Chapter 27 #2
Lowering a knee to the floor, he takes my right breast in his hand and flattens his tongue slowly over the nipple.
The sensation is so intense, my spine curves, my back arches and I pressing myself into his mouth.
A sound escapes me and I try to bite down on my hand.
I stare at him in disbelief. We haven’t even kissed and yet he’s making me feel like a wanton heathen and so fucking good I could cry.
When he looks up, there’s violence behind his eyes. How long is he going to hold himself back before he snaps? I’m genuinely afraid of what Nicolò letting go looks like. But more than that, I want him to lick me again.
I curl my legs around his back and hope that translates.
My nipple is wet from his saliva and he sets eyes on it as he softly rubs his own spit into my breast. Then, he transfers his attention to my left breast and does the same.
This time I have to bite down so hard on my hand, an entirely unrelated whimper escapes me.
His gaze rises again until it meets mine. Seconds pass as we stare at each other, silently acknowledging what we’ve done. Slowly, sensitively, inquisitively, we’ve crossed that line. It’s done. There’s no going back.
Keeping his gaze locked on mine, he gets slowly to his feet, then pushes one hand around my nape and up through my hair.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” he says, deeply, then he shakes his head. “But the dream comes nowhere close to the reality.”
I know what he means. The feel of him, the taste of him, the presence of him is so much more, so much bigger and more overwhelming than anything my imagination could have conjured.
“What have you done to me, Bambalina?”
My name sounds like heaven when it falls from his lips.
I swallow. “Only the same as you’ve done to me, Nicolò.”
His dark eyes close as he brushes his lips across my cheek and sweeps them up to my temple. A shiver makes all the hairs on my body stand on end.
“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he whispers.
My fingers curl around the edge of the table, gripping tight. “I won’t.”
His teeth grind gently as he drifts his lips across my forehead to the other cheek. “If anyone finds out about this—”
“They won’t.”
“We can’t risk being discovered,” he hisses, quietly.
“I understand.”
“I can’t kiss you in public, I can’t hold your hand, I can’t brush your leg beneath the table. Ever. Are you sure that’s what you want?”
My vision has checked out, but I know, with blind faith, I just want him. And if that means I can only have him in the shadowy corners of a life in the dark, that will be enough.
“I just want you.”
He tips his head back and curses at the ceiling. “Jesus Christ.”
My heart is pounding. This is it. I can feel it. I flick my lashes. “Anything else?”
When he lowers his gaze, the decisiveness in it makes me weak.
Gone is the restraint. Gone is the chivalry. Gone is the strange anguish he’s been wearing like armor. In its place is something dark and raw, frayed and wanting.
“Yeah. One more thing…” His hand slides higher up the back of my head and fists the hair, making small gold leaves tinkle to the floor. “You can’t write about this in your diary, little fawn.”
Then he leans forward, exhales with a tense growl, and crashes his mouth against mine.
His kiss consumes me. It whips me up and gobbles me whole, leaving nothing but crumbs. I can’t breathe, not from the hard force of his mouth on mine, nor the clash of our teeth as we both fight for what we’ve been craving, but because I’m so damn high I’ve forgotten how to.
His hand holding my nape grips me so hard I can’t move, while his other assaults my flesh, groping at my breasts, my hips, my ass, like he’s trying to convince himself I’m really here.
There’s a desperation to his movements and the lashing of his tongue and the song of his hunger.
Releasing the table edge I bring my hands up to his head and run my fingers through his hair.
He moans into my mouth as I grip and tug him everywhere, then downright growls when my hands fly to his hips pulling him closer.
There needs to be some distance between our two bodies for him to bend his head and devour my mouth, but I need friction, so I draw his thigh into me.
Either he obliges or doesn’t realize what’s happening but his thigh nestles exactly where I need him and I grind up against it, my breaths turning shallow and heated.
My lips ache when he pulls back for a second to see me shamelessly using his leg to ease my arousal. He curses under his breath then drifts his lips over mine.
A shadow passes over him—brief but absolute.
“We can’t do this,” he murmurs in a pained whisper. “We can’t fucking do this.”
Just as my heart’s about to plummet again, his hand slams onto the table knocking a pile of books to the floor. “Fuck, we are.”
He drags my bottom lip between his teeth then slants his mouth over mine. Between ravenous lips and scraping teeth, he grinds out promises that sound, in the burning embers of need, like oaths.
