Page 93 of The Temptation

Present.

There’s a ticking time bomb hanging over our heads now, and with each passing hour, I can feel her slipping through my fingers.

It’s funny how I was once eager for this arrangement to come to an end, but now I’m savouring our time together, and dreading the expiration date that is looming.

We’ve both showered and are ready for bed. We are currently standing side by side in the bathroom, brushing our teeth.

I’m trying to ignore the little glances Lucia keeps stealing in the mirror, but I am acutely aware of her, this moment, and what is about to come. So is my dick.

Every night when we get into bed, she nestles herself beside me, drapes her arm over my waist, and that fucking hand of hers starts to wander.

She has never gone further than the waistband of my boxers, despite how much my mind has been willing her fingers to do just that. It’s like a sick and twisted game. My cock is always rock-hard with precum weeping from the tip as I silently beg her for some release.

If she’s doing this to try to break me, it’s working.Boy, isit fucking working.I feel like a rubber band stretched to its very limit, and it’s only a matter of time before I snap.

Will tonight be the night?

I’m blaming it on the longest dry spell in history, but the reality is it’s all her. I’m not even beneath the covers yet, and my dick is already throbbing.

What I have with this woman is more than a physical attraction. It’s the way she looks at me, or how she remembers the little things I say in passing, like they matter. How gentle she is with the parts of me I don’t show anyone, or how she makes me feel like I’m worth saving, even when I don’t believe it myself.

Being around her feels like breathing after holding it in for far too long.

The depth of my want for this woman scares the hell out of me. She’s like an addiction. A deep-seated craving I’m not sure I’ll ever shake. The more I try to pull away, the tighter she takes hold.

I’m slowly losing the fight in a battle I’m not sure I want to win.

We make our way to my room in silence, and since Lucia is already dressed in her pyjamas—the tiniest pair of sleep shorts known to man—she grabs the throw pillows and places them on the ottoman at the end of the bed before pulling back the covers and sliding in.

I can tell she’s not wearing any underwear underneath those shorts by the way they ride up that delicious arse of hers.

I move around to my side of the bed, grasp the neck of the T-shirt I threw on after my shower, tug it over my head, and toss it on top of the pillows.

Her eyes are on me, eating me up like the greedy girl I know she is, when I hook my thumbs in the waistband of my grey sweats, slowly dragging them down my legs. Her gazeturns molten with a look of pure, raw, unadulterated lust, and my cock instantly reacts.

Something has shifted between us tonight—the air feels thicker, heavier—and my common sense is screaming at me to walk away before I do something I’ll regret. But I don’t. I do the exact opposite. I slide into bed beside her, switch off the bedside lamp, roll onto my back, and brace myself for the torture I know is coming.

I don’t have to wait long.

Lucia moves in without hesitation, lifts my arm, and slips beneath it like it’s second nature. I don’t stop her. Instead, I curl my fingers around her tiny waist and pull her in until there’s no space left between us.

She presses her warm lips to the centre of my chest, right over my heart, then rests her cheek in that exact spot.

“Goodnight, Mr De Luca,” she whispers into the dark.

I let out a long breath, one she might misinterpret as frustration, and maybe it is, but not for the reasons she thinks. It’s that damn ticking clock in my head, reminding me we have an expiration date.

“Goodnight, Mrs De Luca,” I finally reply, and just like that, she takes it as permission to begin her slow, sweet, agonising tease.

My dick is already rock-hard and tenting my boxers when her featherlike touches skim over my abs. That’s when the lazy circles begin. I’m learning her routine by heart.

The circles soon turn into figure eights, but tonight, instead of skimming along the edge of my underwear, she actually breaches the elastic, sliding the tip of her fingers underneath. It’s not a lot, but it’s too fucking much at the same time.

I suck in a sharp breath, and while my brain screams, “That’s it, sweetheart. Keep going,”what comes out issomething entirely different. I place my hand over hers, stilling her movement.

“Lucia, stop,” I growl as I reach over and flick the lamp back on. My voice is rough and low, like I’m barely holding it together.

She lifts her face and looks at me with wide eyes. Her words come out soft … too soft. “Do you really want me to stop?” she asks, all innocent-like, as if she doesn’t already know the answer.