Chapter Twenty-Two
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP
PAST
W e’re silent as we enter his home. Quiet as he turns a lamp on, just enough light to illuminate but dim enough that there are plenty of shadows to hide my anxiousness in.
He stands in front of me, pushing my hair to the side to kiss my neck. I try to train my face to remain emotionless, even though he can’t see me. If I start now, when it becomes too intense, I won’t fall apart. It won’t seem like I’m in too deep.
Maybe I already am and that’s why I try so hard to fight it in this moment.
And then we aren’t quiet anymore.
“Ever fucked a grown man, Sabrina?” He asks as he grips my upper arms and turns me to face him.
My jaw is clenched, rivaling the pressure I use to squeeze my thighs together.
He’s the antidote to my poker face. The only man in the world who’s ever been able to find the chink in my armor and make a sport of widening it until he can reach inside me and rip my resolve to shreds.
“You don’t scare me,” I whisper, even as I taste the flavor of deceit.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes glittering with triumph.
“Fear is exhilarating, isn’t it?” He brings his palm up to my cheek. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Stellina . But I’d be lying if I said you don’t scare me.”
I can’t handle his words, can’t bear to hear him tell me these things that make me feel like I’m as powerful as he makes me out to be. I can’t handle bringing a man like Abraham Pugliesi to his knees.
So I grab him by the lapels of his jacket and kiss him, determined to lose myself in this tryst, even if just for tonight.
With a moan, I start to tug at his jacket, wanting to finally see him. Feel him. It drops to the ground behind him, and he grabs my face with both hands, slowing the kiss down until it’s sweet like honey.
“I want to take my time with you,” he murmurs between kisses, soft little presses that he tickles with the tip of his tongue. This feels intimate, deep…meaningful.
“I don’t think I can,” I whisper, closing my eyes, letting my desire shine through in a way I haven’t fully been able to before.
I’ve never known sexual attraction like this. I’m used to a short-lived spark, typically ending in me pleasuring myself once they’ve gone. This is so far from that already.
Without another word, he lifts me in his arms, and I yelp, opening my eyes to stare down at him as I wrap my legs around him. I’ve never been handled like this. It makes me feel divinely feminine.
We head toward the hallway, an area I haven’t been in, and I’m torn between staring at him and wanting to bury my face in his neck. To smell him and forever remember the first time I’ve ever been swept off my feet.
“I told you I want to fuck you in my bed,” he tells me as he reaches one hand behind me to open the door we’ve stopped in front of.
“Like a queen?” I say, my words ragged. I am unrecognizable. Maybe it took witnessing a different side of him to unearth a side of myself I had yet to meet.
Rather than speak, he sits me down on his bed, never breaking eye contact. I can’t look at anything other than him, as he pins me with his stare. I try to return the favor but lose, my gaze eventually volleying between watching his hands unbutton his shirt and his eyes that I can’t completely see in the dim light coming from his windows.
He pulls at his shirt, yanking it from his waistband to reveal his undershirt. A quick flick of his fingers has his pants unbuttoned and when those are off, he tugs his undershirt from his body.
Finally, finally , I can see his naked skin. A smattering of dark hair adorns his chest and just below his navel, the rest hiding under the waistband of his briefs. The sinewy muscles that bunch with each movement, his proud erection jutting from his body and aimed straight at me.
Impressive.
He reaches for my hand, entwining it with his in a sweet moment that counters the natural desire I have to get in, get off, and get out. Still I smile, unable to hide my pleasure at the gesture. He presses a kiss to my wrist, where my pulse jumps.
“Touch me,” he says, his words sounding like a wish. I nod and he guides my hand to his chest. I can feel the steady thump of his heart, quicker than normal. He grins, and I envy his ability to show me his cards outright. He wears his nervousness in such a sexy way.
When I glance up at his eyes, he slides my hand down his chest, to his hard, tightened core muscles. I can feel the slight quiver there, as if he’s barely holding himself together.
And then, my hand is pushed further down, into the waistband of his black boxer briefs. It’s immediate, the feeling of his hard, warm length as I brush my fingers against it. He skips a breath as I find it fully, wrapping my fingers around it.
No wonder he’s such a cocky little shit.
“Sabrina,” he says, the end of my name a sexy chuckle as my eyes find his.
“Do you want to see me?” I ask him as I run my thumb over the silky hardness of his erection.
He nods, pulling my hand away from him and lifting the bottom of my dress. I hold my hands up as he slips it over my head and the cool air meets my naked skin.
If I thought his stare was unnerving when I’m clothed, it’s nothing compared to when I’m not. His eyes rove over my bare breasts, my stomach, my panties, my legs that shake at the thought of what we’re doing here.
Sex has always been an activity. Something to relieve stress. Something just to help me borrow confidence from.
But it’s entirely different here, with Abraham.
