Chapter Five
Antonio
I keep her hand in mine like I’m afraid she’ll disappear if I let it go.
The elevator ride is too short and too long at the same time—too short because I’m still breathing her in, too long because every second that passes is another second I’m not doing what I’ve been thinking about since the second she walked into the ballroom.
The doors open, and I’m already moving, pulling her along.
The hall is quiet compared to the ballroom, with lighting low enough to make everything feel private. I guide her out quickly. She keeps up, those long legs eating up the ground just as eagerly as mine.
I want them wrapped around me.
We round the corner, and she looks up, taking in the corridor like she’s cataloging it even now—posture, exits, cameras. That sharpness doesn’t disappear just because she’s tipsy. It’s part of her. It’s one of the things that hooked me.
“Ooh,” she says, voice bright with the last of her laughter, “a suite. Nice.”
I glance at her. “You haven’t even seen it yet.”
Her eyes slide to mine, blue and warm in a way I didn’t think they could be. “I can tell.”
I stop walking and turn to face her, holding her by her upper arms.
“Elsa,” I said, my voice rough with need, “are you drunk? Are you too drunk for this?”
She lets out a half-laugh and moves in, pressing that body—I was right, perfect—against mine.
“Antonio,” she says, her breath coated in champagne, brushing over my lips. “I was a little tipsy half an hour ago. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? We had quite a few.”
This time, she brushes her lips over mine and teases her tongue over them, moaning softly. I tighten my hold on her and bring her in close, crushing her lips to mine.
She moans. “If you don’t get that room door open now, you’re going to get us arrested.”
Not bothering to let her go, I reach into my pocket for the key card and nearly swear because my hands are too steady to be shaking and yet they are. Not nerves. Impatience. The kind that makes you fumble even when you’re good at everything.
It doesn’t help that her hands are running all over my body, and her lips have latched onto my earlobe, making me go cross-eyed.
The card catches between my fingers. I pull it free, swipe once—too fast. The light flashes red.
Elsa’s voice is a soft, desperate whine in my ear. “Antonio.”
I force myself to slow down, swipe again. Green.
The lock clicks.
I push the door open and drag her through the threshold with me, one step, two, and then I’m already turning, already backing her into the door before it can swing shut all the way. My palm hits the wood beside her head, and the door thumps closed behind her.
Our lips are fused before the door has fully closed. Her back meets the wood and draws an “oomph” out of her. I taste it on my tongue.
Her fingers clutch my lapels, then slide up into my hair, and I can’t help the low groan that tears out of me as she tilts her head and deepens the kiss.
I press my hips forward, letting her feel how much I want her.
My cock is hard and demanding against the fabric of my pants, and I know she feels it.
She does. Her hips rock against mine, sending another wave of pleasure through my body.
I want more.
I yank the skirt of her dress up, one less layer between us. Her panties are damp with arousal. She moans as I trap her hips with mine, rocking against her, kissing her with all the need that’s been building in me all night. All week. All month.
What seems like forever.
Her hands roam my body again, running her fingers down my back, my shoulders, my arms. When she starts toward my torso, I instinctively pull back and stiffen.
She freezes, her lips still on mine, breathing hard.
"What is it?" she whispers.
“Nothing,” I say, and then I kiss her again, trying to erase that little hesitation with a new, more aggressive kiss. Trying to make her forget.
I slide my hand up her thigh and deftly into her panties. She gasps into my mouth as my fingers find her clit. Her head falls back against the door with a thud, baring her throat. I don't waste a second and kiss the column of her neck, then drag my tongue up to her earlobe, gently nibbling on it.
"Antonio," she moans as I rub her clit in slow circles.
She moans again, and the sound goes straight to my dick. Her hips rock against my fingers. I can feel how close she is.
“You like that, amore mio?” I whisper in her ear.
Her answer is a gasp. “Yes.”
I increase the pressure, rub faster, feel her body start to tighten. Her breath comes in short, sharp pants. Her fingers dig into my shoulders.
"Come for me," I whisper, my voice hoarse. "Let me feel it."
She pulls me in for a kiss, moaning into my mouth as I continue to work her clit, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. Her hips buck against my fingers, her whole body tensing as the pleasure builds. She’s so close.
Then she shatters.
A gasp tears from her throat, her body convulses, and I feel her pulse against my fingers. I keep up the rhythm, drawing out her orgasm, until she collapses against me, limp and breathing hard.
I hold her for a moment, letting her catch her breath. It's brief because it's not long before she's moving again, running her hands over my body, tugging my shirt from my pants.
I steel myself as her hands run over me, and she feels it again, the stiffening of my body.
She pulls back with a frown. "Antonio, what's wrong?"
“Nothing,” I say again. “Nothing is wrong.” Then I push away from her and start to walk to the bed. "I want you."
"That's not in question," she says. "But something is."
"it's not a big deal." I drop down on the end of the bed.
"Then tell me what it is," she says.
I watch her walking toward me. Her dress is askew, her hair is a mess. Her lipstick has been fully wiped off after all the kissing, and I was right, she looks way better without it.
I want to eat her alive.
Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes, still that brilliant blue, are dark with desire. She’s a walking, talking fantasy, and the only thing I want to do is fuck her. I want to bury myself so deep inside her that she forgets everything else. But I can't. Not like this.
I let out a sigh. "I had an accident a few months ago."
She frowns, making those lush lips look pouty, and somehow even sexier. "What kind of an accident?"
"Well, it wasn't exactly an accident." I look toward the window. "It's more like... I was... shot."
"You were shot?" she yells, incredulously. "How? Where?"
"With a gun...?"
"Don't be an idiot," she says and kneels on the floor in front of me and starts tugging at my clothes.
"This isn't exactly how I pictured it happening, but I can work with this, too," I say, trying to lighten the mood.
It doesn't work.
"Shut up, Antonio," she says. "Show me. I want to see."
So I do.
I help her take off my shirt. Her eyes trace the scar, a jagged line that starts just below my right pec and runs down to my hip. She reaches out, her fingers hovering over the scar before she finally touches it. Her touch is gentle, almost reverent. "It must have been bad."
"I was lucky." I don't mention just how lucky I was, how long the surgery took to stabilize me and stop the bleeding, and how long I couldn't do anything but lie in bed.
She looks up at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and curiosity. "What happened?"
"It's a long story," I say, trying to avoid the topic. "And not a very pleasant one."
"I have a feeling you're not always a very pleasant person," she teases, her lips curving into a small smile.
And there it is. That fire in her again. The spark that made me notice her in the ballroom.
"Guilty as charged," I say, smiling back.
"Good," she says. "I don't like pleasant people. They're insufferable."
Her gaze drops back to my scar. She leans forward and presses her lips to it. The touch is so light, so gentle, it sends a shiver down my spine. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. The touch of her lips on my skin is electric.
I have been with a lot of women. But none of them have ever made me feel like this. Seen. Like the scar isn't a mark of weakness, but just a part of me. A story. And she wants to hear it.
I run my fingers through her hair, the silky strands slipping through them. "You're a very unusual woman, Elsa."
"You're a very unusual man, Antonio," she murmurs, her lips still moving along my skin.
She moves down, her fingers moving to the button on my pants. My cock, rock-hard again, twitches with anticipation. She looks up at me, her eyes dark with desire, her lips slightly parted.
She unzips my pants and reaches in to wrap her fingers around my cock, making me groan. Elsa pulls it out, and a slow smile of satisfaction spreads across her face.
"Well, that's a pleasant surprise," she purrs. She looks up at me. "Is this a little more what you were picturing?"
"Definitely," I say, my voice hoarse.
She leans forward, her tongue darting out to lick the tip. I moan, my hips bucking. She takes me into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the head. I groan, my fingers tightening in her hair as she takes me deeper. The warmth of her mouth, the feel of her tongue on my cock, it's intoxicating.
She starts to move, her head bobbing up and down, her lips tight around me. I watch her, mesmerized. Her blonde hair falls over her shoulders, her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are closed in concentration. She's beautiful.
A goddess. And she's going to be the death of me.
The little moans she's making in her throat are so fucking sexy, like she’s enjoying this as much as I am. She takes me deep, her throat constricting around the head of my cock, and I see stars.
For a second, I tighten my hand in her hair, keeping her right there, just there. When she makes a little swallowing motion with her throat, I have to fight the urge to fuck her mouth, to take control.
But I don't.
I let her set the pace. And it's exquisite torture. She's driving me crazy, her mouth working its magic, her hands roaming my body, exploring every inch of me.
I close my eyes, my head falling back, and just let myself feel.
This is what I've been missing. This is what I've been craving.
Her.
I can feel the pressure building, the familiar tightening in my balls. I'm on the edge, so close I can taste it.
"Elsa," I groan, my hips rocking against her. "I'm going to come."
She moans again and takes me deeper, her hand moving to cup my balls, gently massaging them. That's all it takes. I come with a guttural groan, spilling myself into her mouth. She swallows, her throat working, her lips still tight around me.
She keeps going, drawing out my orgasm until I'm spent, my body limp and trembling. I slump back against the bed, boneless, my heart pounding in my chest.
She lets me slip from her mouth and looks up at me, her lips glistening. She licks her swollen lips, and I groan.
"Sei incantevole," I say. "You're going to be the death of me."
She crawls onto the bed and straddles my lap, her knees on either side of my hips. The skirt of her dress is still bunched up around her waist, and I can feel the heat of her through my pants. I'm still half-dressed, and she's still mostly dressed, and it's all wrong.
"What does that mean?" she whispers against my lips.
"It means you're enchanting," I say, kissing her.
She furrows her brows lightly. "No one's ever called me enchanting before."
"Everyone you've ever met is an idiot," I say.
She laughs, a real, unbridled laugh, and I feel it in my soul. She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me again. This kiss is different from the others. Slower. More deliberate.
More intimate.
I can taste myself on her tongue, and it's surprisingly hot.
My hands go to her hips, and I pull her closer, rocking against her. She gasps into my mouth, her hips rocking back.
This dress is an affront to my sanity.
But before I can do anything about it, she's climbing off me.
"Where are you going? Get that gorgeous ass back over here, or I'll drag it back myself," I say.