Chapter 28 #2
I don’t realize I’ve made the move until it’s done. My finger crooks, just the barest amount, and brushes against his lips.
But that’s all he needs.
His lips close around the tip of my finger.
Heat detonates in my stomach.
His tongue drags slowly, unhurried, taking the Nutella like he’s tasting me, and I make a sound I do not mean to make—small, needy, desperate.
He releases my finger with a soft, wet pull that makes my knees wobble.
Still boxed in, still not touching me with his hands, he tilts his head and watches my face like he’s reading me.
“Mmm,” he says, and I watch his throat move when he swallows. “Good.”
My skin feels too tight, too hot, too much, and I can’t look away from his mouth.
“You break one rule, Elsa,” he murmurs, “you break them all.”
My mind fizzles out. All my well-laid plans about professionalism, distance, and my career go up in smoke under the weight of the desire I have for this man.
He leans in again and closes his mouth over mine. My brain goes offline.
I kiss him back like I’m starving for him. My hands are in his hair, fisted, holding him to me. His body is flush against mine, but his hands remain where they are, on the counter, caging me in.
I want them on me.
"Touch me." I arch against him in a plea for him to put them on me, touch me anywhere, everywhere. "Antonio."
He doesn't. His tongue teases mine with a slow stroke that has me rising onto my toes to get closer.
He pulls back, just enough to speak, and I chase the loss. “Are you sure about that?” he breathes against my mouth.
My mind is a blank page. “What?”
His gaze is so intense it feels like a physical touch. “That you want my hands on you.” He pushes against me, letting me feel his hard cock through his pants, and my head falls back.
“Yes,” I say. “God, yes.”
“Feel how much I want you, Elsa,” he says, grinding into me. "I can't be gentle with you. Not this first time. Not after so long."
I want to tell him I don’t want gentle. I want hard. I want punishing. I want everything.
Instead, I drag my hands down from his hair to his shoulders, then lower, over the hard muscle of his chest. I toy with the waistband of his sweats, then let my fingers skim underneath, just enough to feel the hot skin of his lower abdomen.
His entire body tenses.
He grabs my hands, still caging me, and pins them to the counter on either side of my hips.
His grip is firm, holding me in place. His thumbs stroke the sensitive skin of my wrists.
“I told you what would happen,” he says, and it’s not a threat. It’s a statement. A fact. He drops his head, and I feel the hard, sharp nip of teeth on my earlobe. “That I wouldn't be able to control myself.”
He bites down again, harder this time, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to my clit.
"Fuck me, Antonio," I bite out. "Now."
He lifts his head, and his eyes are so dark they look almost black.
I’m so turned on I can barely breathe. I’m going to come just like this, with him pinning my wrists to the counter and grinding against me. All bets are off.
And I don’t care.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters, and I feel the last thread of his restraint snap.
He lets go of my wrists and shoves my lounge pants down my hips. They pool at my ankles. Then his hand is between my legs, cupping me, and I cry out at the contact. He strokes me through my panties, which are already soaked.
“Tell me you want this,” he says, but it isn’t a question. He knows I want this.
“Yes,” I moan, and I’m trying to get friction against his hand, trying to get more.
He pulls my panties aside and slides a finger through my wet folds. He circles my clit with a slow touch that has my hips bucking.
“More,” I demand. “Please.”
He slides a finger inside me, and I gasp. He’s not gentle. He’s not careful. He’s taking what he wants, and I want to give him everything.
I feel another finger join the first, and he starts to pump them in and out, hard and fast. His thumb finds my clit and rubs, pressing down just the way I like it.
My hands find the hem of his shirt, and I yank it up to run my hands over his chest, feel the hard muscle. I want to feel all of him. I need to feel all of him.
He pulls away from me, just long enough to drag his shirt over his head and drop it on the floor. Then he’s back, and I’m finally running my hands over all that skin, the hard ridges of his abs, the solid muscle of his back. I keep my fingers gentle over the still-healing wound on his torso.
