Chapter 21 #2
He takes my hand and places it over his straining sweatpants, and I suck in a breath at the feeling of him—big and hard and as gone for me as I am for him.
“You feel so good,” I say, running my fingers over him, learning the length and breadth of him. “Very hard. Almost as hard as those graham crackers.”
“That’s an insult to my dick,” he says with a small smile, because of course he knows I’m lying.
“But a compliment to your cooking.”
He presses a kiss to my neck, then a light bite. “I don’t have a condom.”
“There’s one in my pocket.”
Heat flashes in his eyes. “You put one in your pants pocket before you came down here?”
“I knew what I wanted.”
He practically growls as I lean over to grab it from my pants on the floor, and his hand wraps around my ass, caressing it, dipping in to feel my wetness.
“Oh my God, put this on,” I say, practically shoving the condom at him as I come to standing.
“No. I need to taste you.”
“You don’t have to. I’m—”
“I want to. You’ve thought about me shirtless. I’ve thought about burying my face between your thighs and eating your pussy until you scream my name and beg me to fuck you.”
“Giovanni,” I gasp.
No man’s ever spoken to me like that. No man’s ever made me want to beg him to fuck me. But I think he might.
“Will you do me that honor?” he asks.
“Yes. Where—”
He unfastens and removes my bra with a single hand, throws it as if it offended him, and lowers his mouth to my nipple, sucking me in, before shifting his attention to the other.
“Oh God,” I moan.
“The counter.”
He lifts me back onto it, the counter cold beneath my legs. “Spread your legs for me again, and let me feast on you, cara mia.”
I do as he demands, of course I do, and he gets down on his knees and practically hangs my legs over his shoulders. His whole face is pressed to me, his mouth moving, tasting, his tongue buried inside of me.
As he licks and tastes and savors me, he grips my thighs hard, almost enough for it to hurt, and somehow that makes it even better. It makes me surrender to the feelings demanding that I give myself completely over to this man.
Then all thoughts cease, and an almost inhuman sound escapes me as I lean back, my head pressed against the cabinets, my hand gripping his hair. I push my body up into him, trying to get closer, even though it would be impossible for me to be closer. For him to have more of me.
Pleasure ripples through me, hot and almost painful, and still he licks and sucks, his eyes rising to meet mine.
I can tell he’s smiling even as he savors me.
He’s enjoying this too. He likes being the man who makes me lose control, and I’m happy to give him that victory, because I have every intention of making him lose control too.
I grip him harder as everything inside of me tenses up and then releases gloriously, my whole body feeling sweet and liquid and good. But I know he could still make me feel better.
I felt how hard and big he was, and I need him inside of me. I need the second release I know his cock can give me, and I need it now.
“The condom,” I gasp, even as he continues sucking, as if he’s consuming the last of my orgasm. “Put it on.”
He finally pulls away, lowering my legs, and stands to his full height—his dick bulging in those sweatpants. His mouth is glistening, and even though it’s proof of what just happened, I’m not ashamed.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his eyes glimmering.
I know what he wants, and after what he’s so generously given me, I’m more than willing to give this to him.
“Please, Giovanni. Please give me that hard cock. I need you inside of me, now.”
His eyes turn molten, and he shoves down his sweatpants. He’s wearing no underwear beneath them.
The air is sucked out of my lungs at the sight of him. He’s beautiful with his clothes on, but even more so like this. He’s the kind of man who inspires statues and centuries of worship, but he’s warm and alive and in my kitchen, and today he’s mine.
“Please,” I say again as he grabs his dick in one hand and pumps it.
Too impatient to wait for him, I lean over and scrabble across the counter until I find the little foil packet. I rip it open, and he pulls away so I can smooth the condom over him, my hand eager, since it’s the first time I’ve touched him without his pants on.
He’s velvety smooth, but so, so hard underneath, and my body, which just experienced the most violent orgasm I’ve ever had, is already hungry for a second one—one that only this cock can bring me.
“You taste like salt and honey,” he says. “See how delicious you taste, Bianca.”
Then he kisses me deeply, and I nearly cry out in pure pleasure. In wonder at him. As he kisses me, he claims his place between my legs, spreading me wider.
He positions himself with one hand, and it nearly drives me mad to feel him there, his tip against me. I’m so close to having what I want, what I’ve needed since the night he kissed me in the dark.
A cry does escape me this time, swallowed by his mouth, as I wrap my legs around him, urging him along, my hands finding his butt. Then he grips my legs again like he owns them and thrusts inside.
He’s big, but I’m so wet he slides in easily, and for a moment, he goes still—buried fully inside of me, my legs wrapped around him.
I feel so beautifully overcome as he continues to kiss me, his throbbing, thick length trapped inside of me, and then he starts moving, and I almost want to cry.
It feels so beautiful. So good.
It’s been so long since I’ve experienced anything as good as this. Then again, he would be good in bed and out of it, wouldn’t he?
He’s gorgeous and now famous, and no doubt he’s slept with dozens and dozens of women.
The thought pulls me out of the moment, but then his mouth breaks contact with mine, and he lowers his head to my nipple, sucking as he thrusts into me hard, again and again, my butt bouncing against the counter. Just like that, I’m firmly in the moment again. Firmly with him.
My hand burrows into his hair and grips tight, and I bring him up for another kiss. I need his mouth right now, while he slides all the way into me again, lighting me up and making me see stars.
He kisses me hard and then pulls away. He pulls out.
“Giovanni,” I say, my tone scandalized.
He grins at me. “I want a different angle to touch you from. Grip the counter, Bianca, and push your beautiful ass into the air.”
I get down on shaky legs, and he immediately grips my hip and thrusts back into me hard—giving his everything to me in that first thrust, which feels so good I nearly come on the spot.
Then his hand finds its way between my legs and rubs the spot that drives me mad, his strokes in sync with his thrusting. His head lowers toward my ear and he whispers to me in Italian while he fucks me.
I’m lost to it, every thought in my head devoted to him and how he’s making me feel. How my body is alive with him.
Giovanni kisses the side of my face, my lips, and then I sense it coming.
It’s as inevitable as getting caught up in a spring storm. I feel the first contractions, followed by a burst of pleasure so strong I nearly collapse against the counter, and would have if his hand weren’t still working between my legs, holding me up.
“Oh fuck,” he says as the intensity of my orgasm ripples through both of us, and then he slides in deep, so deep, and I feel him find his own release inside of me.
For a long moment, we just stand like that, bent over the counter, our bodies still fused together, slick with sweat now. Oh God, I’ve never worked this hard or been worked this hard.
He kisses my head, pulls out, and within seconds he has the condom off and knotted.
I turn around, suddenly slightly self-conscious.
I didn’t mean to even kiss Giovanni, and now we’re both naked and sweaty in our kitchen, which I’ll have to clean within an inch of its life before the nonnas get home.
I really would die if Mrs. Cafiero discovers I had sex with her grandson in the room where she’s made multiple pots of her special sauce.
Speaking of…
“You’d better burn that,” I say, gesturing to the condom.
“I’ll handle it,” he says, his voice serious. “Bianca, that was…” His voice trails off, as if he can’t find words for it either. At least it was different for him too. Special.
I lift my palm into the air.
He frowns at me, then smiles, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter, the condom still held in one hand. “Are you asking for a high five?”
“It was ten-out-of-ten sex,” I say.
He shakes his head slightly and slaps his hand against mine. “You know it was a twelve.”