Chapter Twenty
Mario
I have seen her naked.
I have tasted her skin.
But this...
Fuck.
Fuck.
My cock stiffens at the sight of her.
Green lace lies delicately against her pale skin, highlighting her curves, making her look more naked than bare skin would. Her nipples are already tight beneath the fabric. Her breasts are high and full, and the green is exactly as I imagined.
Not as innocent as the blue I ended up gifting her. Not as sweet. This is meant for seduction, for a man's touch. It fits her perfectly, clinging to the curves of her hips and ass, cupping her breasts like it was made for her.
She stops in the doorway, the bathroom light behind her. Her chin lifts slightly, and the look in her eyes makes my chest tighten.
I can practically feel her nerves, her uncertainty, the fear that she will not meet my approval.
The idea that she might believe that is ludicrous.
Insane.
She is not Victoria Murray, consulting attorney, the woman who walks into offices with confidence and authority. She is Victoria Murray, the woman wearing lacy green like a goddess emerging from the sea.
The contrast is enough to make my head spin.
My gaze sweeps over her.
The color of the lingerie brings out the gold in her hair, the red in her lips, the green of her eyes.
"Jesus Christ," I say, staring.
Her chest rises and falls.
She looks at me uncertainly, then her chin lifts.
"Well?"
My gaze moves over her slowly, from her bare feet, up her legs, across the delicate line of the panties, up the curves of her hips, her breasts, the pale column of her neck.
She is breathtaking.
She is always breathtaking.
But this is more.
Deeper.
"Say something," she demands, but the nerves are still there.
"I have no words," I admit.
Her brow furrows.
"Come here."
"Don't make fun of me."
"Victoria."
"Mario."
"Come here."
I have never spoken that particular command to a woman and had it not be obeyed.
Victoria hesitates, but then she steps forward.
Into the bedroom.
Closer to me.
I take a step.
We are within arm's reach now.
Within touching distance.
I resist.
For a few seconds, anyway.
But she is too tempting.
Too close.
Too soft.
My fingers lift.
They trace the edge of the lace above her breasts, and her breath catches.
Then I run the backs of my knuckles down her chest, along the valley between her breasts, to her navel, then lower.
She watches, her eyes growing darker.
"Does that look like mockery to you?"
I run a hand over her hip, just to feel the lace against her skin.
She takes a breath.
"No."
"Does it look like disapproval?"
"No, but—"
"Stop questioning me."
"It is not easy."
"Yes, it is," I say, sliding a finger under the edge of her panties.
She shivers.
"Do not overthink this. You are beautiful. I want you."
Her lips part in surprise.
She has no fucking idea how beautiful she is.
It's ridiculous.
Infuriating.
It makes me want to show her, inch by agonizing inch.
Slowly.
Thoroughly.
Until she believes it.
"How can I not overthink this?" she whispers, her body shifting slightly toward mine. "You are... you. And I am... me."
"What does that mean?"
"You know what it means."
"I'm afraid I don't."
She lets out a ragged breath.
"It means that you are rich. Powerful. Beautiful."
"And that is a problem for you?" I ask, caressing the soft skin of her hip with my knuckle.
"Yes," she says. "No. I mean, I don't know. It's different. Everything is different with you."
"Is that bad?"
She looks at me like she thinks I might have lost my mind.
"Do you want this, Victoria?"
Her body shivers under my touch.
"I can't imagine that is a difficult question," I say. "Do you want this?"
"Yes."
The word is soft.
Arousal spikes in my blood.
"Then do not argue with me. Do not overthink this."
"I am the master of overthinking. You have no idea. My brain is the fucking king of overthinking."
"Then put your brain away."
"My brain doesn't work like that."
Gently, I slide my finger through her wet folds.
"I am willing to bet that it does," I say, finding her clit.
Her knees buckle slightly.
"Mario."
"If your brain will not cooperate, perhaps other parts of you will."
"Perhaps."
I lean closer and catch her earlobe between my teeth.
She gasps, and her hips rock against my hand.
"Perhaps your body knows better than your mind."
"Possibly."
"Let us find out."
Her lips part.
"Kiss me, cara," I murmur. "This time, you kiss me first."
Her eyes lock on mine.
And then her hands are in my hair, her mouth is on mine, and she is kissing me.
Hard.
Desperate.
Like a woman who has been starving for days and finally has her lips on something delicious.
A sound rumbles in my chest.
This.
This is what I have been waiting for.
For her to give herself to me completely.
I pull her closer, deepening the kiss, stroking her faster. Her nails scrape against my scalp. Her hips move with my hand.
When she is wet and whimpering, and her thighs are trembling, I break the kiss.
"Enough."
Her eyes open slowly.
"Take off my clothes."
She stares at me.
"You heard me."
The green in her eyes is barely visible now, swallowed up by black.
