Chapter Twenty One
Victoria
I've been called beautiful before.
By my parents.
My friends.
Men I have dated.
But no one has ever made me feel beautiful like Mario does.
I can't explain it.
But the way he looks at me, the way he talks to me, the way he touches me.
I feel beautiful.
And it isn't the lingerie.
It isn't the money.
It is him.
It is us.
He makes me feel beautiful.
His hands caress my breasts, his eyes never leaving mine, and for the first time in my life, I believe him.
And that's all it takes.
My heart swells, and tears spring to my eyes.
"Cara," he says, concerned. "Are you all right?"
I nod, swallowing back the tears.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," I manage.
He searches my eyes.
"You can tell me anything, Victoria," he says, cupping my cheek.
"I know."
He strokes my cheek with his thumb.
"You can trust me," he says, his voice a low rumble.
"I do."
"Good," he says.
His thumb brushes my lips, and then his mouth is on mine, and his body is pressing into mine.
I can feel the strength of his muscles, the power of his body, and the hard length of his cock pressing against my stomach.
I moan into his mouth, wrapping my arms around his neck.
His kiss is gentle at first.
Soft and sweet.
But quickly, the fire between us catches, and soon, our bodies are rocking together, and his tongue is in my mouth, and I am lost.
His hands slide over my body, cupping my breasts, squeezing them, and his lips slide over my jaw, to my ear, and then my neck, and then he's tugging on my nipple with his teeth, his fingers teasing the other one.
"Oh," I gasp, my head falling back.
He sucks hard, and my body arches off the bed.
He switches to the other one, repeating the same pattern, and I cry out, my hips rocking against the hard muscle of his thigh.
I can't get enough.
Enough of him.
Enough of this.
Enough of the sensations washing through me.
I need him.
Any part of him will do, apparently.
I continue rocking into his thigh, pressing my clit against him, riding him, seeking more.
He growls.
"You going to come on my leg, sporcacciona?" he whispers seductively. "You that desperate right now?"
"Yes," I admit, shamelessly grinding against him. "I'm desperate for you."
"Show me," he demands, sliding his hands up the back of my thighs and lifting them up.
He slides his thigh between mine, and his hard, warm skin presses against my clit more securely
"God," I moan, closing my eyes and moving faster.
"That's it," he says. "Get yourself off on my leg."
I whimper and grind harder.
The words should humiliate me. I should be absolutely fucking mortified at my behavior.
Instead, I only get more turned on the more he talks.
"So fucking hot, seeing you ride me like this. I can't wait to watch you come, all over my leg."
"Mario," I breathe.
"Come, Victoria. Come on me. Get your pussy all over me."
"Oh, God."
"Do it," he orders. "Come on me."
He takes my nipple and roughly pulls it between his fingers.
That's all it takes.
I let out a wordless scream and explode.
The orgasm crashes over me, and my hips jerk wildly against the smooth skin of his thigh.
"That's it," he murmurs, his hands smoothing down the backs of my thighs, holding me firmly against him as I spasm. "Just like that."
I come harder, pleasure coursing through me, my hips bucking against him, a sob tearing from my throat.
And then, when I can't take any more, he slides a hand between us and presses the heel of his hand into my clit, and rubs it.
I come even harder.
"Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God," I sob, writhing helplessly under him.
"Come, Victoria. Give it all to me. Take what you need."
I sob and gasp, and he pushes my thighs apart and thrusts a finger inside me.
I scream.
"That's it, baby. Take me. Come on. You can take more."
He curls his finger, and another orgasm explodes through me.
"Fuck, yes," he says, his finger pumping. "That's it. Take it."
"Mario," I manage, reaching blindly for him.
He moves up my body, his fingers sliding out of me.
I'm so sensitive, every touch is magnified a hundredfold.
My legs are weak, and my pussy is throbbing.
My arms are shaky as I try to wrap them around him, pull him close.
He kisses me deeply, and then he's turning me over, pressing my face into the mattress.
His weight comes down on me.
"Are you still with me, cara?" he asks, his voice gentle.
"Yes."
"How are you doing?"
"Mario," I whimper. "Fuck me. For the love of God, just fuck me."
He chuckles.
His hands spread my thighs wide, putting me exactly where he wants me.
"If I hurt you, tell me, okay?"
"Okay," I agree, honestly not caring if he hurts me. I welcome it.
I want him to stretch me wide and ruin me for anyone else.
His cock slides between my slick folds.
I groan and press back against him.
"Eager, are we?"
"Yes."
He pushes a little more, his cock slipping into my entrance.
Then, without warning, he drives deep.
I let out a yelp, pain and pleasure warring.
"Okay, cara?"
"God, yes."
"More?"
"God, yes!"
He laughs softly.
"My beautiful girl," he says, withdrawing and sliding in again.
I moan.
"Yes, that's it. Let me hear how much you like it."
He does it again.
And again.
