Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty Three
Antonio
I wake up to quiet and warmth and the weight of Elsa sleeping beside me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
For about three seconds, I let myself enjoy it.
Then the part of my brain that never sleeps kicks in, sharp as a blade.
Apartment check.
I slide out of bed carefully, moving slowly so I don’t jostle her. The room is dim, early light barely bleeding around the edges of the curtains. Elsa shifts, a soft sound in the back of her throat, and I freeze, listening until her breathing evens again.
I pull on my pants and grab the gun from the nightstand. If something is wrong, I’d rather have it in my hand than in another room.
I’m halfway to the bathroom door when her voice stops me.
“Antonio?” Sleepy. Soft. Still rough at the edges.
I turn my head.
She’s propped on one elbow, hair mussed, eyes heavy-lidded. The way she looks so perfect in the bed we just shared makes my chest tighten.
“Bathroom okay?” she asks. “I want to shower.”
“I’ll check first,” I say. “Then it should be fine.”
She gives a small nod like that’s normal too—like it’s normal to have a man doing safety checks in your apartment before you take a shower.
I move to the bathroom and push the door open, scanning the corners before I step in.
The place is exactly the way I left it last night.
I check the linen closet since it’s the only place in the bathroom anyone could actually fit to hide.
Then I check the second door, the one that leads to the hall, and make sure it’s still locked from this side.
Nothing.
Good.
I step back into the bedroom and lock eyes with Elsa—and my brain does that stupid, useless thing where it forgets anything and everything but her.
Because she’s sitting up in bed and she isn’t hiding.
No blanket pulled up. No robe. No attempt to make herself smaller.
Just Elsa—bare skin, relaxed posture, chin lifted slightly like she’s comfortable in her own body in a way that should be illegal.
She’s gorgeous.
A goddess.
My hand tightens on the gun for a second before I force it to loosen, because the urge that hits me is immediate and physical: press her back into the mattress, cover her with my body, and have my way with her. All damn day. Hell, all weekend.
And why the hell not?
It’s not like we have anything else to do.
She must see it on my face because her mouth curves, slow and coy.
“You’re like the Energizer bunny,” she says, voice still sleepy, but the smile is pure trouble.
I step closer, letting my gaze travel—unapologetic. “I mean… look at you,” I say, voice deep and husky. A sexy flush works its way over her skin. “Besides, it’s not like we have anything else to do today.”
Her eyes flick down my body, then back up. Very suggestively.
“Those legs still working, baby?” I ask, because I can’t help myself.
“For now,” she says, and that smile widens.
My pulse thuds low.
“Going to do something about it?” she asks, and then—like she wants to make sure I don’t miss the invitation—she cups her own breasts and rubs her nipples, slow and deliberate.
A sound rips out of me—half growl, half laugh—and I have to look away for a second like that will save me.
“Christ,” I mutter.
She laughs like she enjoys what she’s doing to me. Of course she does.
“After I shower and get some real food,” she says, still laughing. “Then we’ll see how much energy you’ve got.”
She swings her legs out of bed and stands, completely naked, and walks right past me toward the bathroom like she isn’t aware of how my eyes track every step. Every movement. Every sway of her hip, every bounce of her breasts.
At the doorway, she glances back over her shoulder.
“And you,” she says lightly, “have to do your apartment check, remember?”
“Mmm,” I rumble, because my mouth is suddenly too full of wanting her to form an intelligent sentence.
She disappears into the bathroom, and I force myself to turn away before I do something stupid—like follow her in there and forget the safety check.
I exhale once, hard, then make myself move.
Apartment check.
Windows first. Locks. Every latch. Every possible entry point. I walk the perimeter, checking corners, closets, spaces behind doors, the places someone could wedge themselves into if they were desperate and quiet.
Then I go to my laptop and pull up the feeds—my exterior cameras on the windows and doors, the building cameras I tapped into, the street angles I looped from nearby coverage.
I scan. I zoom. I watch for patterns.
Nothing.
No shadows lingering too long. No familiar shapes. No men pretending to be casual.
Clear.
I close the laptop and head straight back toward the bathroom.
I stop in the bathroom doorway and watch her for a moment.
The shower is all glass—clear panels, no frosting, no mercy—and I silently thank whoever decided that was a good idea, because there isn’t a bad angle on her.
Water sluices down her long, lean body, her full breasts tipped in hard peaks that beg for my hands.
She tilts her head back into the spray, her throat arched, water tracing the line of her collarbone.
She’s washed her hair, and the strands are sleek and shiny against her skin.
She hasn’t seen me yet.
I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, just… watching.
Elsa turns, her back to me now, and I watch her soap her body, her hands gliding over her own skin. My cock goes from interested to actively painful. My hand wants to replace hers. I want to taste her. I want to bend her over in there and—
Then she turns her head, as if she felt my stare.
A slow, seductive smile spreads across her mouth, and her voice drops into that husky register that makes my blood heat.
“You gonna just stand there and stare?”
“Maybe,” I say, and my own smile comes out slow, dangerous. “I’m enjoying the view.”
She turns fully toward me, water clinging to every curve. Unashamed. In command.
“Enjoying it enough to join me?” she asks, her eyes dark and inviting.
