Epilogue
Victoria
"Oh, God, Mario!" I cry out, my fingers clutching the table on each side of me as I lay sprawled out on it with Mario's dark head between my legs. "Yes!"
"Is that the spot, cara?" Mario's voice is rough, his hands firm on my legs as he holds me wide open so that he can devour my pussy.
"Yes, please!" I beg. "Don't stop. Please, Mario. Don't stop."
He chuckles. "Are you afraid I won't let you come, amore?"
"Yes!" I wail.
He's been tormenting me with pleasure for what feels like forever. As soon as our romantic dinner was over, Mario declared it was time for dessert and ordered me to undress and get on the table.
Because that's where proper dessert is eaten.
Oh, this man.
It was impossible not to laugh. And impossible not to do as he ordered.
Mario's love is a force all its own, and his attention to detail and care for others is something I never expected. But now, he uses those qualities to pleasure me beyond anything I've ever experienced before.
And torture me in ways I've never experienced before, either.
Like now, as he licks my clit in a rhythm designed to have me on the edge without pushing me over.
My thighs tremble, and a sob works its way up from my chest. "Please," I beg, and I have no idea what I'm asking for, because it's so much.
Too much.
Not enough.
He tsks lightly.
"Is something wrong, mia brava ragazza? Something you want that you are not receiving?"
His lips brush my clit with every word, and I shiver.
"M-m-mario," I stutter, my breath coming in short pants.
"Is it this?" he murmurs and circles my clit with his tongue. "Or maybe this?" His teeth graze the sensitive bud.
My body jolts, and I moan.
"No? What about this?" He pushes two thick fingers into me, and I cry out his name.
"Oh, yes. I think this is what you need," he groans. "My greedy girl."
He finger-fucks me with his fingers, but his mouth doesn't lower back down to my clit. Instead, he watches me with hungry, hooded eyes.
"Yes, I think I will keep you just like this."
"N-no."
"No?" He arches a brow. "Are you telling me no, amore?"
"No, please," I say desperately, needing to come so badly.
"Then what are you saying no to?"
"D-don't leave me like this," I beg. "Make me come."
His expression gentles. "Ti amo, tesoro."
I love you, treasure.
My heart swells and bursts, and all I can do is sob.
He leans forward, but this time, he bypasses my pussy altogether and makes his way up my body. He presses his lips to my quivering belly, slightly rounded now.
"Sei la donna più bella che abbia mai visto. La mia vita," he whispers, and my eyes burn with tears.
You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. My life.
My Italian is getting better, and it's all because I long to know what he says to me in times like this.
"I love you, Mario."
He lifts his head, and I can see the love and possessiveness in his eyes.
"I love you, amore. Now, and for the rest of my life."
Then kisses his way up my body, and his lips capture mine. I taste myself on him.
His hand slips down my belly, and when his fingers brush my clit, I jerk in his hold, moaning into his mouth.
"So sensitive," he teases, rubbing the little nub, sending shock waves of pleasure through me.
"Please, please, please," I chant, lifting my hips to get more friction.
"Shhh, it's okay, amore," he coos, slipping his fingers back inside.
The heel of his hand presses against my clit, and he grinds his palm against me.
I moan loudly, and he captures the sound with his mouth, using the opportunity to slide his wicked tongue against mine, mimicking the movement of his fingers.
My hands go to his hair, gripping the silky strands tightly as the sensations build and build until I feel like a string stretched tight, ready to snap at any moment.
He releases my mouth and nips at my jaw.
"Do you need to come, amore?"
"Yes," I say breathlessly.
"I want you to come," he murmurs against my neck. "I want to feel your sweet cunt hold me tight."
His dirty words have me aching and grinding down on his fingers.
"But not on my fingers."
"N-no," I cry. "Don't stop. Don't stop."
But it's too late. He's already withdrawing his fingers.
I cry out at the loss, and he gives me a wicked grin.
"You are so eager for it, sporcacciona."
"Yes," I moan, lifting my hips, hoping to find the friction I so desperately need.
He chuckles and presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth.
"Patience, mia bella ragazza," he whispers against my lips, then captures them in a deep, slow kiss.
His hands roam over my body, teasing and taunting, until I'm panting with need.
"Please, Mario," I beg.
"Do you want my cock, amore?"
"Yes, please," I cry, needing to feel him inside me.
"Hmmm."
He trails a finger down the center of my body, then dips it between my thighs.
"I don't know," he says, tapping his finger thoughtfully on my clit.
"Mario!" I growl.
He chuckles, his expression filled with mirth.
"Have I made you angry?"
"Yes, dammit."
He laughs outright at that, the rich sound filling the air, making me want him all the more.
