Chapter 23 Erin #2
When he pulls away with a growl, we stare at each other, panting hard.
“If I take you now, Erin, you’re mine. You understand?”
My lips burn from his assault and my brain is so scrambled I can’t think of an answer.
His gaze lasers into me. “I told you I don’t share. So, what’s it to be? Are you mine?”
A small breath escapes my lungs. In this moment I want nothing more than to be his, and I don’t have the strength to think rationally.
“Yes, I’m yours, Augusto.”
He wraps his arms around my waist, lifting me, then walks us both into the bedroom where he drops me on the bed. Hair flies across my face with the impact, so I blow it away with a puff of air.
“Take off your coat,” he orders in a lusty, throaty voice.
I’d forgotten I was wearing it. I shrug out of the sleeves and toss it to the floor. My lids are heavy with lust when I lift them to Augusto. He pushes the waistband of his sweats over his hips, making my mouth water.
His brow furrows when he nods his head. “Boots,” he barks.
Shit, I have footwear on too. Where the hell has my head gone?
I kick off the boots, which thankfully I’d pulled on barefoot because I don’t think I have the co-ordination to remove socks as well.
When I glance up again, Augusto is standing at the end of the bed wearing nothing but a tight black pair of boxers. And fuck the fabric, I can see everything. And I can’t stop staring at it.
Like, what? Why? How is that fair to other men?
I try to do a quick calculation of when I last had sex. It was… oh God… a really long time ago. A year? Two?
I swallow. I don’t think vaginas are like ear piercings that heal over if they’re not penetrated by a stud every so often. Pun absolutely intended. But, still.
Then I remember I pushed out an eight pound baby fourteen years ago. I’m thinking I might be okay.
I go to remove the shirt but he barks out another order.
“Leave it on.” His voice drops to a husky rumble. “I like the sentiment…”
The slogan hits different now that I know who he is.
“…and I want to unwrap you.”
I flush deeply and rest back on my elbows, thankful the shirt is covering my modesty, because even though I feel crazy for this man, I don’t know what to do.
Usually, I’m between the sheets, wearing a satin negligee with clean teeth and a freshly moisturized face. But here, I have half a night’s-worth of breath on me, mud on my hands, and a ten-year-old shirt, and I have a feeling if I try to put a sheet between us I’m going to get spanked.
“On your front,” he orders.
Oh crap. Looks like I may get spanked anyways.
I do as he says, expecting at least some pacing between movements but no sooner am I laid on my belly than he’s grabbing my ankles and pulling me down the bed. I feel his weight settle on either side of my bare thighs, then his rough hands on the undercurve of my ass.
I gasp in a breath at the contact. He’s barely touched me and is already handling me rougher than I’ve ever been handled before.
Calloused palms and fingers scratch delectably over my skin as the shirt is pushed over my bottom, past my waist and up my back.
He groans like he’s in pain, then mutters something filthy-sounding in Italian before lowering his heavy body and gnashing his teeth into my ass.
He bites me, hard, growling like a wild animal. It’s all I can do to grip the comforter in my fists and bury my face in the material. When he unlatches, he licks around the bite mark before sinking his teeth into the other cheek.
My heart pounds.
I am literally being eaten alive.
It hurts, it stings, but it sizzles with something volcanic.
Then I feel the flat of his tongue, hot and wet, licking a trail up my spine. The tip of his tongue dips into each ridge and circles the muscles all the way up my back until I’m almost hyperventilating with desire.
Then the side of my face warms as he nuzzles into my neck.
Soft moans seep through his lips, whispering into my hair, and his rough stubble grazes against my cheek.
Slowly lowering himself, he presses me into the bed with his full body weight.
His dick lies long, thick and hard between my ass cheeks, throbbing softly.
“You are the most stunning woman I’ve ever met,” he rasps. “Brazenly beautiful.”
A sigh leaves my chest as I swim through his words, my head spinning up to the clouds.
“Tell me what you like, so I can give it to you the best you’ve ever had it.”
My lids ping and the reality of my closeted sexual history barrels toward me with a bundle of humiliation powering it on. “I—I don’t know what I like.”
He stills on top of me, his cock still pumping gently between our bodies. “You don’t know?”
I shake my head, burying my face in shame.
“Do you like sex?”
“I guess.”
“Hm,” he muses. “You guess. Okay, I can work with that.”
He shifts just a little, making an ‘mph’ noise.
