Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty Five
Bianca
Giovanni takes the stairs two at a time, his feet pounding on the hardwood floor. He doesn't bother with the lights; the late afternoon light streaming through the windows is enough.
He pushes open the door to his bedroom, his bed a big, inviting shadow in the center of the room. He lays me down, his body covering mine, his weight pressing me into the mattress.
He kisses me again, a slow, deep, drugging kiss that leaves my head spinning, his hands roaming, fingers tracing the line of my jaw, the curve of my throat, the hollow of my collarbone. He's apparently in no hurry.
He sits up, pulling his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. My eyes follow his every move, my gaze sweeping over his chest, his abs.
Under those perfectly tailored suits is a warrior’s body—hard lines, unforgiving strength, danger carved into every inch.
I reach out, letting my fingers trail over the ink that marks his chest, down the ridges of his sculpted stomach, along the sinew of arms built to command… and ruin.
He catches my hand, bringing my palm to his lips, kissing it gently, then he presses it into the mattress.
My heart stumbles, a wild, erratic beat at the wordless command.
He reaches for the button of his jeans, his movements slow, deliberate.
"Tell me what happened next— in the dream," he whispers huskily.
My legs shift restlessly against the rumpled sheets, my breath catching.
He stops moving, his fingers stilling on the button of his pants.
"Now," he says softly. "Tell me."
I swallow, my throat working.
"My cock was inside you," he says, finishing the sentence for me, his voice a low growl that sends a fresh wave of desire through me.
I nod.
"Then what?"
"I-I woke up," I stutter. "Right as it started."
A slow smile spreads across his face. A predator's smile. It's full of dark promises and raw hunger. It promises to fulfill a dream and so much more.
"Poor Bibi," he says. "So unsatisfied."
Bibi. He heard my mother calling me that. It's a childhood nickname. One that only family uses.
But he's using it now, and it doesn't sound childish or sweet. It sounds possessive. Dangerous.
Sexy.
He slides off the bed, stepping out of his jeans. He's hard, a thick, impressive length that makes my breath catch. He climbs back onto the bed, covering me with his body, his heat, his scent.
"Tell me more," he whispers against my skin, running his lips over my throat.
He's a slow, deliberate tease, and it's driving me crazy.
"About what?" I barely manage as his tongue teases my collarbone.
"The dream."
"I woke up," I say before gasping as he nips my earlobe.
"After you woke up," he says, guiding a knee between my legs, pressing it against my core. "Were you horny?"
My face floods with heat. "I—"
"Were you wet, Bibi?" His knee moves against me, a slow, deliberate friction.
"Giovanni," I protest weakly, even as I arch against him.
"Answer me," he says, a soft command.
My hips roll against him. "Yes."
"Did you touch yourself?"
My cheeks are so hot they could start a fire. I squeeze my eyes shut. "Yes."
"What did you think about?"
"You," I whisper.
"What about me?" he presses. "Be specific."
I'm on fire. The dream is a pale imitation of this, a shadow play compared to the real thing. The real Giovanni is a thousand times more intense, more commanding, more intoxicating.
"You, inside me," I say, my voice a ragged gasp.
"Where were we?"
I have to think for a moment, my mind clouded with desire. "My bed."
"Your bed," he repeats, a low, thoughtful rumble.
He shifts his weight, settling between my legs. He's pressed against me, hot and hard, a promise of what's to come.
"Did you come?" he asks, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw.
"Yes," I say, my head falling back.
"Did you imagine my cock inside you when you did?"
I nod, unable to speak, a fresh wave of heat washing over me.
"Show me."
My eyes fly open. "What?"
"Show me how you touched yourself," he says, his voice a low, rough command.
He moves off me, stretching out beside me, propping his head up on his hand, his gaze hot and heavy.
My breath catches. He's serious.
"I..." I trail off, not knowing what to say.
"It's just us, Bibi," he says softly. "Just you and me. And I want to see you. I want to see what you do when you think of me. Do it now, Bibi."
He makes it sound so simple, so natural. But it's not. It's intimate, vulnerable. It's baring myself to him in a way I've never bared myself to anyone.
But Giovanni’s eyes burn with the promise of a man raised in power and violence—he’s about to take me without pause, without mercy, just raw need and absolute dominance—and every part of me aches for it.
I take a shaky breath, my heart thudding against my ribs. I close my eyes and move my hand slowly, hesitantly, down my body. I cup my breast, my thumb brushing over my nipple, a shiver running through me. I pinch it, a gasp escaping my lips.
