Chapter 24 Gianni
Gianni
I went completely still.
Whatever instinct usually kept me contained finally caught up with what she’d done. My hand tightened at her waist before I could stop it, fingers digging in like I needed the contact to stay upright. My breathing shifted—slower, deeper—giving me away in the quiet space between us.
“Mikayla,” I murmured.
Her name coming from my mouth sounded like salvation and confession all at once.
She brushed her lips against my skin and smiled as she pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. The glass behind her reflected everything without mercy: the way my jaw locked, the way her gaze burned—reckless, alive, hungry in a way that had nothing to do with wine.
I could feel the line between us. Thin. Fraying. About to get crossed. Again.
My pulse hammered high in my throat. I forced myself to breathe, to drag my eyes back to her face instead of the mouth that had just undone me.
When I finally looked at her properly, there was no humor left to hide behind. No charm. No distance. Only the weight of certainty settling deep in my chest.
Whatever this was—whatever we were standing on the edge of—we were already far past the point of no return.
I stopped moving.
The decision landed fully formed, and before either of us could reconsider it, I turned her by the arms until she was facing the glass. The world outside stared back at us—dark hills, scattered lights, the quiet indifference of distance.
“Put your hands on the glass,” I said.
My voice came out low, an uncrushed command.
She glanced back at me, uncertainty flickering for a single heartbeat. Then she caught my expression in the reflection—my jaw set, my eyes dark with desire—and whatever hesitation she’d had vanished. She turned back to the window and lifted her arms, palms flattening against the cool surface.
The sight of her like that tightened something deep in my chest.
I stepped closer and placed my hand at the small of her back, grounding her. She arched instinctively, breath hitching as I pressed her forward just enough to change the angle of her body, to make her aware of exactly how close I was standing behind her.
“Gianni,” she breathed.
I didn’t answer.
“The chef,” she added softly, as if the reminder might pull us back from the brink.
“Won’t come in uninvited,” I said, my voice steady even as everything else in me was anything but.
I let my hand slide low, slow and unhurried, tracing the line of her spine before drifting down over her hips. Her dress was soft beneath my fingers, the fabric shifting as I moved, gathering slightly as my hands followed the curve of her thighs.
She shivered.
I leaned in just enough that my mouth hovered near her ear, my breath warm against her skin.
“This stops the moment you say it does,” I said quietly. “Do you understand?”
Her answer came without words—just a subtle nod, a deeper breath, her fingers flexing against the glass.
“I’m going to lift your dress now,” I told her.
“Yes,” she breathed.
I lifted the hem of her dress slowly. She was wearing black lace underneath, delicate and unmistakably not something she would’ve chosen on her own.
I knew that because I’d been there. When we went shopping, I’d watched her hover at the safe edges, eyes darting past anything too bold. I’d been the one to tell the saleslady to add more—to slip in the things Mikayla was too shy to ask for herself.
Seeing her in them now made something dark and satisfied curl in my chest.
I hooked my fingers into the waistband and slid them down her legs. They dropped to the floor with practiced ease, and I told her to step out of them. She did, cheeks already warming, eyes fixed on the glass like she couldn’t decide whether to look away or watch.
I bent down and picked them up, taking my time. When I straightened, I met her gaze in the reflection—caught her watching as I lifted the lace, bringing it close, breathing in the scent of her arousal.
Her reaction was instant. A flush bloomed across her face, crept down her neck. Her lashes fluttered, lips parting as embarrassment and something darker tangled together.
I didn’t look away.
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” I rasped. “That scent? It’s mine now.”
My eyes locked on hers. “If I could keep it—trap it somewhere permanent—I would. Because nothing has ever felt more dangerous… or more addictive.”
Her breathing broke into soft, uneven pants as she watched me linger—caught between mortification and want—every shallow breath giving her away while I held the moment just long enough to make it burn.
“We wouldn’t want to frighten the chef with your screams, would we, Mikayla?” I murmured.
Before she could answer, I pressed the lace to her lips, then pushed the panties into her mouth. She didn’t resist. She didn’t argue. Instead, her brows lifted in startled disbelief—and something close to fear—as I held her gaze, the surprise stealing her breath before she could find it again.
My eyes were on her in the glass as I lowered my zipper and released my cock. It sprang forth, a dangerous dagger ready for action. I wrapped a hand around it, stroking once, twice, showing her how ready I was for her.
A low moan rumbled somewhere deep inside her chest, and I lifted her dress again, bent my head slightly and looked at the spot between her legs where moisture had pooled.
A low sound slipped from her, felt more than heard, and it made my chest tighten. I lifted her dress again and bent just enough to look between us, taking in the unmistakable signs of moisture between her thighs.
The sight told me everything her words didn’t.
“Well, would you look at that,” I said, my voice low “You’ve gone and made a mess of yourself, Mikayla.”
I dropped to my knees and buried my face in her ass cheeks. I planted a kiss on one, then the other, promising myself to revisit this zone at a later date. I lowered my head until I was beneath her legs, then flicked my tongue out and licked at her juices.
The moan that escaped her was loud, and I was glad for the fabric minimising the evidence of her spiral.
My hands moved to her ass cheeks, opening them, giving me a better view to her pussy. My tongue moved in soft, languorous swipes, up and down her pussy. I flicked at her hole, darting my tongue inside, felt her pulsing, then slid up to her clit and took it in my mouth, sucking on it.
Her moans turned to pants as I continued to lick and suck at her pussy, leaving no inch uncovered, my saliva mixing with her juices until she clenched and detonated around my face.
She came with one heady, ferocious, muffled scream against the glass, and I lapped it up, every last bit of liquid she would offer me.