Chapter 5 Megan
MEGAN
I wake up when the dawn is painting the sky in hazy shades of pink and lilac.
We’re still on the rooftop, on the couch, a cozy blanket thrown across our naked bodies. Giovanni is next to me, his face rosy and slack in slumber, one tanned arm thrown casually across my body.
While I have him all to myself, I study his face.
His thick dark eyelashes, high cheekbones, the slender nose and chiseled jawline covered with neat dark stubble.
I’m tempted to run my fingers through his raven-black hair the way I did last night, but I don’t want to wake him.
I want to relive in my head what happened on this couch without any distractions.
Last night.
What the actual fuck happened!
Not only did I drop my guard and let Gio in after all my promises to myself to keep Amber safe and always put her first, but I let him fuck me.
Heat floods my face, and my pulse races.
I didn’t let him fuck me—oh no, I can’t possibly claim to be the delicate heroine from a historical romance—because the truth is, I fucked him.
I rode him like a cowgirl, and I enjoyed every moment of it.
Chewing my bottom lip, I raise the edge of the blanket with my fingertip and study his ripped body. The tattoo of a cross that runs straight down his chest to his abdomen, the tiny wing inked onto his hip bones, replicas of the angel wings spread across his back.
My pussy tingles at the thought of his cock sliding in and out of me, and I’m instantly wet.
Why didn’t Nikki, my best friend, ever tell me what I was missing?
Or did I get lucky by choosing to lose my virginity on a rooftop in the center of Manhattan to a billionaire demi-god with angel wings on his perfect back?
Not only did I drop my guard, tell him about Amber’s father, and then get naked in front of him, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that I would do it all again.
I sneak my hand under the blanket and touch myself between my legs. I’m wet and sore, but I’m already throbbing. For him. I slide my legs apart, just enough for my breath to catch when my fingers graze the swollen flesh, and I get the joke now about needing a cushion the morning after.
A faint flush of disappointment crawls underneath my skin and settles in my stomach when I remind myself that we’re traveling back to LA today.
You agreed to breakfast, Meggie. One meal, and then I’ll bring you back and you’ll never have to set eyes on me again.
Why do I want to cry when I think about never seeing him again? I only just met him yesterday, but it feels as though he’s been waiting for me all my life, watching me from behind the stage curtains, ready to pick me up when I forgot my lines.
It’s crazy, I tell myself. This kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life.
He’s a billionaire with a private jet and a film studio in LA, and this—whatever this is—was repayment for kissing me onscreen.
He probably can’t wait to take me and Amber back to LA and get his playboy lifestyle back on track.
In a week’s time, he probably won’t even remember my name.
“Morning, Meggie.”
He jolts me out of my reverie. I didn’t even realize that he was awake, and I pray that I didn’t say any of that out loud.
“Are you touching yourself for me?” He peers underneath the blanket, a lazy grin lighting up his beautiful features.
“I… No… Maybe?” Surely, I can be forgiven for wanting to touch him again. Once simply isn’t enough, and Nikki would tell me to go for it if she was here.
Gio kisses me long and hard, and I barely have time to catch my breath before he whispers, “Stay right there.”
Then he straddles my legs on the couch, pulls the blanket over his head, and disappears. I feel his tongue leaving damp tracks down my body and instinctively open my legs, but then I remember the traces of blood smearing my inner thighs and try to close them again.
His head reappears with the blanket wrapped around him and clutched under his chin like a kid playing dress-up. “Is that a no, Meggie?”
“No.” Fuck. How do I say to the hottest man on the planet that I don’t want him to see the blood between my legs, especially after what we did last night?
He leans over me, supporting his upper body weight on his forearms, and traces my lips with his fingertip. “I’ve seen every part of you. I’ve tasted you. I’ve fucked you till you can’t sit down. Do you think your blood is going to turn me off?”
I’m confused. I didn’t think that men liked to talk about this kind of stuff, and here’s Gio being so open about it that I don’t even know what to say.
In the end, I run with, “Thank you.”
He smiles. “That’s the one and only time I’ll allow you to thank me for what I’m about to do, Meggie. I want you. I fucking desire you more than you could ever believe. So, you have to believe me when I say that nothing will ever stop me from wanting to pleasure you.”
I smile and gaze up at the dawn sky, hardly daring to believe that this is happening to me.
