Chapter Seventeen
Olivia
I'm a live wire. Every nerve ending is buzzing with electricity. I can still feel him inside me, the way he stretched me, the way he possessed me. The way he marked me.
The bite on my side throbs, a dull ache that is a constant reminder of what just happened. Of what we are to each other.
I watch him through half-closed eyes as he kneels between my legs. His hair is disheveled, a lock falling over his forehead. There's a wildness in his eyes that I've seen only once before. A darkness that both terrifies and excites me.
He's looking at me like I belong to him. And the scary part is, a part of me does.
He lowers his head, his lips brushing against my inner thigh. My breath catches. I know what he's going to do. I brace myself for it.
But he doesn't bite me. Not yet. He presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss there. Then another, higher up. His tongue darts out, tasting my skin.
My body responds immediately, a wave of heat washing over me.
He continues his journey, a path of wet, open-mouthed kisses that leads to the very center of me. I'm arching off the sofa, my hands tangling in his hair, silently begging him for more.
He chuckles, a low, dark sound that vibrates against my sensitive flesh.
"Patience, Olivia," he murmurs. "We have all night."
His words are a promise. A threat.
He finally gives me what I want. His tongue finds my clit, and I cry out, my body arching off the sofa. He licks me, a long, slow stroke that has me seeing stars.
He doesn't stop. He devours me like a man starved, his tongue and fingers working in concert to bring me to the brink of insanity.
I'm writhing on the sofa, my body a slave to the pleasure he's giving me. I'm close, so close.
"Roberto, please," I sob. "Please."
He looks up at me, his eyes dark with desire. "Please, what? Tell me what you want."
"I want to come," I cry out. "Please, let me come."
He smirks, a slow, predatory smile that makes my stomach clench. "Since you asked so nicely."
He lowers his head again, and this time, he doesn't hold back. He sucks on my clit, his fingers curling inside me, finding that spot that sends me hurtling over the edge.
I scream, my body convulsing as a mind-shattering orgasm rips through me. It's so intense, so overwhelming, that for a moment, I think I'm going to pass out.
He doesn't stop. He continues to lap at me, drawing out my pleasure until I'm a quivering, sobbing mess.
When he finally pulls away, I'm limp, my body boneless. I don't think I can move. I don't think I want to.
He crawls up my body, caging me in with his arms and legs. He looks down at me, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Still with me, Olivia?" he asks.
I can only nod, my throat too tight to form words.
He kisses me, a slow, deep kiss that sends my head spinning.
He enters me again, a slow, smooth stroke that has me gasping. This isn't the frantic, desperate coupling of earlier. This is something else. Something deeper. More meaningful.
He moves inside me, a slow, steady rhythm that is both a torture and a pleasure. He's looking down at me, his eyes intense, focused on my face.
"I want to see you come," he says, his voice low and rough. "I want to watch you fall apart on my cock."
His words, coupled with the steady rhythm of his hips, are my undoing. I feel the pleasure building again, a slow, steady climb that is both exhilarating and terrifying.
I close my eyes, losing myself to the sensation.
"No," he says, his voice firm. "Look at me."
I open my eyes, my gaze locking with his.
"Stay with me," he says. "Don't look away."
I can't. I can't look away from the intense, possessive look in his eyes. It's like he's looking into my soul, seeing all my secrets, all my desires.
The pleasure builds, higher and higher, until I'm teetering on the edge again.
"That's it," he encourages. "Let go. Come for me."
I do. My body arches off the sofa, a silent scream on my lips as another orgasm, more powerful than the last, rips through me. My nails dig into his back as I try to bring him even closer.
He follows me over the edge, a hoarse cry tearing from his throat as he finds his own release.
We lie there, tangled together, our bodies slick with sweat. The room is quiet, the only sound our ragged breaths.
I don't know how long we lie there, lost in the afterglow. Minutes. Hours. It doesn't matter.
I drift in a haze of pleasure, my mind quiet for the first time in weeks. There's only the feeling of his weight on me, the steady beat of his heart against my chest, the warmth of his breath on my skin.
Roberto eventually rolls off me, pulling me into his arms. I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
He's stroking my hair, his touch gentle now. The predator has retreated, leaving only the man.
I should feel ashamed. I should feel used. I should feel regret.