The confidence I’m gaining here is far from the superficial kind that only bolsters me for a few days. The intimacy of taking our time and seeing each other…it’s unlike anything I’ve experienced before.
Usually, it’s quick and sweaty and the lack of intimacy is just routine.
He reaches out to cup my breast and I sigh, unsure of how to react to this languid sexual chemistry. I want to hurry, to hide my need in something fast and sweaty and rough.
Like this, I’m exposed. Like this, I’m vulnerable. I shiver when he runs the pad of his thumb over my nipple.
His hand slides to my sternum and he pushes me back until I’m laying flat.
I feel him hook the waistband on my panties under his fingers and when he pulls them down, I lift my hips to help accommodate.
This is the quietest he’s been since I met him. I used to think it was too much when he spoke but now, I find his silence far more intense.
What is he thinking?
He remains silent as he presses kisses all along my body, starting at my insteps. When he reaches my thighs, I half expect him to bury himself between my legs but when he doesn’t, opting to climb up my body instead, I’m happy to see his face, smiling down at me.
He kisses me, long, deep, sweet sweeps of his tongue that remind me of what it feels like to feel it inside of me. He pulls away from me, running a finger down my face, to my chin.
“I want you to turn over,” he tells me, his eyes on my lips. “Will you do that for me?”
I swallow before I nod, watching as he braces himself before settling back to sit. I’m wordless as I turn over and when I don’t feel him move, I glance back at him.
“Look at me just like that, beautiful girl,” he instructs, standing to pull his boxer briefs down. I try not to stare but as his fingers grip his length, I catch the grin he sends me.
Words escape us as he settles behind me, running his hands up the backs of my legs. I try not to move but when he reaches between my legs, I can’t help the way I jerk, muffling my face in the bed so he can’t hear my gasp.
I feel his warm, bare skin as he slides up against my body. Feel his dick as it trails against me, staking its claim on me. His hands find my hips, pulling me up while his knee spreads my legs apart with an ease that leaves me breathless.
He presses a kiss against the base of my neck, just before sliding his fingers against my scalp and yanking my hair at its roots, pulling my face up.
“Don’t hide from me.” His words are forceful as he huffs an exhale, keeping one hand in my hair until he’s convinced my head is going to remain upright. Once he’s satisfied, that hand slides to the front of my neck, his thumb on one side and fingers on the other. A light squeeze has my body shaking, before he releases, straightening.
The power, the dominance, the care.
I shudder as I look back at him, watching the way he looks down at me, wondering what he thinks of me spread so openly before him.
When he presses his thumb just inside me, my hips buck back, and I press my eyes shut only to open them when I feel a sting on my right ass cheek.
Heavy eyes look back at me as I register the shock coursing through me. He speaks evenly, as if I’ve ever allowed a man to spank me before.
“You wear pink so well,” he murmurs, his palm smoothing over skin that I’m sure wears his handprint. But I’m not sure that it’s only the handprint that he’s talking about as he leans back a little.
When his gaze flits to mine, I meet his stare with my own timid one, peering up through my lashes as he tilts his head to the side.
“Who is this shy beauty before me?”
“I’m not shy,” I say, wishing he would do something. Anything to push me over the edge.
“Good.” He offers no warning before he reaches for one of my hips to press me back against him, his other hand finding my neck again. Maybe his aim is perfection or maybe I’m too wet to miss but the way he slides right inside has me gasping. He pulls out and I groan at the way I miss his length, his girth, the way we sound together.
“Please,” I whimper, my eyes half-closed.
“Say it again,” he commands, and I’d think he was fully in control if his grip didn’t tighten on my neck.
“Please, Abraham,” I tell him, my voice hoarse from the light pressure. “Please. ”
He rolls his head back with a groan before plunging himself back inside, the beginnings of a rhythm forming, and I meet each thrust with my own effort.
In my euphoric haze, I almost miss the way he hangs his head, his lips puckered as he spits. It lands at the base of my tailbone, and I shiver as it slides down, just as his thumb stops it at my other entrance.
He presses it inside, while squeezing at my neck again and I lose myself for a second.
I reach between my legs, and he leans over to bite my shoulder and I cry out.
“Put your hand down,” he commands, anger and lust thickening his accent. “I don’t need your help to make you come.”
We’re a frenzy of moans, grunts, and the wrestling of dominance between us.
I may have my ass in the air, and he may have his hand on my neck, but I meet each thrust with a fervor of my own, counting on the way his grunts gain in volume and he quickens his thrusts.
I feel the impending orgasm, unfamiliar, stronger than what I’ve been able to work from my own body. I gasp as it takes over, his hold on my neck keeps me from hiding my face.
“ Merda ,” Abraham grinds out just before his own orgasm takes over.
We topple over, satiated, and he pulls me into his arms, kissing my forehead before running his fingers through my hair.