Chapter 22 Valentina #3
I clenched my fingers in his shirt, trying to ground myself, trying to breathe, but it was impossible with him this close.
With the scent of his cologne wrapping itself around me, with the heat of his body pressing between my thighs, with the feel of his hands gripping the tops of them like he had no intention of letting me go.
“Marco,” I exhaled, his name slipping out before I could stop it.
He hummed against my skin as if he liked the way it sounded coming from me. Then his lips brushed the shell of my ear, his voice smooth, steady, so damn sure of himself. “Say it again.”
“You get off on your own name, lawyer?”
He smiled against my neck. “Only when you say it.”
“Didn’t know you had an ego kink.”
“You’d know all about kinks, wouldn’t you?”
I moved under him and straddled his lap on the edge of the bed. “Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
His hands were everywhere. Roaming my back, grabbing my ass, holding me tighter. “Tell me, Valentina,” he murmured, dragging his mouth down my neck. “What gets you off?”
“Not lawyers, that’s for sure.”
His fingers hooked the string of my underwear and pulled it to the side.
What was I doing?
I was lying.
I wanted him to find out for himself. I could see the hunger in his eyes. Then he slid a finger into me. I grabbed onto his shoulder, wanting to melt into his touch.
“And yet here you are, straddling one,” he mused, pushing another finger inside. “Soaked for one.”
I was. For him.
But I didn’t want him to know, so I said, “That’s what happens when I think of someone else.”
“Tell me his name then,” he said.
I clenched my jaw, refusing to react. Refusing to give him what he wanted.
Marco hummed, dragging his fingers back just enough to make me feel the loss. “Go on,” he murmured.
I swallowed hard. I hated that he knew exactly what he was doing; that he was so damn confident, so sure of himself. He wasn’t just challenging me—he was calling my bluff. Daring me to follow through on the lie.
I dug my fingers into his shoulder. “You’re an ass.”
“That’s not a name, Valentina.”
I rolled my hips, searching for friction, trying to pull him back in, but he held still. His fingers stayed right where they were—just barely inside me. Not enough. Not nearly enough.
“Say it,” he murmured, his lips grazing my jaw, his breath hot against my skin.
I clenched my teeth, refusing to give him anything.
And then, without warning, his fingers curled inside me, pressing exactly where I needed. I gasped, my head falling forward and my forehead nearly knocking into his.
He caught my chin between his fingers, forcing me to look at him. His dark eyes were steady, full of quiet arrogance, of certainty, of something deeper—something that said he already knew exactly how this would end.
“There’s no one else,” he said like a warning.
I swallowed hard, my pulse slamming against my ribs.
Marco’s lips brushed against mine, teasing, just barely there. “Next time you lie to me,” he murmured, “make it believable.”
Then his fingers pushed deeper, and I lost any hope of thinking at all.
I was easy for him. Already on the edge. I could feel my core tightening, bringing me to desperation.
“Marco . . .” I moaned his name, and he caught it with his mouth.
“You’ll be saying that plenty before I’m done with you.”
It had been so long since I’d let myself want like this. Since I’d been this reckless, this willing to lose myself in someone else’s hands. But Marco didn’t just make me want. He made me desperate.
I pulled his belt free, the soft clink of metal the only sound between us aside from my ragged breathing. My fingers shook—not from nerves, but from hunger. From the way he looked at me like he was letting me play along just to see how long I’d last before I caved completely.
His breath fanned my jaw as I worked the button of his pants. “Go on then.”
I swallowed hard, slipping my hand inside and finding him. Hard. Thick. More than I was prepared for, and yet I knew I’d take every inch.
Marco’s head tilted back, the muscles in his jaw tightening as I wrapped my fingers around him. But he didn’t react like most men did.
I wasn’t used to that.
Men always cracked first.
Marco wasn’t cracking.
I sucked in a sharp breath as I lowered myself onto him. I couldn’t lower myself all the way just yet.
My fingers dug into his shoulders, trying to find something to hold onto—something to keep me grounded while every nerve in my body lit up. His jaw ticked, grip flexing against my waist. His hand slid into my hair, pulling my head back.
“Do you like being a fucking tease?”
A sharp gasp tore from my lips as he yanked me down the rest of the way, seating me fully, exactly where he wanted me. My breath stuttered, fingers clenching harder into his shoulders, nails digging into his skin through his shirt.