With the blanket hunched over his shoulders like a tent, Gio licks my sex.
He is gentle at first, the way he was last night when I told him that I’d never done this before, and I find myself grinning like a Cheshire cat at the vast pink sky.
His tongue sends shivers down my spine. My body is tingling all over, and when he grips my thighs and spreads my knees wide, I groan with pleasure.
His tongue is inside me, and nothing else exists for me in the moment.
It consumes every fiber of my being and fills my head with images of him inside me.
He finds my clit and my breathing instantly grows shallow.
I grip the end of the couch behind my head and arch my spine, thrusting my pussy into his face.
“Come for me, fiore.” His voice reaches me from beneath the blanket.
He inserts a finger between my legs and fucks me with it while he sucks on my clit. Licking, sucking, exploring me with his finger. My orgasm builds up and up like a volcano threatening to erupt.
“I want to hear you come, Meggie.”
My breathing is all ragged gasps and panting. “I-I’m coming,” I manage.
“Louder, fiore. Scream for me like no one can hear you.”
No one can hear me. That’s what I tell myself when my orgasm bursts out of me and my low groan reaches a crescendo. I’ve never made these sounds before, didn’t even know that I was capable of them, but I give myself up completely to the ecstasy of Gio’s tongue inside me.
I’m still pulsing with the euphoria of my orgasm when Gio slides his cock inside me. Tossing the blanket aside he crushes my breasts with one hand and grips my hair with the other. His mouth is warm, and his kisses are hard. I taste myself on his tongue.
As he pounds into me, I wrap my legs around his body, raising my ass off the couch and angling my pussy so that he can fill me with his length.
“Do you want me, fiore?” His brown eyes hold mine; they see everything; they know exactly what I’m thinking.
“Yes.”
“Let me hear you say it.”
“I want you.”
I try to touch his face, but he grabs my wrists and forces them behind my head. He kisses the tender flesh inside my arms. My breasts. My nipples. Greedy kisses, marking me as his.
“I think you want me to stop, amore.”
He peers at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes, while his movements still and his cock throbs inside me, sending pulses of pleasure through my body.
“I don’t.”
I raise my head to lick his lips, but he pulls away, just out of reach.
“You’ll have to do better than that.”
“I want you, Gio.” I know nothing about seduction, but my eyes slant, and I clench my pussy around his cock.
He smiles. “That’s better. I want you, amore. Say it.”
“I want you, amore,” I almost purr.
“Ah, you are so fucking beautiful. Mio bellissimo fiore.”
He fucks me harder, until I can’t think straight, smothering my mouth with his greedy kisses. His body shudders when he comes inside me, and I can’t help thinking that this is when he is at his most vulnerable.
This is when I realize that I want to protect him too.
I make pancakes for breakfast. Gio’s kitchen has all the equipment that I’ve ever dreamed of owning and know that I’ll never be able to afford— all of it immaculate, untouched, unloved.
We eat on the roof as it’s going to be another sidewalk-steaming day in New York City: pancakes with blueberries, fresh cream, and honey.
Amber has already caught the sun on her face from the few days we spent in LA; she has a healthy glow and bright eyes. “Meggie makes cakes,” she says, stuffing food into her mouth.
I sip my coffee—this is nothing like the coffee I get from the independent café near where I work in Shoreditch. This is rich and strong and probably costs more than I earn in an hour. I feel the caffeine hitting my veins instantly.
“What kind of cakes?”
Gio is sitting on the decking in casual slacks and a Burberry black-checked polo shirt which accentuates his olive skin and dark eyes.
He is barefoot, and even the sight of his naked feet makes me tingle with longing.
Is this the way it’s going to be from now on?
Have I flipped a switch that I’m now powerless to turn off?
“I follow my own recipes.” I’ve never learned how to blow my own trumpet. “I work in a boutique bakery, but I want my own bakery one day.”
“She makes birthday cakes too,” Amber joins in.
It’s times like these when I get sad that she has to grow up. This innocence is so beguiling that I’ll miss it when I wake up one day and realize that she no longer sees things in glorious na?ve technicolor.
Gio watches me with an unreadable expression while he spears a blueberry on his fork and pops it into his mouth.
“I like making celebration cakes. Wedding cakes. Birthdays…” My voice trails off. Being a successful cake designer is still a dream, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get the opportunity to turn it into reality. “Mostly for people I know.”