Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Zara
The car door closed behind me with a soft thud, sealing us inside the plush leather interior. The driver was up front, the partition already rising, giving us privacy I hadn’t asked for, but suddenly, I couldn’t breathe without it.
Lorenzo settled in beside me, close enough that I could smell him: expensive cologne, the lingering salt of the harbor, all warm and masculine that made my stomach flip.
I should have looked away.
I should have stared out the window, let the city blur past, kept my walls intact.
But when I turned my head, his eyes are already on me.
Thick with desire. Dark, hungry, claiming.
And something inside me snaps.
One second I was sitting there, my heart pounding from the kiss on the bench, my lips still tingling. Next, I was leaning forward, my hand fisting the fabric of his shirt, pulling him toward me until our mouths crashed together.
Not soft like the kiss by the water.
I kissed him as if I were drowning and he was air. Like every broken piece of me was reaching for something solid, something real, something that wouldn’t leave.
His hands found my hips, gripping them roughly, his fingers digging into the flesh through my sundress.
A sound escaped me—a whimper, a moan, I didn’t know — but he swallowed it, his tongue sliding against mine.
I climbed onto his lap without thinking, my knees bracketing his thighs, my dress bunching around my waist. The leather was cool beneath my bare skin, but Lorenzo was hot; his body a furnace that burned through his dress shirt.
“Zara.” His voice was a growl against my lips. “Are you sure you want to do—”
“Shh,” I breathed.
I kissed him again, my fingers working at the buttons of his shirt, clumsy and impatient. He groans in response, his hands sliding up my thighs, pushing my dress higher, his thumbs tracing the edge of my underwear.
I could feel the slick heat pooling between my legs, soaking the cotton of my panties. My body was betraying me, responding to him in ways I couldn’t control, didn’t want to control.
He pulled back just long enough to yank his shirt open, buttons scattering across the floor. I took in the dusting of hair on his chest, the muscles. And then my mouth is on his throat, his jaw, his collarbone; tasting, biting, claiming him back in return.
“You’re shaking again,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against my ear.
“I’m not.” My voice cracked.
“You are.” His other hand pushed my thighs apart, forcing me to straddle him wider. The leather of the seat groans. “And I love it.”
His cock pressed against the curve of my ass, thick and hot through the thin cotton of my underwear. I felt the pulse of him, the impatient twitch. My breath hitched, and I was shaking. But it wasn’t fear; it was need.
And as if sensing the exact fix, he flipped me.
One moment, I was straddling him; the next, I was spin around, my back pressing against his chest, his arms locking around my waist. I gasp as my hands gripped his thighs for balance.
“What—”
His lips brush my ear, his breath hot. “I want to see you ride me like this. I want to watch your face in the window.”
My heart hammering deep in my chest.
“Look at how fucking beautiful my wife is,” he said, his voice low and rough.
I could see us in the reflection of the tinted glass—me, flushed and breathless, my sundress twisted, my hair a mess. He, all hard angles and dark intensity, his hands already pushing my underwear down my thighs.
“Lorenzo—”
“Stand up for a second.”
I forced my eyes open and took in the window reflection, watching as he slides inside me. Slow. Deep.
My legs felt like jelly as I braced my hands on the seat, rising just enough for him to drag my underwear down my thighs. The fabric caught on my hips, then fell, pooling around my ankles. I kick them off blindly, desperate—a knee-jerk obedience that made him chuckle low in his throat.
“Good girl.”
The praise hit like a shot of whiskey—warm, sharp, dizzying. I sank back down, and this time there was nothing between us. His cock slid along my slick folds, not entering, just teasing, coating himself in the evidence of how badly I wanted this. How badly I needed it.
He pressed the crown of his cock against my entrance—just the tip, just enough to make me gasp. I pushed back instinctively, trying to take him deeper, but his hand clamps down on my hip, holding me still.
“Not yet.” His teeth scraped my earlobe. “I want to feel you beg.”
I was beyond shame. Beyond pride. My voice came out broken and wet. “Please, Lorenzo. Please. I need you.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere.”
He rewarded me with a slow, maddening push—the head breaching my tightness, the stretch a burn and a bliss all at once. I whimpered, head falling back against his shoulder. He filled me inch by inch, savoring the resistance, the slick heat of my body opening for him.
His hands find my hips, gripping tight, guiding me.
“Move,” he commanded.
And I did.
