Chapter 31 #2
The kiss is gentle at first. Soft, slow, a question and an answer all in one.
His lips are warm, tasting of wine and strawberries and the promise of something more.
I sigh against him, my fingers curling into his shirt, and he deepens the kiss, a hint of tongue, a low hum of pleasure that vibrates through my chest.
The world narrows to this small space under the blanket. The cool grass beneath us, the wool over us, and the solid heat of him beside me, around me, in me. His hand slides from my thigh to the small of my back, pressing me closer, and I arch into him, wanting more.
My hands find their way under his shirt, splaying across the warm skin of his back. He makes a low sound in his throat, a rough, needy sound that sends a jolt of pure desire through me. I pull back just enough to look at him.
His face is in shadow, but I can see the glint of his eyes, the intensity in them that has been there from the start. He looks at me like I'm the only person in the world, the only person who has ever mattered. And in this moment, I almost believe it.
I push the blanket away from us, my movements sure and deliberate. I want to see him, all of him. I want the moonlight on his skin.
He watches me, his expression unreadable, as I pull my sweater over my head and toss it aside. The cool evening air raises goosebumps on my arms, but I don't feel cold. I feel... alive. Electric.
He doesn't move, just watches, his gaze a physical caress. Then he reaches out, a single finger tracing the line of my collarbone, down the valley between my breasts. I shiver, my body responding to him as if it's the most natural thing in the world.
"Bibi," he says, the name a low rumble in his chest.
I lean in and kiss him again, harder this time, a clash of teeth and tongues, a desperate, hungry need that has been building all day.
His hands are everywhere, in my hair, on my back, cupping my ass, pulling me flush against him.
I can feel the hard length of him through our jeans, and I rock against him, a silent plea for more.
I push his shoulders until he's lying back on the blanket, and I'm straddling him.
His thick cock sits snugly between my legs, the denim fabric an agonizing barrier.
His hands grip my hips, holding me close, urging me to grind against him, and I do, my head falling back, a gasp escaping my lips as the friction sends sparks through my veins.
I reach for the clasp of my bra, unhook it, and let it fall away. He sucks in a sharp breath, and I look down at him, at the raw desire on his face. It’s a heady, powerful feeling, knowing I have this effect on him.
But I know he won't let me stay in control long. It's not in his nature. The idea of that brings a thrill.
A breeze caresses my bare breasts, and my already hard nipples get impossibly tight.
I can't believe I'm doing this. I'm outside, in an open field. Where anyone can see me, with a man I barely know.
I don't care.
I should, but I really fucking don't.
Gio is lying on his back, watching me with heat in his eyes, and I know my time is over.
He crooks a finger at me. "Come here."
With his guidance, I move up his body until my breasts are at his eye level. He leans up, taking one nipple into his hot, wet mouth, and I cry out, my body jolting with pleasure.
He sucks hard, then harder, sending a jolt straight to my core. My head falls back, and I groan.
Then he switches, giving the other the same attention, and I have to brace my hands on his shoulders to keep from collapsing.
I'm a mess, and he's just getting started.
He continues his assault on my breasts for a few more minutes, until I'm a writhing, panting mess, my hips rocking against him in a desperate search for release.
Then he pulls away, and I whimper at the loss.
"Stand up," he orders.
That's when it really hits me, where we are. On a hill in the middle of a field. Where anyone can see us.
And my boobs are hanging out.
What did I start? How can I stop it?
Do I really want to?
My breath catches. I stare down at him, my mind racing. This is too much. Too public. Too...exposed. A primal fear wars with the desire thrumming through my veins.
He must see the panic in my eyes, but he doesn't relent.
“Now, Bianca,” he commands. His hands move from my hips to my thighs, where he gives a hard squeeze and a little push.
I scramble off him, my feet sinking into the blanket, my jeans suddenly feeling constricting. I’m not sure what to do with my hands. I cross them over my chest in a pitiful attempt at modesty.
He sits up, his movements fluid and sure. He takes in my defensive posture, and a slow, predatory smile spreads across his face.
"Arms down," he says.
"I—" I start, but the words won't come.
"Down," he repeats, and this time there's an edge to his voice that I don't dare defy.
Slowly, I lower my arms, my hands fisting at my sides. My breasts are exposed, vulnerable, the moonlight washing over them. I feel a blush creep up my neck, but I force myself to meet his gaze.
His eyes are dark, intense, burning with a hunger that makes my stomach clench.
"Good," he says. "Now, the jeans."
My breath hitches. Here, now? Out in the open? The thought of it sends a fresh wave of panic through me, but underneath it, a dangerous thrill begins to build. I want to see how far he'll push me. How far he'll push me; how far I’ll let him go.
