Chapter 19 #4
Enzo hooks a finger in the waistband of my yoga pants before releasing it, snapping the elastic against my skin. “You heard what I said, cara mia. Your clothes. Take. Them. Off. Right fucking now.”
I debate refusing him but decide I’ve already goaded him enough for one day. There’s always tomorrow and the day after that. Holding his stare, I whip off my top.
“The bra too.”
I reach behind me and unhook it, then grasp the center and toss it over his shoulder. “Happy now?”
“I could be happier,” he drawls. “Lose the fucking Adidas.”
I toe off my shoes, then pull off my socks while I’m at it, feeling a little self-conscious as my breasts sway, thanks to my hunched state. It’s impossible to look sexy and elegant while taking off socks, so I’ll just have to live with knowing this was his idea, not mine.
He doesn’t seem to mind anyway, because he’s devouring me with a hot stare.
“Do you have an objection to wearing shoes in your house, marito?”
His eyes darken at my use of the Italian word for husband, and I know he likes it. “You can wear shoes in the house as long as it’s heels and you don’t have on anything else. Ditch the pants.”
I pull down my yoga pants and shimmy out of them, leaving them pooled on the floor.
“Panties.”
Hooking my thumbs in the lacy scraps—all that remains to cover me—I pull them down slowly, making a show of it just for him. I’m about to toss the panties to the floor too, when he stops me.
“Not so fast, cara.” Enzo holds out his hand. “Those are mine.”
I drop them into his waiting palm. “Technically, they’re property I came into the marriage with, but if you want them, you can have them.”
He closes his hand, the sheer lace disappearing into his fist, and then he tucks them into a pocket inside his suit. Add panty thief to his list of crimes.
“Come here.” He crooks a finger and then turns around, prowling toward the abandoned dining room table.
“What’s next?” It’s difficult to pretend I’m not naked, standing in front of the elevator in his penthouse, but I’ve decided to bluff this one out. “You want me to eat dinner naked? Odd fetish, but I’m here for it if that’s what floats your boat.”
“No, I want to eat you for dinner.” With one ruthless sweep of his forearm, he pushes the beautiful rolls, sake, and miso into a messy clump at the far end. Some delicious bluefin falls to the floor with a plop. “Get on the table.”
I mourn the loss of that yummy tuna sashimi and narrowly suppress the urge to go and pick it up. “I don’t think your white rug is ever going to be the same after that.”
“I don’t give a fuck. Your punishment is that you have to serve me.”
And that’s when I know he wasn’t wrong. His game, his rules. But he’s already won.
Scorpion
I can barely control myself as Katya lies on her back just like I demanded.
Every inch of her beautiful body is on display and at my mercy, her dark hair pooling like silk on the table, her breasts high and full and tipped with puckered pink nipples I can’t wait to suck.
Then there’s her waist, the flare of her hips, her long, powerful ballerina legs, and, best of all, what’s between them.
If I don’t have my tongue on her pussy in the next five seconds, I’m going to find her stronzo brother and dice him up into pieces. Bratva sushi.
There’s a chair at the foot of the table and it’s in my way, so I kick it over, not caring that it cost several grand for that one alone. Nothing is going to keep me from getting what I want, which is to edge her until she’s begging me for more.
“Spread your legs for me, cara. I want to see the pretty pussy that’s been haunting me all fucking day long.”
She slides her legs apart with agonizing slowness. I don’t know if she’s trying to torment me to get even with me for making her strip naked and get on the table, or if she’s shy. It doesn’t matter when her thighs fall apart and I can see her.
Cazzo, she’s glistening.
I grasp her ankles, wincing at the strain the movement places on my wounded arm, and yank her down so that her pussy is within reach.
Then I flatten my palms on the table and bend over her to bury my face between her legs and feast. The first swipe of my tongue over her makes me growl with appreciation.
She tastes so fucking good. Better than any dinner ever could.
Intent on bringing her to the edge, I focus my attention on her clit, using my tongue to work her with quick, determined pressure.
Then I suck hard and sink two fingers deep inside her.
She gasps, body bowing off the table, her pussy grinding into my face.
Her cunt is an inferno, tight as a vise, clamping on me.
I take my time, licking and sucking and biting, fucking in and out of her until I have her right where I want her. Katya’s hips are thrusting mindlessly, her fingers threading through my hair.
And that’s when I stop to rain kisses on her inner thighs, avoiding the fiery heat of her pussy like it’s not even there.
“Enzo,” she pleads, frustration making her voice a throaty growl.
“What is it, cara?” I nip her inner thigh, caressing her hips as the gash in my right arm screams in protest.
Pain doesn’t matter in this moment. Someone could shoot me right fucking now, and I’d go back to licking my wife’s pussy while I bleed out.
“I’m so close.”
I smile against her smooth, soft skin. “Yes, you are.”
She didn’t really think I was just going to go down on her and give her an instant orgasm after she ransacked my apartment and painted my bedroom Flamingo’s Flaming Asshole Pink, did she?
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
I scrape my teeth down to her knee. “Doing what?”
“Torturing me.”