I sucked in a breath, still adjusting, still trying to process how he felt—how deep he was; how overwhelming it was to have him everywhere, pressing into every part of me.
“Marco, slow,” I demanded.
“Slow?” he murmured, tilting his head like he was considering it. Like he actually had the patience for that.
I sucked in another sharp breath, my thighs tightening around him. “Marco.”
He smirked, hands dragging up my spine, steadying me even as he pretended to ignore the way I was struggling to take him.
“Don’t pout, Valentina,” he said smoothly. “You wanted this.”
His words sent a fresh wave of heat straight through me. He was right. I did. But it didn’t mean I wouldn’t fight him on it.
“You’re such a—”
Marco shifted his hips once—just enough. Just to shut me up.
I choked on the rest of my sentence, my head falling forward onto his shoulder.
His hand slid up my back, tangling in my hair again, tugging just enough to tilt my head back and force me to look at him. His eyes were dark, burning, taking in every shaky breath, every little reaction, memorizing them as if he’d use them against me later.
“Not so mouthy now, are you?”
“I hate you,” I said, pulling his lips to mine as I continued to move my hips against him.
“You can hate me and fuck me,” he murmured, his breath hot against my mouth. “Seems like you’re good at both.”
I gasped, nails raking against his shoulders, because he wasn’t wrong.
I did hate him. I hated how easily he got under my skin, how effortlessly he saw right through me, how he knew exactly what to say to leave me breathless.
And I hated that even now, with him deep inside me, his fingers digging into my waist like he was branding me, he still had the upper hand.
His hips snapped up, meeting mine, forcing a moan from my lips that he swallowed with a groan of his own. He didn’t even know I was on birth control. Did he do this with other girls?
Maybe we should’ve used a condom.
Marco wasn’t the type to be careless, wasn’t the type to lose control. But right now? He didn’t seem to have any.
His breath was ragged against my throat, his grip tightening, and I felt it—how badly he wanted this. How badly he wanted me. There was nothing careful about the way he was fucking me. Nothing restrained in the way he was chasing his release.
He wasn’t just losing control; he was choosing not to have it. He buried himself deep, his grip anchoring me in place like he wasn’t letting me go until he’d taken everything.
“Valentina.”
His voice was raw, almost like a warning, but he didn’t stop me. He didn’t slow me down. He let me take what I wanted, let me push him right to the edge.
I could feel how close he was; the way his muscles tensed beneath my hands; the way his grip flexed against my skin like he was battling with himself, fighting that last thread of restraint.
I leaned in, pressing my lips to his ear. “Don’t hold back,” I whispered, dragging my nails down his chest. “I want to feel you.”
Marco groaned and tipped his head back, his hands tightening like he was about to snap. “Fuck.”
I rocked against him harder, chasing my own pleasure, losing myself in the way he filled me, stretched me; in the way his eyes burned into mine, filled with something primal—something desperate.
His fingers slid around the back of my neck, dragging my mouth to his and swallowing my gasps as he thrust up into me, hard, deep, and unrelenting. The pleasure coiled tight in my stomach, stealing every ounce of breath from my lungs.
My body tightened as pleasure ripped through me so violently I almost couldn’t hold myself up. Marco cursed under his breath, and then—
He let go.
His fingers dug into my waist, pulling me down hard as he buried himself inside me, his body tensing beneath mine. His breath stuttered, his jaw clenched, and then he groaned low in his throat, his head falling forward as he spilled inside me, his grip never loosening, never letting me go.
For a long moment, neither of us moved.
The only sound in the room was our ragged breathing, the aftershocks of what had just happened still pulsing between us. My skin was flushed, slick with sweat, my thighs trembling around him. I could still feel him inside me, still feel the way he’d taken everything—given everything.
Marco’s hands didn’t leave my waist. His fingers pressed in firm, like he wasn’t ready to let me go. His forehead rested against my shoulder, and I could feel his breath, warm against my skin. His heart was still hammering, just like mine.
I should say something.
I should move.
I should do anything other than sit here, still wrapped around him, still feeling the heat of him as if it weren’t seared into me already. But I didn’t. Instead I lifted my hand and threaded my fingers through his hair.
Marco didn’t move. His eyes were dark, half-lidded, still burning with something I couldn’t name. Something that made my stomach twist and my chest feel too tight.
He wasn’t done with me.
I was in trouble.