Chapter Thirty-one
Serena
A gasp escapes my lips, my body arching involuntarily as a wet, hot tongue circles my clit, teasing, sucking, making my entire core pulse with raw need. Pleasure coils deep inside me, unbearable and electric, spreading like wildfire through my veins.
I stir, my head still heavy from last night’s drinks, the whirlwind of emotions, the storm of tears, and Lorenzo.
I blink through my haze, scanning the unfamiliar surroundings. Black walls. Dim lighting. A massive king-sized bed draped in black silk sheets. And then, his mouth.
I moan again, the sound slipping from my throat before I can even stop it, and fuck, I don’t want to stop it.
Lorenzo’s tongue moves slowly, deliberately, licking me like he has all the time in the world. Like he enjoys this too much to rush it.
I pant, my fingers instinctively slipping into his thick, dark hair, gripping tightly as another wave of pleasure crashes over me.
His deep chuckle vibrates against my core, and I feel him smirk against my skin.
Cocky bastard.
“What—” I manage to whisper, my voice breathless, desperate. “What are you doing?”
His answer is almost lazy, sinful, his voice drenched in amusement.
“Having breakfast.”
And then, freaking hell.
He slides a finger inside me, curling it just right, finding that spot that makes my toes curl and my stomach tighten with unbearable need.
“Oh,” I whimper, rolling my hips against his mouth.
Another finger pushes in, stretching me, filling me, while his tongue keeps flicking, teasing, tasting, sucking. I swear I feel him groan, like he’s the one drowning in pleasure.
“Lorenzo, please,” I gasp, my body shaking, the pressure inside me spiraling into something dangerously close to shattering.
I need more. I need him.
He slows, and my frustration spikes, he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Princess,” he rasps, his voice deep and rough with desire. His tongue strokes me again, lazy, torturous. “Could you stop shaking?” He flicks my clit with the tip of his tongue, making me cry out. “I’m trying to finish my meal.”
Freaking hell.
His fingers pump harder, faster, curling inside me, his tongue sucking at my clit, devouring me with relentless hunger, like he’s been starving for this. For me.
“Oh,” I cry, losing myself completely.
His grip tightens on my thighs, pinning me open, keeping me right where he wants me, making sure I can’t run from this. From him.
“Please,” I beg, my voice breaking, my body trembling on the edge of something unbearable.
His fingers slow just enough to make me whimper in frustration. The bastard wants to hear it. He wants to hear me say it.
“Words, princess.” His lips brush against me as he speaks, and the vibrations make me see fucking stars.
I try to move against him, to chase my release, but his grip is firm, controlling.
“I need,” I pant, my voice shaking. “I need to come. Please.”
And just like that, he gives it to me.
A third finger joins the others, stretching me, pushing me over the edge as his tongue works me ruthlessly, his lips closing around my clit and sucking hard.
My back arches so violently I think I might break, my body convulsing as my orgasm rips through me, wave after unbearable wave of pleasure that I can’t even contain.
His name falls from my lips like a prayer, a cry, a moan I can’t hold back.
But he doesn’t stop.
Even as I shatter, he keeps going.
His tongue moves slower now, dragging out every aftershock, teasing my oversensitive clit, making me tremble, making my body twitch in overstimulation.
I whimper, beg, gasp for air, my fingers yanking at his hair as I try to pull him away before he destroys me completely.
But he doesn’t move.
He groans against my skin, like he’s still hungry for me, like he’s not done tasting me.
He lifts his head, his lips glistening, his breath still hot against my skin, and then, he moves.
He crawls up my body with predatory slowness, every inch of him radiating raw dominance, until those blue ocean eyes are locked on mine, pinning me in place with such intensity I feel like I might melt into the sheets.
His stare is too much, too deep, too knowing, too consuming.
I turn my head away, unable to hold the weight of his gaze, but his fingers slide beneath my chin, tilting my face back to him.
And then, his mouth is on mine.
Slow at first, teasing, his lips tracing mine like he’s savoring the taste of me.
Then his tongue slips inside, stroking, exploring, claiming, pulling me into a kiss so devastating my entire body shudders beneath him.
He groans, a deep, primal sound that makes my stomach tighten, and then he’s sucking on my tongue, biting my bottom lip, tugging, teasing, taking everything he wants and more.
And fuck, he moves.
His body shifts against mine, his hard length pressing into my sensitive clit, rubbing, sliding, teasing me with slow, deliberate movements. A sinful, torturous rhythm that makes my breath catch in my throat.