Her hands slide from her hair, down her throat, over her breasts, which she kneads for a moment, making herself moan. One of her hands then continues its journey down her stomach and between her legs. Her eyes are locked on mine as she slowly rubs her clit.
My breath catches. My own body feels like it's been lit from the inside. She’s not just inviting me. She’s performing for me.
Her fingers move between her legs, her breath hitching, her hips rocking into her own hand. She is a vision, a goddess, and I am a mere mortal, utterly captivated.
A sharp sound of appreciation escapes me.
Her head falls back, exposing the long line of her throat, as she moans and plucks her nipple with her other hand.
And then she lifts her fingers, slick and glistening, and holds them out to me, just like she did last night with the Nutella.
And just like last night, I cannot resist.
“You’re a goddamn menace,” I growl. I shove off the doorframe, remove my gun from my pocket and set it on the counter, and strip off my pants, all in one motion.
She laughs when I wrench open the glass door, a husky, delighted sound that turns into a gasp when I snatch her wrist firmly and yank her against me. Looking into her eyes, I close my lips around her fingers.
A wave of raw lust washes over me as her taste bursts on my tongue—tangy and sweet and so fucking hot, and I’m lost. I lick and suck, cleaning her fingers, my eyes locked on hers. Her pupils dilate, and her breath hitches.
I crowd her against the tiled wall, my body pressing into hers, my cock hard and insistent against her stomach.
"So fucking delicious," I rumble, and then I’m kissing her.
Her arm winds around my neck, holding me close. The kiss isn’t soft. It’s not sweet. It’s a desperate, hungry clash of teeth and tongues, a frantic need to consume and be consumed. Her hands are in my hair, pulling, and I’m gripping her ass, lifting her, pressing her against the wall.
My cock is nestled between her legs, and I rock against her, the friction of her slick skin a delicious torture. She moans into my mouth, her hips bucking, and I can feel her wetness, her readiness.
I break the kiss, panting, and look at her. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips are swollen, and her eyes are dark with need.
"I want to taste you too," she says, her voice a low purr, and before I can process her words, she's pushing against my chest to make room.
She drops to her knees in front of me, the water cascading over her shoulders, and my breath hitches.
I've had this fantasy. I've had it a hundred times since the night we met. Since the first time she took me into her mouth.
But this… this is so much better than any fantasy.
She looks up at me through her wet lashes, and then her tongue darts out, flicking against the tip of my cock.
A guttural groan rips from my chest.
She smiles, a slow, seductive curve of her lips, and then she takes me into her mouth.
Heat. Wet heat. Unbelievable, mind-blowing heat.
She takes me deep, her tongue swirling around my shaft, and I have to brace my hands against the wall to keep from collapsing. My head falls forward, and I close my eyes, just… feeling.
Her lips are tight around me, her suction perfect. She bobs her head, her movements fluid and confident, and her hands are on my thighs, her nails digging into my skin.
"Fuck, Elsa," I gasp, grabbing hold of her wet hair, letting it tangle in my fingers. "Your mouth is… fuck."
She moans around my cock, the vibrations shooting straight to my balls.
I look down at her, at the sight of my dick disappearing between her lips, at the way her cheeks hollow as she sucks, and I feel a surge of lust and love for this woman, so perfect for me.
So powerful it almost brings me to my knees.
I’m a goner. I’m completely, utterly hers.
She increases her pace, her head bobbing faster, her tongue working its magic, and I can feel my orgasm building, a taut string in me.
"Touch yourself, Elsa," I growl, my voice rough with need. "Touch that beautiful pussy for me while you suck my cock."
She slides one hand between her legs, and I can hear the soft, wet sounds of her fingers sliding through her folds as she touches herself. I feel her moan around me as her movements quicken.
The sight of her, on her knees for me, pleasuring herself while she pleasures me, is the most erotic thing I have ever seen.
"You like that, sporcacciona?" Naughty girl. "You like sucking my cock while you finger your tight little cunt?
She moans, her hips rocking against her hand, her movements becoming more frantic. I can feel her teeth scrape lightly against my shaft, and it sends a jolt of pleasure-pain through me. I’m so close.
"That's it," I say, my hips starting to rock, fucking her mouth. "Just like that. Take it all."
Her other hand comes up to cup my balls, rolling them gently in her palm. I'm going to die. I'm literally going to die from the pleasure.
I don’t want it to be over that soon, though. Before I can come, I slide out of her mouth with a wet pop. She whimpers in protest, her lips red and swollen, as she looks up at me, her eyes dark with desire.
"Antonio," she whispers. "Come in my mouth."
I don't answer, just grab the bottle of soap from the shelf. I pop the top and hold it over her breasts. She gasps as the cool, clear liquid hits her skin.
"Soap them up," I command. "Make them nice and slippery for me."
She doesn't hesitate, her hands moving to her chest, spreading the soap over her breasts, making them gleam under the water. She pinches her own nipples, her head falling back with a soft moan.
"You have gorgeous tits, Elsa." My eyes are glued to her hands on her breasts.
"You want to fuck them?" she purrs.
"Only if you want me to, amore mio," I say, and I mean it.
"I do," she says, still lathering them up with soap.
"You sure?" I ask, one last check.
She kneels up a bit higher, cupping her slick breasts, offering them to me. "Put your cock between my tits, Antonio."
I lean down and take her mouth in a hard kiss. "Gladly," I rumble against her lips.