I feel none of those things.
I feel safe. Protected. Cherished.
I feel as if I’m home.
And that is the most terrifying thing of all.
Because this can't be my home, he can't be my home. He's a complication I don't need. A distraction I can't afford.
But lying here in his arms, I can't bring myself to care.
I can feel the exhaustion setting in, my body heavy and sated. My eyes drift shut.
Just for a little while, I tell myself. Just for a little while, I'll pretend this is real.
When I wake up again, there's still darkness on the other side of the window. The only light is the softly glowing lamp that somehow managed to stay on my desk.
Roberto’s jacket is over me, warm with his scent and my own. He’s not on the sofa with me.
He’s standing by the window, looking out over the city, in only his trousers. His back is to me, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. He's a coiled spring, ready to snap.
I know what he's thinking. I can feel the distance growing between us, a chasm opened by the light of day.
He's regretting this. He's regretting me.
Panic rises in my throat, sharp and acidic. I push it down, forcing myself to be calm.
"Roberto?" My voice is a soft whisper in the quiet room.
He turns, and the look on his face makes my heart ache. It's not regret. It's worse.
It's conflict. A war between what he wants and what he thinks is right.
He walks back to the sofa, sitting on the edge, careful not to touch me.
"Olivia," he says, his voice low and serious.
I shake my head no and lean into him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and pressing my chest against his back. He goes still. I know he thinks this is wrong.
I don't care.
I kiss the skin between his shoulder blades, a soft, gentle kiss that is both a question and an answer.
"No," I say, my lips against his skin.
He lets out a long, slow breath. He's fighting a battle, and I'm not sure which side he wants to win.
I press another kiss to his back, higher up this time, between his shoulder blades. I trail a line of soft kisses up his spine, my hands tracing the muscles of his arms.
He turns then, capturing my face in his hands. His gaze is intense, searching mine.
"What are you doing, Olivia?" he asks.
I tilt my head back, my lips brushing against his. "Taking what I want," I say.
I kiss him. A slow, deep kiss that is a promise of more. A promise I intend to keep.
He doesn't resist. He can't. I can feel the fight draining out of him, replaced by the same desire that burned so brightly before.
He deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth, tasting me. I respond with a passion that surprises even me. I want this. I want him.
I sit up to push him back against the arm of the sofa. His jacket falls away as I move over him, straddling his waist.
My hands explore his chest, my fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, the trail that disappears into the waist of his unbuttoned pants.
I lean down, my lips finding a nipple. I suck on it, my teeth grazing the sensitive nub. He groans, his hands fisting in my hair.
I move to the other side, giving it the same attention. His hips buck against mine, a silent plea for more.
I know what he wants. But I'm not ready to give it to him yet. I want to explore him. To know him.
I slide down his body, my lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. I can feel the tension in his muscles, the way he's trying to hold back, to maintain control.
I won't let him.
I look up at him, my gaze meeting his. His eyes are dark with desire, his jaw tight with restraint.
I press a soft kiss to the skin just above the waistband of his trousers. His hips buck again, a more desperate movement this time.
I take my time, pulling his pants down a little at a time. He lifts his hips, allowing me to pull them off completely.
He's magnificent. Hard, ready, and all mine.
I look up at him again, a small smile playing on my lips. I can see the war in his eyes, the fight between his desire and his sense of duty.
I won't let him win.
I take him in my mouth, a slow, deliberate act of possession.
He cries out, his hands fisting in my hair. I can feel the last of his control shattering. He's mine now. Completely. Utterly.
I take him deep, my tongue swirling around him, tasting him. I set a rhythm that is both a torture and a pleasure, bringing him to the brink of release before pulling back.
"Olivia," he growls, a warning. A plea.
I don't stop. I want to break him. To push him over the edge.
I take him deep again, and this time, I don't pull back. I suck on him, my movements faster, more demanding. He lifts his hips, driving himself deeper into my throat.
Even under my hands, he still has to have control, ownership.
I love it. I want it. I want more.
As if he can read my mind, his fingers tighten in my hair, a delicious, pleasurable pain.
His hips move again, this time faster, taking control.
This is the same old dance. One I’m not tired of. One where he is the leader and I am the willing follower.
He pulls out, and I suck air in desperately, wanting him back in my mouth as soon as humanly possible.