I just came, and yet, I already need more.
I crave more.
I crave him.
A shaky breath escapes me, my chest rising and falling too fast, and the words slip past my lips before I can stop them.
“I want you.”
His body stills, his eyes darkening, his gaze flicking between my lips and my eyes like he’s searching for something, something deeper, something real.
The warmth spreads through me, my cheeks burning, my heart pounding, the butterflies in my stomach rioting.
He tilts his head slightly, his voice low and teasing, but something heavier lingers underneath. Something unreadable.
“Come again?”
Fuck.
That voice.
That deep, husky, sinful voice.
I swallow hard, already second-guessing myself.
But then his hips shift again, his cock pressing against me just right, and every rational thought flies out of my head.
“I want—” My voice trembles, the words lodging in my throat, my entire body burning from the intensity of his gaze.
He smirks, knowing exactly what I’m struggling to say, his confidence drowning me, suffocating me, unraveling me.
Just say it.
Fuck it. Just say it.
“I want you to—”
Freaking hell, why is it so hard to say?
His hands tighten on my hips. His cock presses against me again.
I whimper. Shit.
I clench my jaw, grip his shoulders, and finally let the words fall from my lips.
“I want you to fuck me.”
His entire body tenses, a visible reaction to my words, to my desperation.
His grip tightens, his jaw clenches, his nostrils flare slightly as if he’s trying to control himself.
Then, that smirk.
That freaking smirk.
He runs a hand through his thick, messy hair, his eyes dragging down my body, slow, deliberate, worshiping, devouring.
He looks like sin incarnate.
Like the Greek god every woman would willingly worship without a second thought, without fear, without hesitation.
His smirk deepens.
“Come and take me then.” His voice is dark, full of wicked promise, as he pulls himself away from me and strides into the living room.
I follow, my breath unsteady, my body burning with anticipation, but the second I see him, sprawled out on the sofa, legs parted, completely freaking naked, I stop dead in my tracks.
For fuck’s sake.
I should have remembered.
I should have remembered just how big he is.
The first time we fucked, it was pure adrenaline, fast, rough, reckless. I barely had time to process the size of him before he was inside me, stretching me, filling me in a way no one else ever could.
But now?
Now I’m looking at him, at the thick length of him, at the prominent veins running along his cock, at the way he strokes himself lazily while watching me with that infuriating smirk, and I’m questioning every single life choice that led me here.
Freaking hell.
I swallow hard, my thighs clenching together as I slowly step toward him, my body already aching with need.
I climb onto his lap, straddling him, and the moment my wetness presses against the hard length of him, a sharp moan escapes my lips.
Gosh.
The friction.
I could come just like this, just from rubbing myself against him.
His hands move to my hips, gripping me with possessive force, guiding me against him, teasing me, making me feel every inch of him without giving me what I need.
I roll my hips, desperate, and his cock slides against my clit, hard, thick, teasing, sending jolts of pleasure through my body.
My head falls back, my chest rising and falling too fast, and when I glance to the side, I catch the reflection of our tangled bodies in the glass wall.
The view outside is breathtaking, tall trees, endless forest, a day full of possibilities.
But the view inside?
The sight of me, naked in his lap, his cock pressed against me, my body rocking against him, the way his large hands explore every inch of my skin?
It’s intoxicating.
When I turn back to him, his eyes are already on me, dark, heavy, predatory.
He reaches up, cupping my breasts slowly, reverently, his rough thumbs teasing my hardened nipples.
I whimper, arching into his touch, and his lips curl into a satisfied smirk.
“So fucking sensitive, aren’t you, beautiful?”
His mouth finds my neck, hot, wet kisses trailing down my throat, his teeth scraping against my pulse as he kneads my breasts, squeezing just right, just enough to make me whimper.
I feel embarrassingly wet, my arousal coating his cock, making every slow, teasing movement of my hips against him even more torturous.
“Look at you.” His voice is rough, filled with desire, his breath warm against my skin. “Fucking dripping for me, and I haven’t even given you my cock yet.”
My skin burns under his touch, my body melting into him as his hands trace down my spine, slow, teasing, deliberate, making me shiver.
I let out a breathless whimper, my lips trailing over his jaw, then lower, to his neck, his shoulder.
I kiss, suck, bite, claiming him the way I know he wants to claim me.
And then, just when I think he might finally give me what I want, he grips my hips, holding me still, torturing me with anticipation.