I rocked against him, slow at first, finding my rhythm. My thighs burned with the effort, but the feeling was intoxicating. He was inside me, and every movement sent sparks shooting through my body.
His hand slid up my stomach, over my ribs, until he found my mouth.
“The driver doesn’t need to hear what’s mine,” he whispered.
I pressed his palm against my lips, muffling the sounds I couldn’t stop. Moans, whimpers, cries that wanted to be screams.
His other hand drifted lower, fingers finding my clit. I was so sensitive that the touch alone caused me to buck.
“Shh,” he hissed, circling the sensitive flesh with expert precision. His fingers rough, calloused, but they knew exactly how to drag me toward the edge. “Keep moving. Don’t stop.”
I rode him harder. Faster. My ass slapping against his thighs, the wet sound of our fucking filling the car as the city blurred past the window—a smear of neon and headlights. None of it mattered. Only this. Only him.
His fingers tighten on my waist, nails digging into my skin hard enough to bruise, but I didn’t care. I wanted his marks on me. I wanted to wake tomorrow with his fingerprints inked into my flesh like a brand.
“You’re close,” he growled, not a question.
I nodded, my breath hitching, my rhythm faltering. The pressure was building, coiling in my gut like a spring wound too tight. His fingers on my clit sped up, relentless, merciless until I was thrown over the edge.
The orgasm rips through me like a wave of fire—my back arching, my pussy clenching around his cock, the sound of my stifled scream swallowed by his palm. I pulsed around him, milking him, and he groaned in response, his hips thrusting up into me, burying himself as deep as he could go.
“Fuck, Zara,” he breaths, the name a confession, a curse, a prayer.
He moaned, his hips thrusting up into me, chasing his own release. I felt every spurt, every pulse of his release filling me, marking me from the inside out. His hand left my mouth, and he wrapped both arms around me, holding me as I sagged against his chest, boneless, trembling, my breath ragged.
The car was silent except for our labored breathing and the distant hum of the engine. Either the driver hadn’t noticed, or he was paid well enough to pretend.
Pressing a kiss to my shoulder, he said, “You’re beautiful like this,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. “Ruined. Claimed. Mine.”
The word hit me like a blow to the chest. Mine.
I should have hated it. I should have pulled away, spat something venomous, rebuilt the walls he’d shattered. But the truth was—I didn’t want to.
I wanted to be his.
The realization burned through me, sharp and terrifying and exhilarating all at once. I pressed my thighs together, clenching around him, and felt a fresh pulse of wetness slide down.
He groaned, a low sound of approval. “Again?”
“I…” I couldn’t form words. My body was still humming, still hungry.
His hand slid down from my jaw, over my throat, between my breasts, coming to rest on my lower belly.
“Lorenzo.” His name was a plea, a confession, a surrender.
“I know.” He kissed my temple, soft and unexpected. “I know.”
We sat in silence for a moment, the only sounds being our ragged breathing and the distant hum of the engine. Outside, the city glittered, oblivious to the dark intimacy building between us.
I could feel his heartbeat against my back—steady, strong, certain. My own pulse was a frantic bird trapped in my ribs.
Slowly, reluctantly, he began to soften inside me until I felt him slip free, causing his cum to spill out of me — a warm trickle ran down my inner thigh, soaking into the leather seat.
He reached between my legs, his fingers catching the fluid before bringing it to his lips.
I watched, mesmerized, as he tasted our release on his fingertips.
“Sweet,” he said, his eyes meeting mine in the window. “You make me taste so sweet.”
My breath caught as he leaned forward, his lips brushing my ear. “I want to taste you again, next time on my tongue.”
The words sent a fresh wave of heat through me, pooling low in my belly. But before I could respond, the car slowed and the driver’s voice crackled through a speaker I hadn’t noticed.
“Mr. Falcone, we’ve arrived.”
And just like that, the spell shattered.
I scrambled off his lap, my thighs sticky, my sundress twisted, my mind a hurricane. And Lorenzo just watched me with hooded eyes, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Stay,” he said, his voice calm and commanding.
I froze as he buttoned his pants, as if he hadn’t just filled me with his cum. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a silk handkerchief, and handed it to me.
“Clean up,” he said. “We’re not done yet.”
My fingers closed around the fabric, pressed it between my thighs, blotting the evidence of our encounter, and felt a fresh wave of arousal at his words.
We’re not done yet.