"Fuck me!" I demand, lifting my hips to rub myself against him.
His laughter dies, and his expression turns heated.
"Such a dirty mouth on such a beautiful woman."
Before I can retort, his mouth crashes down on mine.
"Say it again," he orders.
"Fuck me."
"Cazzo," he groans. "I think you need adequate punishment for this behavior."
"Yes," I agree.
"A dirty, filthy, delicious punishment."
"Oh, God."
He presses a finger into me, then withdraws, bringing the finger to my lips.
"Taste yourself, mia amore. Taste how sweet you are."
I lick his finger, and his eyes darken.
"I want to taste myself on your cock."
"Christo," he curses. "You are a fucking dream come true."
He moves his finger, and I grab his wrist, taking his finger into my mouth and sucking.
He growls, and his lips crash down on mine.
His kisses are hard and fast, and when he pulls back, we are both panting.
"Now, for your punishment," he growls.
He gets off me completely and reaches down to the floor, picking up his tie.
"Up," he orders, and I push myself into a sitting position, then turn and move off the table, standing before him, naked and shaking with need.
"Beautiful," he says reverently, and the hunger in his eyes has my thighs clenching.
"Put your hands behind your back," he says.
I obey.
He slips the tie over my eyes like a blindfold, blocking out the light.
My heartbeat races.
"Mario?"
"Do you trust me?" he murmurs in my ear.
"Yes," I say without hesitation.
The word slips out so easily, it’s barely a thought anymore.
No hesitation.
No flinch.
No little voice in the back of my head telling me I am being foolish or reckless or naive.
After four months together, I have no doubts about him.
About us.
Mario goes still behind me for a moment, and I know he feels it too. It’s not the first time I’ve entrusted myself to him, but he never takes it for granted.
His mouth brushes the side of my neck, softer than I expect after all that wickedness.
“I love you, Victoria,” he says quietly.
My throat tightens.
A few months ago, I met up with a stranger because I did not know if I could trust him.
Now, I stand naked and blind in front of him with my hands behind my back, aching and exposed and certain.
“Ti amo anch’io,” I say slowly and clumsily. I know my accent isn't good and could use a lot of work, but he’s worth it.
His hand settles on my stomach, broad and warm over the slight curve there.
I put my hand over it, and we stand still for a moment, savoring.
Then his voice is back in my ear, wicked as ever.
“Did I say you could move your hands?”
My nipples tighten, and heat rushes through me as I quickly move my hand back behind my back.
His mouth closes over the side of my neck, teeth scraping lightly.
His hands come up to my breasts and knead them, then tug at my nipples. I gasp, and the ache between my legs intensifies.
"Such beautiful tits," he says, continuing to toy with my nipples.
My breath catches.
"Your cunt is soaking, and your nipples are hard," he whispers, tugging at the pebbled peaks.
I bite back a moan.
"You like that, don't you?"
"Yes," I whisper.
"Good."
He pulls and pinches, and a small whimper leaves my throat.
"Do you want me to suck on these pretty tits, amore?"
"God, yes," I pant.
"Too bad."
His hands fall away, and I whimper in disappointment.
He steps away.
The room is silent, and the darkness is disorienting.
I have no idea where he is, but my other senses are heightened.
I can smell the scent of the candles and our food, the wine, and his cologne.
My skin is sensitive. I can feel the silk tie around my eyes, the chill of the air. The brush of my hair against the back of my neck.
My heart beats faster, and adrenaline floods my veins.
I hear him, moving somewhere in the room, the quiet rustle of clothing.
"Mario," I whisper.
"Yes, amore?"
I don't know why I called out his name.
He is here.
He has me.
And I trust him.
I swallow and shift, feeling the wetness between my thighs, the heaviness of my breasts, the pounding of my pulse.
"Do you know why I am punishing you?" he asks.
"For being disobedient," I say.
"Yes," he agrees. "And also because I want to."
I shiver.
"And because you want me to."
He is right.
I have always liked the way he touches me. The way he holds me. The way he fucks me.
But the more confident and comfortable I've become, the more I have learned about what I like.
And how much I like being told what to do.
Being ordered.
Being claimed.
He is not wrong.
I hear the tell-tale sign of his belt being pulled through his belt loops.
I moan softly.
"Are you thinking about my cock, amore?"
"Yes," I admit.
"Are you thinking about my cock between those pretty, lush lips?"
"Yes," I say.
"Which lips?" he whispers in my ear as he takes my wrists firmly in one hand.
"Both," I moan, and I hear the rasp of the belt sliding against his palm.
The buckle of his belt scrapes my lower back as he loops it around my wrists, and the cool metal makes me gasp.
His lips find my neck, and his teeth sink into the side, biting, claiming.