Chapter Seventeen #3
My fingers slip the last button free, and I let the shirt slide off.
It falls beside my blazer.
The room is warm, but still the air is a shock against my bare skin.
My nipples are tight, hard peaks.
He sees it.
His gaze lingers for a moment.
Then lifts.
"Is this it?" he says.
My breath comes a little faster.
I shake my head and reach for the zipper on my skirt.
The rasp of the metal fills the air.
Then the skirt is sliding over my hips and pooling at my feet.
Leaving me in a matching green bra and panty set.
"I'm really enjoying the surprises you have under these clothes, cara."
His eyes rake over me, hot and possessive.
Then he lifts his eyes to mine and waits.
I hesitate, my heart beating wildly in my chest.
"Victoria," he growls.
My body shivers, and I reach back and unhook the clasp on my bra.
The cups slide free.
My breasts spill out, my nipples painfully tight, but his eyes stay locked on mine.
It's somehow much more intimate and personal than if he were staring at my breasts.
"You're beautiful," he murmurs. "Now the rest."
The breath shudders out of me.
Then, with shaky fingers, I hook them into the waistband of the panties.
I can smell myself, my arousal.
I know he can, too. It would be hard not to.
He's breathing harder now.
The fabric slips down, and I step out of it.
His gaze drops.
My sex is slick and swollen.
I can feel his eyes on it.
"Bene."
Good.
That voice.
God, that voice.
"Shoes too," he says.
I kick my heels off and step out of the puddle of clothes around me.
I'm naked.
Absolutely, completely naked.
In his office. In front of a floor-to-ceiling window.
During the day, the sunlight reflects off of it, but I've never looked back in the evening when I was driving off.
Can people see in?
Does he have privacy film on the glass?
My entire body is vibrating.
And I've never been so turned on in my life. Even last week doesn't compare.
"You're a vision," he murmurs.
I shiver.
He reaches out and trails a finger along my jaw, down the column of my throat, over the swell of my breast, and across the curve of one nipple.
It pebbles under his touch.
I suck in a sharp breath.
"So sensitive," he whispers.
His finger brushes lower, over the flat of my stomach, and dips briefly between my legs.
I can't stop the whimper that leaves my lips.
"So wet," he says.
His finger glides through the slickness, up and around my clit, and I bite back a moan.
"Mario..."
"Show me the rest, sporcacciona. My naughty girl."
Oh God, is that what that means?
It's dirty and filthy and makes me want to beg.
My legs are shaking.
"The dream, Victoria," he says, his voice rough. "Finish it."
He drops his hand and steps back.
I stare at him, dazed.
The dream.
Right.
I turn slowly and face the window.
I hesitate for half a second, then place my palms flat on the glass and lean forward.
The cold glass against my nipples is almost unbearable.
But I'm so hot.
So hot and so wet, that the window is starting to fog up where I'm touching it.
"You dreamt you were like this," he says.
The heat of his body is behind me, but he is not touching me.
"Yes."
"And then?"
I bite my lip.
"You were behind me," I breathe.
He presses against me, the hard length of his cock against the small of my back.
"Like this?"
"No."
His hands brush the tops of my thighs.
"You're going to have to help me here, cara."
I close my eyes, heat flooding my face.
"My, uh, my legs were spread."
His hands drift higher, up to my hips.
"Mm," he murmurs.
They slide inward, and he cups my sex in his hand.
The view from his office window blurs. Chicago spreads out beneath us in a blur of lights and dark water, the whole city moving while I am trapped completely still.
My pulse pounds so hard I feel it everywhere.
My throat. My wrists.
Between my legs.
"You went down on your knees behind me," I say, my voice shaking.
In the reflection, I see the heat in his eyes, and it makes my mouth water.
"And what did I do?"
I close my eyes.
“No,” he says. “Eyes on me.”
A shudder moves through me.
He feels it.
I see the satisfaction in his face when I open my eyes and lock them on him.
“You put your hands on my thighs,” I whisper. “And spread them.”
My entire body clenches when his hands do just that.
Slowly, he runs his palms up the insides of my legs, pushing them apart until I'm completely exposed.
It's terrifying.
It's exhilarating.
His palm covers my sex again, his thumb pressing between my folds and brushing the underside of my clit.
My hips twitch forward, and I see his reflection smile. Wickedly.
"Then what?"
My voice nearly fails me.
“Then you put your mouth on me.”
His eyes flare.
It is the first truly uncontrolled thing I have seen from him in this room.
“Were you wet for me?” he murmurs in my ear.
"Yes," I moan.
"Did you beg for me?"