“From this moment on, little fawn, you are mine. I swear to you. No end, no escape.”
Both of his hands are all over me, and now they’re shoving my dress up to my hips, exposing my damp thong to the circulating air.
“I’m taking all of you,” he vows. “Every kiss, every lick, every fucking whimper.”
My head is spinning as I float on his conviction.
“It’s all mine. To keep.”
I want to record every word and play them back on a loop until I die.
His thumbs knead my thighs, edging closer to that hidden part of me.
The part that yearns for him so hard it burns.
As one of his thumbs slips beneath my thong and halts, hot, wet and promising, he withdraws his mouth completely.
He looks down at the spot between my thighs and drags his bottom lip between his teeth.
“You make me so fucking hard I can’t see straight.”
“Nicolò, please…” I whisper. It’s torture, seeing his thumb hovering over my sensitive area but not giving me what I need.
He holds my gaze and strokes his thumb over my clit. Sparks fly behind my eyes. I can’t quite believe that Nicolò is touching me there.
And it feels indescribable.
My veins are sizzling, my nerves fraying at the edges. My bones are like jelly. All sensation is channeled to my center where warmth and moisture and need and insanity are gathering in one hazardous whirlpool.
My lids lower, languidly, but his paused thumb makes them ping.
A flicker of a frown tells me to keep my eyes on him, so I do. My vision swims as he circles my clit slowly and with unwavering focus. Every few seconds he dips forward and kisses my lips, tasting my arousal as it builds, before pulling back to hold my gaze again.
I’ve always known this about Nicolò. Control is everything to him. I realize with a faint heartbeat, he could draw out my climax for a week if he wanted to do.
“This is how you like it,” he murmurs in a dark, dry, sexy drawl. I notice it isn’t a question; it’s an observation. He’s been studying me, after all.
My thighs part in response and a dirty smile pulls at his lips. He wipes it away with the knuckle of his free hand, and kisses me again.
“Do you want to come, little fawn?”
My chest rises and falls with each shallow breath I heave in. “Not yet.”
His brow arches and he withdraws his hand, making me curse silently. When he fists the cotton of my panties and tears them clean off my body, I jerk toward him, breathless.
“Those were expensive,” I whisper.
He brushes his lips over mine. “I’ll buy you more.”
In one simultaneous movement, he pushes his tongue into my mouth and circles my opening with a finger.
My gasp is swallowed by his moan and my shivers of lust are contained within his strong hands. I’m floating on air, my nerve endings on fire. Blood is coursing to every edge of me and I squirm in his arms, needing something more but not knowing what.
His finger is completely wet and he breaches my entrance, stilling for a moment as I get used to the sensation.
“Nicolò…” I whisper, holding onto his shoulders.
“I’ve got you,” he grits out. “I won’t do more than you want me to. We can take it as slow as you need.”
“I don’t want slow.”
He nips at my bottom lip. “You’re a virgin, little fawn. You need time.”
I kiss him back hungrily, until he pulls away with a groan.
He bends his head to lick at my breasts again while fondling my clit, sending me wild with desire.
I’ve had a lot of practice getting myself turned on and wound up, but having Nicolò’s touch on me is so much better.
He seems to know exactly where to stroke me and how much pressure to apply.
It makes me feel inexperienced and na?ve, but too damn good to care.
I thread my fingers through his short black hair, finally feeling the softness I’ve only been able to imagine up to now. His jawline is what statues are made of and his lips are just plain addictive. I grip his head lightly, pulling him back to my mouth.
“Kiss me some more,” I plead.
He slants his mouth over mine and dips his tongue inside, sweeping it across my tongue with a rhythm that makes my head spin. All the while, his fingers work more magic between my legs until I’m writhing.
He pulls away and lowers his head to watch me ride his fingers.
Two more have joined the first in my entrance.
Not all the way inside but enough for me to feel a stretch.
I move my hips back and forth, chasing a feeling that keeps rising to the brim then ducking away when Nicolò changes position or distracts me with another kiss.
“I want to come now,” I say, whimpering.
To my annoyance, he pulls his fingers away, completely, his eyes locked on mine.
In a blind haze, I grab his wrist. “What are you doing?”
“If I’m going to make you come for the first time, it’s not going to be with my fingers.”
“I thought you s—”
“Stop talking,” he demands and whisks me up in his arms.