I open my eyes, and he's watching me, his gaze intense, unwavering, his mouth slightly open. There's no judgment, only raw, hungry desire.
Emboldened, my own desire surprisingly heightened with him watching me, I continue my exploration, my other hand sliding down my stomach, my fingers tracing a path over my skin.
I slide my hand between my legs and part my folds. I’m soaking wet, even more than when I woke up from the dream, and I gasp when my fingers find my clit swollen and sensitive.
I circle it, a slow, deliberate rhythm, my breath hitching.
I remember waking up, the dream so real, the ache of an unfulfilled desire so intense it was a physical pain.
I remember the way my body pulsed, the way my hand had slid down my stomach, my fingers seeking the release I hadn't found in the dream.
I close my eyes again, my mind drifting back to the dream, to the thought of Giovanni, to the feeling of him inside me.
I increase the pressure, the pace, my fingers moving faster, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Look at me, Bianca."
I open my eyes, and his are dark, feral, a predator's gaze.
"That's it. I want you to look at me when you come," he says, his voice a low, rough growl in my ear.
His words are my undoing. I tip over the edge, my body arching, a cry of pleasure tearing from my throat. I'm lost, adrift in a sea of sensation, my body convulsing, my mind a blur of pleasure.
When I come back to myself, I'm breathing heavily, my body trembling. Giovanni is watching me, a look of pure, unadulterated masculine satisfaction on his face.
His long fingers circle my wrist and pull my hand away, bringing my glistening fingers to his lips. He licks them clean, one by one, savoring the taste.
"So sweet," he murmurs, and I notice his cock is still hard and ready.
As I float back down, Giovanni rolls over me, covering me with his body, his heat, his scent. His cock is a hard, insistent pressure against my thigh.
He kisses me again, a slow, drugging kiss that leaves my head spinning, my body aching for more.
"That was beautiful," he whispers against my lips. "You are beautiful."
He moves down my body, his lips, his tongue, his teeth, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. I’m writhing beneath him, my hands fisted in the sheets, my body aching, needing, wanting.
He stops, his breath ghosting over my nipple. I gasp, my back arching, a silent plea. He takes pity on me, his mouth closing over my breast, his tongue swirling, his teeth grazing. He sucks, hard, a sharp, intense pleasure that sends a jolt straight to my core.
He gives my other breast the same attention, leaving me a breathless, writhing mess. I'm lost in a haze of desire, my mind a blank slate, my body a vessel for pleasure.
His lips find mine again, a hungry, demanding kiss that I return with a desperate need of my own.
"Gio," I plead, my hands fisting in his hair, my body arching against him. "Please."
He growls in pleasure.
"I like it when you call me that," he murmurs, as he kisses a path along my jaw, my throat. "Do it again." He rolls his hips, pressing the hard length of him into me. I moan. I'm so empty. So empty and so full at the same time. "Bianca. Do it."
"Gio," I plead, my hips lifting, seeking him.
He shifts, moving between my legs. I feel the tip of him, hot and hard, pressing against my entrance. My breath hitches, my body tensing with anticipation as my cunt juices begin to spill from my pussy.
I think of my dream. Of the empty ache of waking up just as he was about to fuck me. Of the desperate, unsatisfied need that had driven me to my own hands. And the aching, unfulfilled desire for him that’s lived inside me since we met.
But this isn't a dream.
He pushes in, a slow, deliberate stretch that’s a sweet, aching burn. I'm so wet, so ready, he's halfway in before he meets any resistance.
He stops, his breath catching.
“Okay?” he asks, his lips against my temple.
I nod, my hands moving to his back, my nails digging into his shoulders as a fresh wave of heat washes over me.
"Yes," I gasp.
He continues pushing in, filling me, stretching me, completing me. He’s bigger than I imagined, more than I thought I could take, but I’m so slick, so ready, my body welcoming the invasion.
And when he’s fully inside me, when he’s buried to the hilt, I feel a sense of rightness, of coming home, that’s so intense it brings tears to my eyes.
He starts to move, a slow, steady rhythm that’s a torture of pleasure. He pulls out only a little and pushes back in, letting me get used to his size.
He’s watching my face, his eyes dark, intense, seeing everything. He sees the pleasure, the desperation, the raw, unbridled need.
My mind goes blank. There’s nothing but the feel of him inside me, the thrust of his hips, the heat of his body, the scent of his skin.
He pulls out, almost all the way, then pushes back in, a deep, powerful thrust that sends a shockwave of pleasure through me.
"More," I gasp, my hips lifting to meet his.