Chapter 49
Antonio
I’m in the kitchen packing up some things for Elsa. I’m not exactly sure what she wants regarding cookware since she isn’t much on cooking, but I can at least pack the perishables.
The rest can be packed up later.
The apartment is quiet except for the rustle of packing paper, the low hum of the refrigerator, and the occasional muted thud of me setting something into the cooler bag.
Then I hear it.
A soft, sharp clicking sound coming down the hallway.
I stop with a carton of eggs in my hand.
Click.
Click.
Familiar.
Heels.
My head lifts.
Did Elsa put on heels?
I set the eggs down on the counter carefully and start toward the bedroom, one step, then another.
And then she appears at the opening of the hall.
Every single thought empties out of my head. Again.
Just gone.
Same as the first time I saw her in that dress, walking into the restaurant and completely destroying me.
Black.
Simple. Elegant. Deadly.
The dress skims every inch of her like it was made for her and her alone. It hugs her breasts just enough to make my mouth go dry, the neckline emphasizing the soft curves of them as they rise above the fabric
The waist nips in, then the skirt falls sleek over her hips and thighs, ending high enough that every step she takes lets me glimpse those long, perfect legs.
She’s got on sheer black pantyhose, and the flash of those garter clips in my head nearly puts me on my knees right there on the hardwood.
The heels make her legs look endless. I want to start at the bottom and run my tongue up one, down the other, back up, and right in the middle.
She did something with her hair too. Something effortless and casual enough that it falls around her shoulders in a way that looks sexier than if she’d spent three hours on it. And her makeup—
Christ.
A little smoke around her eyes. Deep red on her mouth. That same deep red that instantly makes my mind go right to filth.
I picture that deep red lining my cock so vividly it’s almost painful.
And then she takes a few more steps into the room and I catch her scent.
That sexy scent on her skin. Feminine and warm and made for dark rooms and hands and silk falling to the floor.
I am completely, utterly fucked.
She stops a few feet away and looks at me, sultry, sexy. Eyes that scream “fuck me.”
I try to say something.
Anything.
What comes out is, “Jesus Christ.”
Her mouth curves.
It takes me another second to make my tongue work.
“You—” I clear my throat. “You look…”
I can’t even finish it properly because there isn’t a word good enough.
Beautiful isn’t enough.
Sexy isn’t enough.
Stunning sounds weak.
None of it touches what she’s doing to me standing in the kitchen with moving boxes everywhere and those heels clicking over the floor as she steps closer.
“Fuck,” I say instead, because it’s honestly all I can say.
She keeps walking toward me, slow, deliberate, every step sending another jolt through my system.
When she speaks, her voice is low and sultry, surrounding me, wrapping me up in her web.
“When I bought this dress,” she says, her voice sexy and husky, “I pictured you taking it off of me.”
My pulse pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat.
“And you never did.” Her lips move into a pout. “It just seems like such a waste."
She lifts a hand slowly, and her fingers trace the neckline of the dress, right above the swell of her breast. My eyes follow the movement like I’m hypnotized.
"Well," I finally say. "It seems we have ourselves a problem, don't we?"
My gaze drops to her red lips.
And her smile deepens, goes just a bit arrogant and a lot dangerous.
She knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
I am across the room so fast she gasps.
I back her up until her shoulders hit the wall, crowding her, caging her in with my body, my hands planted on either side of her head. Not touching. Her pulse is beating wildly in her throat.
I lean in, but I don’t kiss her. I let her feel the heat of me. The threat of it.
“You know,” I say, my voice low, “I spent a lot of hours thinking about this dress after that night."
I lean in a little closer, until my lips are nearly brushing her ear.
“I thought about every single inch of it. How it would feel on my skin. How it would look on my floor.”
She shudders, her breath hitching.
“I thought about taking it off you so slowly you’d be begging me to hurry.
Then thought about taking it off you so fast you’d be begging me to slow down.
I thought about ripping it off you. Tearing it apart, so you'd have nothing to cover this gorgeous body with.
I thought about using it to tie you to the bed while I ate you for hours.
“Antonio,” she whispers.
“I thought about you coming on my tongue,” I whisper. “Over and over. With your hands in my hair and my name on your lips. I thought about you coming so hard you couldn’t see."
Her eyes are dark, pupils open wide. The red of her lipstick looks even deeper now.
