Chapter 19 Giovanni #2
I slide my other hand between her legs, finding her already wet through the thin fabric of her underwear. “You’re soaked,” I observe clinically. “All this talk about fucking you has your pussy dripping.”
She tries to look away, but I catch her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze.
“Don’t hide from me,” I tell her. “I want to see your face when I make you come. When I fill you up and ruin you for anyone else.”
A small moan escapes her, and I feel her hips shift subtly against my hand, seeking more pressure.
“That’s it,” I encourage, rubbing slow circles over her clit through the fabric. “Show me how much you want it.”
Across the pool, I spot Rico watching us, his expression a mixture of interest and calculation. He raises his glass in a mocking toast. I ignore him, focusing instead on the woman in my lap, on the way her thighs tense as I increase the pressure of my touch.
“Everyone’s watching you,” I tell her, nodding toward the men whose attention has been drawn by her quiet sounds of pleasure. “They all want what I have. They want to bend you over and fuck you until you scream.”
Her eyes dart nervously to the onlookers before returning to me.
“But they can’t have you,” I continue, my voice hardening. “You’re mine. At least for now.”
The possessiveness in my tone surprises even me. I didn’t plan to say that, but the words feel right on my tongue, natural in a way that should concern me.
I need to regain control of this situation—of myself. This isn’t going according to plan. She’s affecting me more than I anticipated, making me say things I don’t mean, feel things I shouldn’t feel.
I have two options. Take her right here, in front of everyone, establishing my dominance and getting this desperate need out of my system. Or bring her back to the pool house, where I can fuck her properly without an audience.
Public sex would certainly send a message to Rico. It would show him I’m still the same cold bastard I’ve always been, unmoved by sentiment or attachment. It would prove to myself that this woman means nothing—just another body to use and discard.
But the pool house offers privacy. Control. The ability to take my time breaking her apart and putting her back together the way I want. No distractions, no performance for others. Just her beneath me, surrendering completely.
The decision is tactical. Stay here and keep an eye on Rico while satisfying this inconvenient desire, or retreat temporarily to handle it in private.
I weigh the variables. The risks. The rewards.
Emmaleen’s eyes dart around, nervous energy humming through her body where it connects with mine.
The calculation happening behind those pale green eyes is almost visible—weighing options, measuring consequences.
She’s thinking about walking back to the pool house with me, all those eyes tracking our departure, everyone knowing exactly what we’re about to do.
Too many variables. Too much exposure.
The decision forms like ice crystallizing in my mind. Clear. Sharp. Final.
“Stay exactly where you are,” I murmur against her ear, my voice casual enough that anyone watching would think I’m whispering sweet nothings. “Don’t move.”
Confusion flickers across her face as I shift beneath her, maintaining the appearance of a man simply adjusting his position. With practiced efficiency, I unfasten my swim trunks, the sound of the Velcro masked by the pounding music.
“Lift up,” I command, my tone leaving no room for hesitation. “Just an inch.”
She complies immediately, her body rising slightly off my lap. I push the thin fabric of her underwear aside, positioning myself beneath her.
“Now sit down,” I tell her, one hand on her hip guiding her movements. “Slowly.”
Her eyes widen as understanding dawns, pupils dilating with a mixture of shock and arousal. For a moment, I think she might refuse—might finally find the line she won’t cross—but then she lowers herself onto me with excruciating slowness.
The heat of her envelops me, tight and slick, and I have to lock every muscle in my body to maintain my composure. Her breath catches, a small sound that only I can hear.
“Such a good girl,” I whisper, the words sliding between us like a secret. “Now don’t make a sound.”
She bites her lip, nodding almost imperceptibly. To anyone watching, she is just sitting in my lap, perhaps grinding against me, but nothing more. The oversized T-shirt covers everything, creating the perfect illusion of propriety in this sea of naked flesh.
I keep one hand on her hip, guiding her into a slow, barely perceptible rhythm. The other slides up to tangle in her hair, pulling her forward until her face is nestled against my neck. The position looks intimate, affectionate even, masking the reality of what’s happening between us.
Her lips press against my throat, not quite a kiss but close enough. I feel her breath, hot and uneven, against my skin. The tremor in her thighs as she fights to maintain control.
“That’s it,” I encourage, my voice neutral, conversational. “Just like that.”
The pressure builds with each subtle movement, her body tightening around mine. I know she’s close—can feel it in the way she clenches around me, in the slight acceleration of her breathing.
I glance across the pool, scanning the crowd with practiced nonchalance. Most of the guests have lost interest in us, distracted by more explicit entertainment elsewhere.
But not Rico.
No, Rico stands alone, leaning against the bar, watching us with those cold, calculating eyes. Oblivious to everyone around him but us. One hand holds a tumbler of amber liquid. The other is moving rhythmically inside his pants.
The sight of him jerking off to this—to her—sends a surge of something dark and possessive through me. I tighten my grip on her hair, turning her face away from his line of sight.
“He’s watching us,” I tell her, my voice a low growl against her ear. “Jerking off to the sight of you taking my cock.”
She shudders against me, her internal muscles clenching in response to my words.
“Should I let him see your face when you come?” I ask, the question cruel and deliberate. “Should I show him what belongs to me?”
“No,” she whispers, the word barely audible. “Please.”
The plea in her voice pushes me closer to the edge. I bite down on her shoulder through the thin cotton of the shirt, hard enough to leave a mark. The pain draws a gasp from her, her body tensing around mine.
“Then come for me now,” I command, my voice steady despite the fire building in my blood. “Quietly.”
She obeys beautifully, her climax rippling through her in silent waves.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, her face pressed against my neck to muffle any sounds she might make.
The feeling of her pulsing around me, combined with the knowledge that Rico is watching, unable to hear or truly see what’s happening, pushes me over the edge.
I come with my eyes locked on Rico’s, a direct challenge in my gaze. Mine. Not yours. Never yours.
When it’s over, I keep her on my lap, both of us still joined, our breathing gradually slowing. I run my fingers through her hair, the gesture almost tender if not for the calculating coldness in my eyes as I continue to stare down Rico across the expanse of the pool.
He raises his glass in a mocking toast.