"Fuck, Victoria, your cunt feels good."
I whimper.
He thrusts deep, and my body jolts, another orgasm catching me off guard.
"God, yes," he hisses, fucking me faster. "Come for me."
I do, my cries muffled by the bed.
He grips my hair and turns my head, so I'm looking at him.
"Let me hear it," he says.
"Yes!" I cry out. "Like that! Yes!"
He pumps his hips, driving deeper.
"Mario!"
"Yes, baby. Take my cock."
It's the first time he's ever called me baby, and I'm not sure what to think of it.
But then he's fucking me, and nothing matters but the sensations rushing through me.
"More," I beg, the pleasure growing.
"Yes," he agrees, sliding a hand under me and lifting my hips.
I let out a gasp.
He leans his weight into me and drills down into me, shoving me up the bed.
He's deeper, and the angle is even more perfect.
"Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God."
"You like that?"
"Yes."
"Like the way I fill you up?"
"God, yes."
"Fuck, your pussy feels good, Victoria. So tight, so wet. Made for my cock, aren't you, baby?"
"Yes."
"La tua fica è fatta per me. Sei mia.”
"Yes. Keep speaking," I say, like a mantra. "I love it."
"Dillo, Victoria. Voglio sentirti dire che sei mia."
"What?"
"Say it, Victoria. I want to hear you say you're mine," he says roughly.
"I'm yours," I moan.
"Again," he orders, fucking me harder.
"I'm yours. I'm yours. I'm yours," I chant, and another orgasm rips through me.
"God, Victoria," he hisses, driving deeper. "You're fucking perfect. Come, cara. Come on my cock."
"I am," I manage.
"Again," he commands.
"Mario," I whimper.
"Come. Now."
He slaps my ass.
And I do.
"Fuck," he hisses, slamming his hips into mine. "Yes. Fuck, yes."
He grips my hips and thrusts into me hard, and then his cock pulses.
"God, Victoria," he groans, and warmth floods me.
His hand slides between my legs, his fingers brushing my clit.
"Come for me one last time, cara," he orders.
"I can't," I gasp, shaking my head.
"You can. One more time. Come for me."
"No, Mario, I—"
"Do it. Now! Come, Victoria!"
His cock pumps into me again, and his fingers circle my clit, and his body presses against mine, and the orgasm slams into me, so hard and so fast, I almost black out.
"That's it," he groans. "Fuck, yes. That's what I wanted. Fuck, yes. Mia brava ragazza."
He rocks his hips, his cock pumping a few more times, his fingers rubbing my clit through my orgasm.
"Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God," I pant, my body spasming.
"That's it," he says softly. "So good. You're so good, Victoria."
The praise fills me with warmth.
He continues moving in me, slower and slower, until he stops completely.
I collapse, limp and sated, the world around me fuzzy and warm.
"I've got you," he whispers.
He rolls us, pulling me with him, his cock still inside me.
"So beautiful," he whispers, gathering me in his arms.
I close my eyes and relax against him, my breathing finally slowing.
I'm exhausted.
Utterly and completely exhausted.
"Rest," he says, stroking my back. "Just rest."
"Mario," I say, wanting to thank him.
"Shhhh," he says, holding me tighter.
I relax into him.
"Rest," he repeats.
I let out a breath and close my eyes, the world slowly fading away.
For a few seconds after I wake, I have no idea where I am.
The ceiling is wrong.
Too smooth. Too far away.
The sheets are wrong, too.
Soft in a way that I'm not used to. Heavy but not too warm, cool against my bare legs, smelling faintly of clean cotton and him.
Then the memories arrive.
Mario’s house.
Dinner.
The closet.
Green lace.
His mouth.
His hands.
His bed.
Oh God.
I am in Mario Conti’s bed.
I spent the night with Mario Conti.
Again.
Except this time, when I turn my head, he is still there.
For one stunned, sleepy second, I simply stare at him.
He is awake, propped on one elbow, watching me with his hair slightly mussed and his chest bare above the sheet.
In the morning light, he looks less untouchable than he does in a suit.
Not softer exactly. Mario Conti will never be soft.
But more real. Skin and muscle and dark eyes.
Silver at his temples. A faint shadow along his jaw.
And he is looking at me like he has been looking at me for a while.
My heart gives one hard, disoriented thump.
“Good morning,” he says.
His voice is rough and sends my heart galloping.
“Hi,” I say, because apparently all my education has led me here.
His mouth curves.
I become abruptly, painfully aware that I am naked beneath his sheets. My hair is probably a disaster. There is a very strong chance my mascara is... not where it started.
Also, I am in his bed, in his house, after the kind of night that some would definitely categorize as scandalous.
I pull the sheet higher over my chest.
Mario’s eyes drop to the movement, and a small smirk forms.
Then his eyes lift again.
"I have a very good memory, cara," he says in that deep, sexy voice. "There is no part I haven't seen yet."
I flush, deep and red.