Chapter Twenty-Eight Ella
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ella
As the servers clear the final plate, Tiero speaks to them in Italian. They nod respectfully and slip through the door.
The rooftop grows quieter, only the soft tunes of the string duet drifting on the breeze.
Tiero rises and extends his hand. “Dance with me, princess.”
It’s not really a question, but I don’t mind this time. I want to be in his arms again.
The moment I place my hand in his, that quiet electric jolt shoots up my arm. A ripple of goosebumps chases after it, tightening my nipples beneath the thin fabric of my top.
He notices. His gaze flickers, just for a second.
He guides me a few steps away from the table and slides his arm around my waist, drawing me flush against him.
There’s no space left.
My breath leaves me in a soft, unsteady exhale as my body molds to his. My breasts press against his chest. My stomach tightens at the hard line of his abdomen against me. My thigh slips between his with the movement of the music as he guides me exactly where he wants me.
Heat spreads through me in a slow, dangerous wave. I swallow hard and lift my gaze to his.
The tenderness is still there. But it’s layered now.
With desire and… something that seems dangerously close to possessiveness.
Tiero begins to sway us slowly to the music, and I let myself fall into his rhythm.
I’m suddenly aware of every single point of contact. His thigh glides against mine with each shift of his weight. My hip fits perfectly against his. Too perfectly.
His thumb moves along my side in a slow drag. Barely there. But enough for my breathing to turn shallow.
He dips his head and inhales slowly as if taking in my scent. I feel the pull of his chest expanding against me, feel the way his grip tightens just a fraction. His breath is warm at my temple. Then his lips press into my hair.
They linger.
My knees weaken, and I rest my cheek against his chest, hoping to hear his heartbeat. Hoping to hear confirmation that I affect him just as much.
His heart pounds beneath my ear. Fast. Heavy. Almost reckless.
Just like mine.
I smile to myself and nestle my cheek closer, letting my lips brush the fabric over his chest.
Duck feet under water.
On the surface, we move slowly, elegantly. Underneath, everything is frantic.
He exhales sharply when I slide my hand over his heart, my palm flattening against him.
The beat slams into my skin. Wild. Powerful.
Like drums in the jungle, awakening something raw and primal inside me. Something that doesn’t care about caution. Or consequences.
His hand shifts lower. Just slightly.
My breath catches as his palm presses more firmly at the small of my back, guiding my hips fully into his.
There.
Now I feel him.
Hard.
The realization sends heat flooding straight between my thighs, a slow ache building with every second we stay like this.
Our feet stop moving. I tilt my head back to look at him.
His gaze is no longer soft.
His pupils are blown wide and dark with hunger, his jaw tight like he’s holding himself on a leash that’s fraying thread by thread.
Good, I wouldn’t want to be the only one unraveling.
His fingers flex at my back.
The silence between us thickens. The music fades to a distant hum.
I don’t even realize I’ve leaned in until his hand slides up to cradle my jaw, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. My lips part instinctively, and his eyes darken further at the reaction.
His mouth lowers to mine.
Finally.
I’ve been waiting for this all night.
He takes my lips in a slow, claiming kiss. His hand at my jaw keeps me exactly where he wants me.
A soft sound escapes me and, spurt on by it, he deepens the kiss.
He doesn’t devour me, though. He consumes me slowly, as if he has all the time in the world.
Everything else around us falls away.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open for him without hesitation.
The first stroke sends a sharp pulse of pleasure straight through me. My fingers curl into his shirt. I’m not sure if I’m holding on to him for balance or pulling him closer.
Each sweep of his mouth chips away at the last of my resistance.
Not that there was much left. I want to be this close to him.
Closer, really.
More moans escape my throat as his tongue moves with mine. His hand tightens at the small of my back, pressing me more firmly against the evidence of what I’m doing to him.
A low sound vibrates in his chest. Not quite a growl. But close.
His mouth leaves mine only to trail along my jaw. Down. Then back up until his lips brush the shell of my ear. His teeth graze lightly, and my breath stutters.
