17. Jovie
JOVIE
I hold my breath, waiting for him to become furious, or disgusted with me. A man of his age, I wouldn’t think would want someone so inexperienced. He goes so long without speaking, I lift my arms again to cover myself up.
“I’m—I’m sorry. I’ll go.” My eyes well up with tears from embarrassment. My cheeks turn hot. “I just thought you needed to know.” I bend down to pick up my bra that’s right next to him and his hand snags my throat, lifting me back up, and pressing me against the wall.
The wild pound of my heart has to be heard.
His eyes are intense, darkened, and the green can’t even be seen. I can’t read him. I can’t tell what he wants or what he is thinking.
“No one has ever fucked you?” His voice is a deep rasp, and he bites his lip, his gaze roaming up and down my body.
I shake my head, hoping the truth will keep me alive.
“No one has ever had you?” He steps closer, his fingers drifting down the middle of my chest. “No one?”
I know what he’s asking. He’s asking if I truly never had sex with his son.
“No one,” I answer.
He unbuttons my jeans, the zipper lowering louder than the broken breaths that escape me. It echoes in the room, the teeth grinding to expose my body. Santino is still so composed somehow. I’m nervous. My entire body is trembling. I can’t form two thoughts or string together a sentence.
My lips tingle from the ghost of his kiss. His eyes become raging seas, the color of the ocean in a wicked storm. Whimpers leave me when his fingers dip into my panties and I grip the wall the best I can, wondering what he is going to do.
Blood rushes through my body. My ears ring. The room is hot. Am I breathing? Can I breathe?
His finger brushes against my clit and I gasp.
Good. Air. Finally.
“That surprises me.” He curls two fingers, lazily, curiously, like he is testing every soft touch to find the truth. “You’re so beautiful. Everything about you is captivating and no one has had you? Why is that, Sweet Girl?”
“Just…” I claw at the wall when he dips his finger lower, circling it around my wet entrance.
“Just what? Have you done other things?”
I nod so fast I become dizzy. “Yes. Not a lot, but I have.”
He inserts one finger and I grip his wrist, moaning from the intrusion.
“Are you okay? Does it hurt?” He leans forward, pressing the hard ridge of his arousal against me.
“Do you need me to stop, Jovie?” Santino’s lips tickle the shell of my ear, his hushed words ghosting over my flesh and they entice a reaction, my skin pebbling in reply.
He sinks his finger deeper. In and out. In and out. Slow. Gentle. Easy.
I crane my head back, closing my eyes as pleasure builds.
“You’re so wet for me,” he says in a way that’s similar to a praise.
Santino drags his hand free, his finger shining, and his lust-filled eyes glide from me to his hand.
He inhales the scent, groaning. “Mmm,” he growls, his lashes touching his brows when he peers up at me like a devil peeking through a doorway. “I wonder if you taste just as good.”
My own gaze falls to his mouth, wondering if he’s actually going to taste me. A throb builds between my legs watching his every move. I’ve never been more ready to take the next step in my entire life.
This moment. This person. This man. All the reservations I’ve had with other men are gone. The uncertainty in my gut, the voice in the back of my head that always told me to stop is no longer there. There’s no second guessing or no hesitation.
I’m right where I’m supposed to be.
He sucks his finger into his mouth, and his eyes roll to the back of his head when he lets out a moan that I wish I had the courage to swallow by kissing him.
I want to feel his sound in my throat and move down my body until I feel him everywhere.
“Better than I have dreamed,” he admits, his head rolling over his shoulders before he straightens.
“Santino.” I don’t know what else to say. God, I’m nervous. My heart is pounding so loud I can hear it beating in my ears.
He crowds me, trailing his hands up my body, skimming over my breasts, then grips my chin, his thumb tugging my bottom lip down. “Say it again.”
“What?” I can’t understand a word he is saying.
“Say my name again. Just like you did before.”
I lick my lips, unsure of what it sounded like. I don’t need to focus with him so close. I can’t. Saying his name as if I can’t breathe is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.
“Santino,” I force from my throat the best I can.
“Fuck,” he thunders, gripping me back the back of the neck and yanking me forward, sealing his lips over mine.
The kiss is deep, his tongue slipping over mine in a forbidden dance. He grabs my thighs, my ass, lifting my leg to wrap around his hip, and then grinds himself into me.