“Do you like being fucked with fingers?”
I suck in a small breath. “I, um… I don’t think I’ve ever been fucked with fingers.”
I’m supposing this is foreplay he’s talking about. Gerard never did much of that.
Augusto doesn’t react, just hums to himself, like he’s taking notes for a medical assessment.
“Okay. Has anyone ever licked your pussy?”
My face must be so red a bull would run across Spain to reach it. Thank God for the comforter. I squeak and shake my head again.
“Right,” he murmurs. “So, I’m guessing if you haven’t had your pussy licked, you probably haven’t had your clit sucked?”
He must be reveling in my discomfort because why is he taunting me like this when he could just be pounding into me missionary style? Surely, that’s what the guy wants at the end of the day, just to get his rocks off via the path of least resistance?
“No,” I grumble.
He buries his face into my neck again and I detect a smile on his lips.
“I’m so embarrassed,” I mutter.
“Don’t be,” he says, all throaty again. “You’ve just given me the best gift you possibly could. I get to be your first for all those things.”
My body goes rigid beneath him.
“I’m going to make you fucking weep, Erin. After tonight, you’re not just going to be mine, you’re going to forget what your body felt like before I came along.”
His weight lifts suddenly, and I draw in a long breath, then he rolls me onto my back, straddling me again. “I’ll try and take it slow, baby, but I can’t make any promises.”
The tone he uses sends a thrill down my body where it settles and hums between my legs. Then he lifts my shirt, tugs it over my head and arms, then rears back to stare at me.
My breasts flop to the sides because I didn’t have the sense to wear a bra to bed, but he doesn’t seem to care.
He cups both in his enormous hands, making them look smaller than they feel, gently massaging his thumbs into the flesh.
The look of concentration on his face is enough to make me orgasm. I can’t take my eyes off him.
Without tearing my gaze down to see, I know my nipples are as hard as diamonds, reaching for him like flowers seeking the sun.
He leans forward and whispers something in Italian to my right breast. I don’t understand it but my nipple flutters in response. Then he closes soft, warm lips over it and sucks it into his mouth with a moan.
And holy Mother of Jesus. My back arches, swooning at each swipe of his tongue. I can’t see what’s going on inside his mouth, what his tongue and my nipple are up to in there, but it feels so incredible the tops of my thighs are wet.
Acting on pure instinct, I push my fingers through his thick salt and pepper hair as he sucks and scrapes the soft skin of my breast hypnotically.
“Oh God, Augusto, your tongue…”
He loosens his grip on my nipple, stretching it gently between his teeth before letting it pop from his mouth, softened with pleasure. His gaze coasts to mine and there’s a heat in them that feels dangerous, otherworldly.
“Your tits were made for sucking, Erin. It’s a travesty they haven’t been wrecked before by someone’s teeth.”
My mouth falls open and words don’t come. He lowers to my left breast which feels more taut now, swollen and aching for attention. It practically sighs when he takes it into his mouth.
I squirm beneath him, restless for something but unsure what. His mouth? His fingers? His dick? Honestly, at this point, I’ll take anything.
As he sucks at my nipple, I feel him tensing, like it’s taking everything in him to go slow. Then he releases my nipple and holds himself over me with thick, shaking arms.
Something has snapped in him again. The look on his face is as alarming and visceral as when he threatened to fuck me over the bar.
He’s staring at me with wide eyes and flared nostrils, his beautiful, marbled chest heaving like he’s out of breath. His back teeth grind as he contemplates me, my heartbeat pumping erratically.
I hold the air in my lungs, suddenly afraid of what he’s going to do, then he launches at me, kissing me ferociously, pressing my whole body into the bed with the force of his desire.
His mouth attaches to mine, greedily sucking the life from me, as his hands grope me everywhere like I could slide from his grip at any second.
He takes handfuls of me, kneading and stroking, rubbing and caressing. My skin feels alight with lust. I’m out of my mind with pleasure when he tears his lips away and fastens them to my collarbone.
He French kisses every inch of my chest, my ribs, my waist, the soft flesh of my stomach. By the time he’s at my hips I’m incoherent. I can’t even think straight. His stubble scratches delectably at my skin, making goose bumps erupt everywhere.
When his mouth hovers over the apex of my thighs, I instinctively grip the comforter in tight fists. His hot breath curls my unshaved hairs, sweeping them up in a blissful dance. Every nerve ending in that area is primed, throbbing and aching for him to touch me.