“You feel that?” he murmurs.
I do.
Everywhere.
His hand slides up into my hair, fisting gently, angling my head back just enough to expose my throat.
“I want to know what sounds you make when I’m buried deep inside you, princess.”
His voice is no longer smooth. It’s rough. Thick with restraint.
Liquid heat detonates low in my belly. My body reacts before my mind can catch up, a pulse of moisture gathering between my thighs.
“I want to see you let go,” he adds roughly.
My fingers clutch at his shirt as my hips shift instinctively against him. The friction sends another jolt through me, and I have to bite down on my lip to keep from making more noise.
Good god, he talks dirty.
It does things to me. Like throw caution to the wind.
But…
I glance toward the screen shielding the musicians, then the rooftop door that could open at any moment.
He wouldn’t.
Would he?
Tiero’s lips curve against my skin. He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes dark, reading my every thought.
“I’m not taking you tonight,” he says softly.
His thumb drags along my lower lip again.
“But soon.”
His hand slides down my spine slowly, deliberately, before settling once more at my lower back, holding me there like he’s already picturing it.
“Very soon.”
A shiver moves through me.
I’m not sure if this is a threat or a promise. Probably both.
Am I ready for that? For him? For the way he would take control?
For the way I already feel myself yielding?
A new, reckless part of me doesn’t hesitate.
Yes.
Yes, I’m ready.
My body aches with need. I shift closer without meaning to, drawn by instinct and the solid certainty of him.
I nuzzle against his neck, breathing him in, trying to steady myself and regain control over a body that seems determined to betray every careful boundary I’ve ever had.
He presses his hard length more firmly against me, as if reminding me exactly what’s coming. Or who. Soon.
A moan slips free before I can stop it. The friction sends a pulse of heat straight through me, and I feel it everywhere. In my stomach. In my throat. Between my thighs.
Knowing it isn’t happening tonight loosens something inside me. The edge of danger shifts from reckless to delicious.
I let myself feel it. Let myself want.
I fist my hand into his hair and pull him down to me, crashing my lips to his.
I kiss him like I mean it. Hungry. Wanton.
My mouth opens, my tongue sliding against his with urgency instead of surrender. I taste him, and he instantly responds, deepening the kiss, matching my intensity without losing control.
He’s still in charge. Even when I pretend I am.
I lose myself in this kiss, barely registering when his hand moves. Slow at first. Then more certain.
It slips beneath the hem of my shirt, his warm palm gliding over my bare skin. The contact is electric. His touch is exploratory. Reverent and possessive all at once.
My breath fractures.
The night air kisses my exposed skin as my shirt lifts higher and his fingers caress my breasts through thin lace. It’s been so long since a man touched me like this. And never a man like Tiero.
He pushes the cups of my bra down, his thumb brushing across the tight peak he’s already coaxed to attention.
The contrast of his heat against the cool breeze makes me shudder.
My fingers tighten in his hair as a broken moan slips from my lips. My back arches instinctively into his touch, chasing the pressure, chasing the warmth.
His mouth leaves mine just long enough to murmur against my lips, “You have no idea what you do to me.”
But I do.
I feel it pressed against me.
With his eyes firmly on mine, his fingers roll my nipple slowly. Then he pinches.
My body clenches helplessly, aching for friction, for pressure, for something to answer the need he’s awakened. My clit is throbbing, and he hasn’t even touched it yet.
“I’m so hard for you. It hurts,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice low and gravelly.
His teeth graze the sensitive skin just below my earlobe before his tongue soothes the sting. The sensation travels down my spine and pools low in my belly.
His lips never leave mine as he slides his palm over my hip, then lower, pushing my skirt up inch by inch until it gathers at my waist. His hand cups me fully through the thin fabric of my thong. I gasp into his mouth.
Groaning, his finger traces a slow line down one side of my center, then back up the other.
“Angel, you’re soaked for me.”