No more words are spoken. I don’t think either of us can stand another second without feeling one another. With trembling hands, I unbutton his shirt—or try to. I can’t seem to steady my fingers enough.
I whine from impatience and a little embarrassment. What woman can’t unbutton a damn shirt?
He rips his lips away, grips either side of his expensive button-up and yanks.
The buttons pop and fly, clinking onto the floor.
One by one they roll away, getting lost in the room, and Santino tosses the useless fabric onto the floor.
I’m left with a view I’ve only ever seen in the videos or pictures we have sent one another.
I swallow, not knowing where to look when it comes to the masterpiece that is Santino Salvati. His shoulders are square, his chest wide, sculpted, defined, and his arms have just the right amount of muscle on them where I can see the vein that runs over each bicep.
I want to lick it.
Dark hair is scattered across his chest and abs, thinning to a perfect happy trail.
He doesn’t allow me to appreciate him much longer.
Santino wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and charges at me, picking me up with ease.
His hand cups the back of my head, the warmth of his kisses heating every spot he chooses on my neck.
He lays me down on the bed, the mattress soft and giving, the sheets melting against my skin from the high thread count. Santino climbs up my body, kisses my stomach, between my breasts, then kisses me again.
I love his lips. If this is all we did tonight, I’d be happy.
I love feeling him against me. Experiencing him is like a wish coming true or a fever dream.
Both send a surge of lust in my veins, my nails clawing at his back as he settles between my legs.
Our pants are still on, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling his thick erection pressing against me.
I gasp in his mouth when he rocks, the tip of his cock sliding over my jean-covered clit. The kiss is messy as we allow our want for each other to take over and to be in control.
“You’re so goddamn perfect,” he mumbles between kisses. “Fuck,” he groans, grinding himself against me. “I haven’t felt this way in so long,” he mumbles to himself, kissing his way down my chest.
He kneads my breasts, sucking one nipple into his mouth, then sliding this tongue across to give attention to the other. “Perfect. So perfect. Look at you.” He kneels between my thighs, tugging my jeans off my hips taking my panties with them.
Santino drops the jeans to the floor, his eyes, heated and a bit wild, take their time looking at every inch of me. He takes his time too as if we don’t have a life or responsibilities outside of these four walls.
He lifts my right leg, and a piece of hair drops over his forehead as he bends down to place at a kiss at my ankle.
Santino drinks me in. I don’t think anyone has ever analyzed me with such intensity.
Santino handles me like I’m a rare piece of art, his hands caressing my feet, kissing the tops, tracing every toe.
I never knew being touched like this would feel so sensual.
Santino is in a trance, gliding his fingers up my shin, circling my knee, and he bends down again, kissing an area that shouldn’t be so sensitive. Peering up at me, he spreads my thighs a part, his gaze dropping to my pussy.
His eyes close and he reaches down, palming himself through his pants.
I lift myself onto my elbows, biting lip as I watch him squeeze himself to relieve the ache. I want to do that. I want to touch him. He wants me. He shouldn’t mind, right?
I lean forward, placing my hand on top of his, and he snaps his eyes open. A word isn’t spoken between us, but he slides his hand away, allowing me to feel and explore how I want.
His chest rises and falls in dramatic bursts as he watches me.
Wrapping my palm around his cock, my lips part when I can visibly see how thick he is.
“I love how you touch me.”
I turn bashful and unsure. “Uncertain?” I tease, giving him an experimental stroke.
His fingers find my chin again and force my head up. “Because it’s you who is touching me.”
I unbutton his pants and slide down his zipper, wanting to see the length that’s tenting his pants when he snags my wrist.
“You don’t have to do that. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Tonight can be all about you. We don’t have to rush.”
“Rush?” I tug at his pants, the material dropping lower and lower until the beautiful dips on either side of his hips show just how far they go. “I’ve been dreaming about this. About you. There’s nothing else I want.”
Santino’s pants pool around his knees and the first thing I notice is that he isn’t wearing underwear.
His cock springs free and my mouth waters when I see how perfect every inch is.
He’s big, thick, and nearly the girth of a mini soda can.
My fingers don’t touch. They almost do, but I’m intimidated.
His cock curves, the crown is flared and a dusty red from arousal.
I did that. I make him feel this way.
His hand combs through my hair. “No pressure, Sweet Girl.”
I kiss the tip, dipping my tongue into the slit to gather the clear bead of precome.