"Yes."
His finger slides through my wetness and pushes inside me.
"Show me."
My hips move with the movement of his hand, shamelessly begging for more.
"Please," I moan.
"Mm, Victoria."
He pushes a second finger inside me, and I whimper.
"Tell me more."
My eyes fall closed.
"You said no one else can do to me what you do. No one else will ever give me what I need."
My hips are moving in rhythm with his fingers.
"Oh, God."
His mouth is at my ear.
"That's right, sporcacciona," he says, his accent thicker.
His hand is moving faster now, his fingers working inside me, and I'm shaking.
"Open your eyes, cara," he orders.
I obey.
The glass is a foggy blur.
But I can see his face.
The dark, possessive look in his eyes.
"Come for me," he says, the words hot on my skin.
I'm close.
“You made me watch the city while you did it,” I gasp. “You told me to keep my eyes open. That you wanted me to remember what it felt like to come for you. And that no one else would ever make me feel it. No one but you."
"Si," he says, his voice hoarse. "Only me."
He curls his fingers inside me, and my eyes roll back.
"Look at me."
It takes every ounce of willpower I have, but I obey.
He looks like an angel.
A dark angel sent to ruin me.
"Mario, please," I beg.
He strokes inside me.
"Yes," he breathes.
"I'm—"
He stops all movement, all at once, and I let out a pained keening sound.
"No," I say desperately. "Please."
He presses his lips against the side of my neck.
"Not yet."
"Why?" I ask desperately.
"Because this isn't a dream," he says darkly.
And then his hand is gone.
The sudden loss is jarring.
My hips jerk back.
"Don't move," he says, just like he did in the dream.
I freeze.
My chest heaves.
Every nerve in my body is screaming, and the need is so deep and painful, I want to cry.
Is he going to put his mouth on me now?
Please, please.
I realize that I'm muttering it out loud, like a chant.
Behind me, he unbuckles his belt and pulls it free.
My heart is racing.
He sets it aside and the sound of his zipper next sends another shiver through me.
His lips come back to my ear.
"Get on your knees."
The words are unexpected.
Twin bolts of excitement and fear go through me.
This is not what I dreamt.
The things I dreamt about weren't even real.
This is.
This is happening.
And I want it so badly, I'm nearly delirious.
But apparently, I don't react fast enough for his liking because he grabs a handful of my hair. His hold is tight, and his knuckles press against my scalp as he guides me down, turning me on the way.
I am face-to-face with the long, thick length of him.
His cock is hard, straining upward. The tip glistens.
"Did you dream this, too?" he asks.
I look up.
"No," I whisper.
He tilts his head.
"But I fantasized about it," I continue hoarsely.
He smiles, and oh, God, it is beautiful.
"Did you now?"
I swallow.
"Open your mouth."
It's a command I do not hesitate to obey.
His grip shifts, his thumb brushing my bottom lip before sliding between them.
I taste him.
"Such a dirty little girl," he murmurs.
I suck the digit deeper.
He groans, and the sound makes me shiver.
His thumb slips free, and his hand moves to his cock, wrapping around it and pumping twice.
My eyes are glued to him.
To the motion of his hand.
I lick my lips, and his cock twitches.
He tightens his grip on my hair, and my mouth opens wider.
"That's right," he breathes. "Sei la mia brava ragazza, no?"
I have no idea what he said but I recognize two words.
Good girl.
"Yes," I moan.
The head of his cock touches my tongue, and I whimper.
The taste of him fills my mouth, so deliciously male, and I can't resist the moan that spills out, vibrating against the sensitive skin sliding along my tongue.
He pushes farther, and I wrap my lips around him.
"Cazzo."
His eyes are on mine, intense, burning.
"Succhia," he grits out.
I don't need a translation for this one
I take the base of his cock in my hand, then I do exactly what he said.
I suck him deep into my mouth, my tongue working against him, my cheeks hollowed, and he swears in Italian again.
His fingers are still twisted in my hair, holding me in place.
He presses his other palm to the window, and for the first time, I realize we're still in front of it.
He's fully clothed, but his cock is jutting out of his pants, hard and glistening.
Buried in my mouth.
And I am on my knees naked, shamelessly sucking him off, and loving every minute of it.
My pussy clenches.
"Cazzo, così," he growls. "Just like that. On your knees. With my cock in your mouth."
His hips thrust forward.
The tip hits the back of my throat, and I gag a little.
"You like that, huh?" he says, his voice rough and harsh.
He pulls back, just an inch, and then pushes back in.
I relax my throat, and I can feel the approval radiating from him.