Embarrassment has no chance to blossom when he circles my clit through the fabric, barely touching, but still enough to make my entire body jolt.
The light contact feels unbearable. Electric. My knees weaken and my hips roll toward him. I moan against his lips, frustration and hunger tangling together.
“Tiero,” I plead.
I want more… need more.
He moves us backward until the edge of the table presses against my thighs. With one sweep of his arm he clears it, glass and flowers crashing to the floor. The sound barely registers.
He lifts me onto the table effortlessly and steps between my legs, spreading them wider with the press of his hips. His hands frame my face as he kisses me again, harder now. We devour each other.
Our kisses turn messy, desperate, starved.
His hands slide beneath my knees and pull me closer until there is no space left between us. Then they travel slowly up my bare thighs, fingertips grazing sensitive skin, leaving heat in their wake. My body arches toward him, desperate for more contact.
I tear my mouth from his to suck in air. My lungs burn, and my head spins.
He does not stop.
His mouth moves to my neck, sucking and licking at the sensitive skin there, finding every spot that makes my toes curl. My fingers bury themselves in his hair as I tilt my head back, offering him more.
One of his hands slides to the seam of my thong. His thumb presses against the soaked fabric, dragging slow, deliberate circles over the sensitive bundle beneath. The friction makes my breath hitch.
He lets out a low, approving sound.
With a sharp tug, the thin scrap of lace is gone. I barely register it hitting the floor before his fingers are there, pushing one inside me.
I gasp at the sudden stretch. The sensation is intimate, overwhelming. I clutch at his shirt, twisting the expensive fabric in my fist like it’s the only thing anchoring me to the world.
“Tiero,” I moan.
Another finger joins the first, filling me deeper. He moves slowly, deliberately, watching my face as he strokes inside me.
“Fuck, angel,” he murmurs against my skin. “The way you say my name…”
His thumb returns to where I need him most, circling with maddening precision. Every glide of his fingers brushes that sensitive place inside me, and the pleasure spikes higher each time.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, almost in awe. “So beautiful.”
My hips lift off the table without my permission. I’m chasing him. Begging without words.
“And so tight,” he growls softly. “You’re so wet for me.”
Heat floods my face. My thighs tremble. I’ve never reacted like this to anyone. Never lost myself so completely.
“I can’t wait to taste you, to feast on your sweet little pussy, run my tongue along it and lap up all your nectar.”
The promise in his voice almost undoes me.
Pleasure builds fast now. My thoughts scatter. My body takes over. I try to stay quiet, but broken sounds escape me anyway.
His rhythm changes. Faster. Deeper. Intentional.
“What do you want, princess?” he demands, voice low and commanding.
I can’t form words. I’m too far gone. The pressure inside me coils tighter and tighter.
He slows abruptly.
I whimper in frustration.
“Look at me.”
His hand leaves my hip and slides up to my face, brushing my hair back from my cheek.
I force my eyes open.
“Tell me.”
“I… I want to come,” I breathe, too needy to feel embarrassed.
A dark satisfaction flickers across his face.
“That’s my girl.”
His thumb brushes my cheek as if memorizing the way I look right now. His forehead presses briefly to mine, his voice dropping to something deeper.
“No one will ever make you come like I do. Only me, princess.”
He thrusts his fingers inside me again, harder now, his thumb pressing with exact pressure. The world narrows to sensation. To the intensity in his eyes. To the sound of my breathing and his.
I’m right there. Balanced on the edge.
“Come for me,” he orders. “Now. I’ve got you.”
The command snaps something inside me.
The pleasure detonates. It tears through me in a blinding rush. My body arches, my toes curl, and his name spills from my lips as wave after wave of bliss crashes through me. My muscles clench around his fingers, uncontrollably, greedily.
He doesn’t stop. He keeps touching me, prolonging it, dragging the aftershocks out until I’m shaking beneath him.
“Good girl,” he whispers against my damp skin.
When the sensations finally fade, I collapse against the table, limbs heavy, mind blissfully empty.
Boneless.
Ruined.