“I thought about you,” I say, my gaze dropping to her mouth again, “with that lipstick smeared all over my cock.”
She makes a sound, a little helpless whine, and her hands come up to my shoulders, nails digging in through my shirt.
I still don't kiss her.
"Are you still thinking about it?" she whispers.
My lips graze her ear, and she shudders.
"Oh, I'm way past thinking about it," I murmur, my breath ghosting over her skin. "I'm going to make good on every single one of those thoughts."
Her knees buckle slightly, and I press closer, holding her up with my body. I press myself fully against her, so she can feel exactly what she’s done to me. How hard I am. How badly I want her.
“Please,” she whispers.
“Please what?” I ask. “Please take it off you? Please ruin you?”
“Please, Antonio,” she says again, her hands sliding up my neck, fingers tangling in my hair as she tries to pull me in. “Please, please, please.”
“Is this what you want?” I murmur, my voice rough as gravel. “Is that why you bought this dress? So I could look at you and want to fuck you so badly I can’t see straight?” I trace her collarbone with my thumb. “So I could make you mine. Ruin you for any other man.”
"You did," she whispers. "You ruined me."
I finally give in and kiss her. It’s not gentle.
It’s not sweet. I pour all the frustration, all the fear from the last few days, all the possessive, protective rage that still simmers beneath my skin into it.
I take her mouth, my tongue delving deep, tasting her.
Tasting the lipstick, the need, the surrender.
She kisses me back just as desperately, her tongue tangling with mine, her fingers tightening in my hair. Her body arches against mine, a silent plea for more.
I pull back, both of us breathing hard. Her lipstick is a mess, a beautiful, smeared, red mess that I want to see everywhere.
"I am going to fuck you slow and hard," I whisper, my voice low and rough, my eyes locked on hers. "So hard you'll feel me for days. You're going to forget what it's like not having my cock inside that tight cunt."
Her breath hitches, and I can see the raw, unbridled need in her eyes. She's not playing anymore. She's as lost in this as I am.
Her hips roll against me, desperately seeking relief. I pull my hips back, denying her the friction she craves.
"Patience, Elsa," I murmur, a smirk playing on my lips.
"What are you waiting for?" she demands. "I thought you were going to fuck me so hard I'd feel you for days. So take me. Right here. Right now."
My grin is feral.
I can’t help it. She’s so demanding. So perfect. I love this side of her. The side that’s not afraid to ask for what she wants. To take what she needs.
My hand drifts over her breasts, and I can feel the frantic, desperate beat of her heart against my palm.
"Oh, I am," I say.
My thumb circles her nipple through the fabric of her dress.
Her back arches.
"But a man's gotta eat, amore mio." My grin widens. "And I am starving."
She makes a whining, needy sound in her throat. "Antonio..."
"My sweet Elsa," I murmur, my lips tracing the line of her jaw. "I've told you, haven't I? If you're going to play games, sporcacciona, you have to be prepared to lose."
Her breath catches, her body going rigid with anticipation.
With a quick, decisive movement, I spin her around. Her hands fly out, bracing against the wall to steady herself. She’s completely at my mercy, her back to me, the dress dipping low, leaving the skin of her back waiting for my touch.
I press against her, pushing my cock against her ass.
"But I really think you're going to like losing this one," I whisper, my lips against her ear.
I lower myself to my knees, my hands sliding up her legs, pushing the hem of her dress up. To my absolute fucking delight, she's not wearing panties. Just the garter belt and stockings.
My control snaps. My hands are on her ass, squeezing her, pulling her cheeks apart to get a good, long look at her pussy. She’s dripping. Her arousal is glistening on her lips, her inner thighs. The sight makes my own arousal spike.
The scent of her fills my head, and it's intoxicating. I press my face against her, inhaling her scent, before I part her with my tongue.
She moans, her head falling back as I lick her slowly, taking my sweet time. Her body trembles, her knees buckling, and I hold her with my hands on her hips.
I take her clit into my mouth and suck, and she cries out, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the wall. Her hips rock against me, and I meet her movements, my tongue plunging deep.
She's so responsive, so uninhibited, and it's the sexiest thing I've ever seen. I want to live between her legs.
I want to worship her.
To ruin her.
To own her.
She moans, her body arching, her legs shaking. "Antonio, please," she begs, her voice a ragged whisper.
"What do you want, dolcezza?" I ask, my lips brushing against her ear. "Tell me what you want."