forward. “I won’t let you fall.”

I consider telling him that the blindfold isn’t necessary, but he’s so intent on surprising me that I decide not to argue.

Besides, I trust him completely; I know he won’t let me fall.

And whatever he wants to offer me, I’ll accept it without protest. With Massimo, I don’t have to fear that gifts will come with strings attached. He wants to spoil me, and I’ll let him. Because it makes him happy.

I’ll do almost anything to earn his proud, stunning smile. In the aftermath of our intense sex yesterday, I’m desperate for him. I need his touch, his protection, his happiness.

A door opens, and humid air kisses my skin. A gentle, warm breeze ruffles my hair, carrying the sweet scent of flowers. My brow furrows.

Before I ask where we are, the blindfold falls away, revealing a lush rooftop garden. Beautiful flowers bloom in a riot of color, from soft pink to rich royal blue.

“Carmen told me that her friend maintains this garden for her,” he explains. “I thought we might have some privacy here.”

I remember the first time I saw him: when he watched me in the market. Our eyes locked across the flower stall, and his stunning silver gaze took my breath away.

“I thought you might like to photograph them,” he rumbles, drawing my attention from the beautiful blooms to his perfect face.

My heart leaps. He’s holding a camera, a Canon EOS DSLR.

I’ve never dreamed that I’d be able to afford such an expensive model. For a moment, I can’t speak. I can barely breathe.

I haven’t held a camera in weeks.

Even before the nightmare with the cartels began, George restricted my art. He didn’t let me venture out to take photographs, and on the rare occasions when he accompanied me to do so, he complained about boredom. He always made my art seem like a waste of time, an imposition. He minimized my passion and repeated the cruel words my parents always inflicted upon me: that I’ll never be a successful artist, and I’m a fool for thinking otherwise.

Now, Massimo offers me a camera and encourages me to pursue my art.

You’re an artist.I remember what he said when I told him about the impracticalities of a career as a photographer.

He won’t allow me to dismiss my dream.

His eyes cloud with uncertainty when I don’t take the gift immediately. “Do you like it? I can get you a different one.”