She pulls back.
I expect her hands to be unsteady, but they are not. She works efficiently, pulling my tie loose and sliding it off. Undoing my shirt buttons, then the cuffs. Pulling the shirt from my pants and over my shoulders.
I help her, but only to take my hand out of her panties long enough for her to pull my shirt off and toss it aside.
Then I cup her breast through the lace.
Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
She slides her hands down my chest, and I feel every millimeter.
My pulse kicks up.
It is hard not to lose control.
To rush.
To rip the lace off her and carry her to the bed.
To bury myself inside her and make her cry out my name.
I do not rush.
Instead, I let her take my belt off and undo my slacks. Let her pull them down, and her hand brushes over my cock.
Fuck.
"Victoria," I say, a warning in my voice.
She looks up.
"You are playing with fire."
"Am I?"
Her expression is almost innocent.
My cock aches.
"Keep going," I say.
"Maybe I want to play with fire."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes," she whispers.
My cock twitches.
Then she pulls my slacks down, and her lips part at the sight of me, hard and ready.
She runs a finger over the length of me, and it takes everything I have not to move.
She strokes me again, then circles the head, her eyes on mine.
I groan.
"Enough."
My hand slides into her hair, and I pull her up by it.
She cries out softly.
Then her hands are on my chest, her tongue is in my mouth, and she is kissing me like a woman who wants to be fucked.
And fuck her, I will.
Hard.
Soft.
Deep.
I cannot decide.
Instead, I kiss her back and walk her backward toward the bed.
I pull back when we are next to it.
"Sit."
She does.
"On your hands."
She gives me a look.
"I am not playing, cara."
Slowly, her eyes on mine, she slides her hands under her thighs.
The position pushes her breasts forward.
Makes her look even more like an offering.
"Stay," I say, my voice rough.
She stays.
I stand in front of her and stroke myself slowly.
She swallows.
Her gaze follows the motion.
Then she leans forward slightly.
I grab her chin.
"Did I tell you to move?"
"No."
"That's right."
"You are enjoying this."
"Enjoying watching you squirm? Yes."
She shifts slightly.
"Stay," I repeat.
She sighs.
But she stays.
"You have no idea how fucking beautiful you are," I say, watching her.
She looks down.
"No, cara. Look at me."
Her eyes come back to mine.
"It is baffling to me that you do not know this."
"Because I'm wearing expensive lingerie."
"You think I'm attracted to swatches of fabric?"
"You bought a lot of them."
"I bought a lot of them because I could imagine you in all of them. But they are nothing without you."
She swallows.
"You, however, are beautiful without them."
She shakes her head, and I tighten my grip on her chin.
"Do not disagree with me," I say. "You are not allowed to."
"Mario—"
"I mean it. You are not allowed to insult yourself."
Her brows lift.
"I am serious. When you insult yourself, I will punish you."
She shivers.
"Not that way," I add.
"You are not giving me a choice."
"No, cara, I'm not."
She holds my gaze.
"Tell me I am wrong. Tell me you think poorly of yourself. Do it and see what happens."
She presses her lips together.
"Good girl."
"Mario," she whispers, her thighs pressing together.
"You like it when I call you that, huh? Mia brava ragazza."
"It's not fair."
"What isn't?"
"When you speak Italian."
"Why?"
"It's... hot."
"Would you like me to continue speaking Italian?"
"You are teasing me."
"Yes."
"You are being cruel."
"Perhaps," I say, caressing her bottom lip with my thumb. "I think you enjoy it."
"That is beside the point."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"Hmmm," I say, tracing her lip.
I press my thumb into her mouth.
She closes her lips around it and sucks, closing her eyes in pleasure.
"I love seeing you suck on things, cara," I say roughly. "It drives me fucking crazy."
She sucks harder, and my cock jerks in response.
I pull my thumb from her mouth and slide it down her neck, leaving a damp trail.
She trembles.
I keep going, lower, and when I reach the top of her breasts, she makes a sound in her throat.
"Do not move," I warn.
Her eyes are locked on mine.
She is breathing fast.
Her nipples are hard points beneath the lace.
I slide my hands over her breasts, feeling her tremble.
Then I pull the fabric down and free her nipples.
They are already tight.
I cup them, then caress them, and her eyes drift closed.
"Eyes on me."
She opens her eyes.
I run a thumb across her nipple.
She inhales sharply.
Then I take one of her nipples between my fingers and tug.
Her lips part, and her head falls back on a groan.
"Mario."
"You have exquisite breasts."
"Please."
"Please, what?"
"Please, do that again."
I grin and tug her nipple again.
Her body arches into my touch, her hands still trapped under her.
"More," she demands.
I pinch her nipple and twist lightly.
She cries out.
"Too much?"
"No."
"How about this?"