I look around. The fields are empty, the house a distant glow of light in the valley. The stars are starting to come out, dotting the darkening sky like tiny, watchful eyes.
My fingers fumble with the button of my jeans, then the zipper. I shimmy them down over my hips, the rough denim scraping against my skin. I kick them away, leaving me in nothing but my soaked black lace panties.
He leans back on his elbows, his gaze sweeping over me, a slow, appreciative perusal that makes my skin flush. I can see the outline of his cock, hard and ready, straining against the fabric of his jeans.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, and for a moment, I forget to be afraid. I feel beautiful. Desired. Seen.
Then he stands, and I'm reminded of the power dynamic between us. He's fully clothed, while I'm almost naked. He's in control, while I'm at his mercy.
"Turn around," he says.
I do, my back to him, my front facing the street far below, but still very visible. My heart pounds in my chest.
"Hands on the tree."
The tree's bark is rough against my palms, the cool night air a shock against my heated skin. I can hear him moving behind me, the soft rustle of clothes, the snap of a button.
I close my eyes, bracing myself.
His hands are on my hips, hot and possessive. He pulls me back against him, and I can feel the hard, thick length of him against my ass. He’s still wearing his jeans, the denim a rough, delicious friction against my bare skin.
“You’re trembling,” he says, his voice a low rumble against my ear.
I am. I’m trembling with fear, with anticipation, with a need so intense it's painful.
“Don’t be afraid, mia,” he whispers, his breath warm against my neck. “I’ve got you.”
He slides a hand around my front, down my belly, into my panties. His fingers find my clit, and I cry out, my hips bucking against him.
“So wet for me,” he growls, his fingers circling, teasing, driving me wild.
I’m a mess of sensations—the rough bark against my hands, the cool night air on my skin, the hard press of his cock against my ass, the delicious friction of his fingers on my clit.
I’m so close, teetering on the edge, when he stops.
I whimper in protest, my head falling back against his shoulder.
“Please,” I beg.
“Not yet,” he says, and I can hear the smug smile in his voice.
He slides my panties down my legs, and I step out of them, now completely naked, exposed, at his mercy. The cool air makes my nipples tighten into hard, aching points.
Then he presses his leg between mine, forcing them apart, and I feel the rough denim of his jeans against my sensitive inner thighs. It's a delicious, torturous friction that makes me want to weep with need.
"Hold the tree," he orders, placing my hands on the trunk.
My breath hitches. I’ve never done this before, never been this vulnerable, this exposed. But the thought of it, of him seeing all of me, of taking me in this way, sends a fresh wave of desire through me.
“Good girl,” he praises, and the words send a surge of pleasure through me.
I feel the heat of his breath a second before his tongue leaves a slow, deliberate stripe between my lips.
I cry out, my body jolting with a pleasure so intense it’s almost painful.
He does it again, and again, his tongue exploring, tasting, driving me to the brink of madness.
My hands fall from the tree, my cheek pressed against the rough bark, my legs trembling so badly I’m afraid they’ll give out.
"Hold the tree," he says, voice firm.
"I can't," I pant. "Gio, please."
"You can," he says, and when he slides two fingers inside me, I scream. He curves them, finding that spot, the one that makes me see stars.
He works me with his fingers and tongue, a relentless, delicious assault on my senses, until I'm a writhing, whimpering mess, my hips rocking back against him, my body begging for release.
My knees give out, and he easily catches, turning to lay me on the blanket.
But he's not done yet. He shoves my knees apart, exposing me to the night sky, to him, before he sucks my clit into his hot, wet mouth.
I buck against him, my hands fisting in the blanket, my back arching off the ground as pleasure, sharp and intense, arcs through me.
"Gio," I sob, my body trembling uncontrollably. "I'm going to—"
A scream rips out of my throat as the orgasm explodes through me, a hot, blinding wave of pleasure that leaves me gasping, my body boneless, my mind a blissful blank.
He doesn't stop, though, doesn't give me a moment to recover. He licks me through the aftershocks, holding my hips down to stop me from escaping when it becomes too much on my sensitive clit.
I’m a panting, sobbing mess, and I’ve never felt more alive.
Pain quickly turns back into pleasure, a slow, steady build that’s somehow more intense than the first.
I am so close to another peak. My body is so sensitive, every flick of his tongue, every scrape of his teeth sending jolts of electricity through me.
The breeze caresses my hot, sensitive skin, and I arch my breasts into the sky, wanting more.
He shoves three fingers inside me, and that’s all it takes. The second orgasm crashes through me, more intense than the first, and I scream, my body arching, my vision blurring.
I'm not sure how long I lie there, a boneless, quivering mess, before I feel him shift, the rough fabric of his jeans against my inner thighs.