He yanks my own shirt over my head, and then his mouth is on my breast, sucking my nipple through the thin material of my bra.
“Off,” I say, and I’m fumbling with the clasp. I get it open, and he pushes the straps down my arms.
He doesn’t waste any more time. He lifts me onto the counter and shoves my legs apart to step between them as he removes the last of my pants and panties, which cling to my wet pussy before he yanks them down my legs and drops them on the floor.
He takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks hard, and I arch my back, a cry escaping my lips. He pinches my other nipple, and the pleasure is so sharp it borders on pain.
He’s a man starved, and I’m the feast. And I’ve never been so turned on in my life.
“Antonio,” I gasp. “I need you inside me.”
He lifts his head, and his eyes are dark with desire. “Not yet.”
Then he's spreading my legs wider, and I think he's going to dive right in. Instead, he grabs the can of whipped cream and shakes it, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face.
“No,” I say, a laugh bubbling up. “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I would,” he says, and sprays a line of whipped cream down my stomach. Then he adds a dollop on each nipple.
He sets the can down and looks at me like he’s admiring a work of art.
"I believe I was robbed of my dessert," he says, then lowers his head.
He licks the whipped cream off my stomach in one stroke.
Then he moves up to my breasts, and I feel the soft tickle of the cream before I feel the firm stroke of his tongue.
He takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks hard, and my hips buck off the counter.
I cry out, my fingers tangling in his hair.
He gives the same attention to my other breast before he moves lower, spreading my legs wide.
I’m bare and open to him, and the way he’s looking at me makes me feel like the most desirable woman in the world. The can is in his hand again, and he sprays a generous dollop of the cold cream right on my clit. I gasp at the shock and jump, but his firm hold keeps me in place.
He sets the can down again, then hooks my legs over his shoulders. He looks up at me, eyes dark.
“Antonio,” I whisper, and it’s a plea. A prayer.
He leans in and licks the whipped cream off my clit.
I cry out, dropping back to the counter on my elbows with a thud. His tongue is hot against my cold skin, and the contrast is dizzying. He licks and sucks, and I’m writhing against him, watching as he feasts on my cunt.
He’s devouring me. He’s eating me like he can’t get enough, like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted to taste
It’s too much. It’s not enough.
I’m so close. I can feel it building, a coil of heat in my stomach, winding tighter and tighter. His fingers dig into my hips, holding me in place, and I finally give in and lie all the way down, feeling the cold counter press against my back.
“Don’t stop,” I gasp. “Please, don’t stop.”
He doesn’t. He speeds up, his tongue flicking against my clit faster and faster, until I’m crying out his name, my body convulsing around him, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over me. I can’t seem to open my legs wide enough.
He licks me through it, drawing it out, until I’m a limp, boneless mess on the counter.
He lifts his head and looks at me, a triumphant glint in his eyes. His chin is slick with my arousal, and he licks his lips.
“Delicious,” he says, his voice rough. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and the sight is so raw and so primal it sends another jolt of pleasure through me.
He moves to stand, then pulls me to sit up. He wraps my legs around his waist, and I feel his hard cock press against me through his sweats.
“Up,” he says, and I wrap my arms around his neck as he lifts me off the counter.
I’m still shaky from my orgasm, and I cling to him as he walks us out of the kitchen. The short distance from the kitchen to the living room feels like it takes an eternity.
He sets me down next to the couch, then turns me around to face it.
“Bend over,” he commands, then simply pushes me over the arm of the couch until my ass is in the air. The position is exposed. Vulnerable. I can feel cool air on my wet pussy.
He moves behind me, and I feel the hard press of his cock against me. He’s still wearing his sweats, and I ache to feel him skin-to-skin.
“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about this the last couple weeks?” he says, his voice a low growl. You bent over and taking my cock.”
I shiver, and I press back against him, a silent plea for more.
He pushes my upper body down so I’m flush against the couch cushions, then he steps back. I hear the soft rustle of fabric hitting the floor, and my heart pounds in anticipation.