17. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Lorenzo
"Don’t go, Lorenzo,” she whispers.
I study her face, giving her one final chance to change her mind. Her breathing is shallow. Her pupils are wide. She is still fighting herself, but she is no longer fighting me.
Her hands close around the front of my shirt.
“Stay.”
I kiss her.
She meets me with the same hunger as before, but there is something different in it now. Less panic. More decision.
Her mouth opens beneath mine, and I take my time with her. I taste the wine on her tongue. Feel the tension leave her body by degrees as I hold her face between my hands.
She rises onto her toes, pressing herself against me.
I slide one arm around her waist and lift her.
She gasps into my mouth.
Her legs wrap around me without hesitation.
“Where?” I ask against her lips.
“Bedroom.”
I carry her out of the kitchen.
Mocha appears near the living room and watches us pass as I head to the stairs.
Donna looks over my shoulder at him.
“Stay,” she orders him.
He gives me a look I understand perfectly.
“I will return her safe and sound,” I say.
Donna bites my lower lip.
“Do not talk to my dog right now.”
I laugh against her mouth and keep walking.
I take the stairs quickly, and she directs me to a room at the end of the hall.
I push the door open with my shoulder and carry her inside.
The bedroom is hers in every way. Practical furniture. Dark bedding. A chair near the window with clothes folded across the back. A lamp left on beside the bed.
I lower her onto the mattress.
She sits there looking up at me, her sweater hanging loose over her bare skin and her leggings still somewhere in the kitchen.
The sight nearly ends whatever patience I have left.
She reaches for me.
I catch her hand before she can pull me down.
“What?” she asks.
“I want to look at you.”
Her expression shifts to one of wariness.
The private investigator. She is unused to being watched as she watches.
I hold her gaze and begin to unbutton my shirt.
Her breathing changes, becomes more shallow.
She watches my hands as they move down the front of my shirt.
I pull the fabric from my trousers and remove it completely.
Her eyes move over my chest and stomach before returning to my face.
“Better?” I ask.
She does not answer, only watches my every move.
I unbuckle my belt.
Her hands fist in the dark comforter under her.
I push my trousers and briefs down and step out of them.
Her gaze drops, and her eyes widen slightly.
I must admit, I'm pleased with her reaction.
I straighten, and she looks back at my face. I see the desire there, the hunger. I also see a hint of vulnerability she does her best to hide.
I move toward the bed and push her gently back onto it when she rises to meet me.
She lets me.
That trust affects me more than it should.
Donatella Costa does not yield easily.
She chooses.
And she is choosing me.
I cover her body with my own, settling between her legs, which fall open to welcome me. Her sweater is still between us, a flimsy barrier against the skin-to-skin contact I suddenly crave.
My hands find the hem, and I pull it over her head, tossing it aside.
Her skin is soft and warm beneath my hands. Her nipples pebble in the cool air, hard and beckoning. I long to take one into my mouth and swirl my tongue around the taut peak, but I resist, choosing instead to go back nearly to the start.
I lower my head and take her mouth in a slow, drugging kiss.
She responds hesitantly at first, but then her arms come around my neck, and she pulls me closer, deepening the kiss, opening for me.
One of my hands moves from her hair, down her neck, across her collarbone, until I am cupping her breast.
I weigh its fullness in my palm, teasing the puckered nipple with my thumb.
She arches into my touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.
“Lorenzo,” she whispers, her fingers tightening in my hair.
I love the way she says my name.
I break the kiss and look down at her.
Her face is flushed, her lips swollen from my kisses, her eyes dark with desire.
“You are so beautiful,” I say, my voice raspy with emotion.
A flicker of uncertainty crosses her face before she masks it.
I kiss her again, pouring all the desire I've held in check for days into it. I explore her mouth, savoring her taste, her texture, her.
My hand continues its exploration, tracing the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips, the soft skin of her inner thigh.
I can feel the heat coming from her pussy, the wetness of her arousal.
I want to taste her. To feel her writhe beneath my tongue. To hear her scream my name as she comes apart.
I will, I think. I just need a little patience.
I shift my weight, and she opens her legs wider, an invitation I am more than happy to accept.
I move my fingers to her folds, sliding them through her wetness.
She shudders, a soft gasp escaping her.
“You’re so wet for me, dolcezza,” I murmur against her lips. “So ready for me.”
Her only response is a soft moan as I slide a finger into her tight, wet heat.
Her back arches off the bed, her body clenching around me.
“Lorenzo,” she whimpers.
I add a second finger, stretching her, preparing her for me.
I move my thumb to her clit, circling it slowly, teasing her, building the tension. Her hips buck against my hand, her movements growing more and more frantic.
I kiss my way from her lips, down her neck, across her collarbone, until I am hovering over her breast.
I take her nipple into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the sensitive peak before sucking it.
She cries out, her hands fisting in my hair as I bite down a little hard, then soothe the sting with my tongue.
I lavish the same attention on her other breast, taking my sweet time. Making her wait. Making her beg for it.
And boy does she. Well, in true Donna fashion, it's more like a threat.
"So help me God, Lorenzo," she pants. "If you don't get on with it, I'm going to strangle you."
I laugh. A low, deep rumble in my chest.
"Patience is a virtue, Donatella," I say, kissing my way down her stomach.
"Virtue, my ass," she spits out. "I am not a virtuous woman."
"Thank God for that," I say, giving her nipple another hard suck, making her jump. "I much prefer the sinner."
But I impart a little bit of mercy on her and finally continue my downward journey, pressing soft kisses against her stomach, her hip, her inner thigh. I still have two fingers buried deep inside her, slowly—unbearably slowly—pumping in and out of her.
I can smell her arousal, and my own desire spikes in response.
I want to bury myself inside her, but I want to taste her more.
I look up at her, and our eyes meet.
She is watching me, her chest heaving, her blue eyes wide and wild. Her blonde hair is a mess on the pillow, her lips swollen, her skin flushed.
She's never looked more beautiful.
I lower my head and flick my tongue against her clit.
Her entire body bows, and a choked cry escapes her.
I do it again, and she whimpers.
I take my sweet time, savoring the taste of her, the feel of her. The way she responds to my every touch, every stroke of my tongue.
She is panting, her hands fisted in the sheets, her hips rocking against my face.
She is so close, and I want to push her over the edge.
But I want to make her suffer just a little bit more. It is payback for the last several days, for the constant battle of wills, for the way she's pushed every single one of my buttons.
I pull away, and she lets out a wail of protest.
"Lorenzo," she cries out.
I kiss her inner thigh.
"I'm going to kill you," she pants. "I'm going to kill you, and I'm going to enjoy it."
I chuckle against her skin.
"Patience, my sweet Donatella," I say again, knowing exactly how much she hates that word right now.
"But first," she continues, "I'm going to tie you to this bed and fuck you until I'm done with you. And then I'm going to kill you."
Well.
Well, that sounds promising.
"You can do that later," I murmur, then give her clit another slow, torturous lick.
She groans and pulls at her own hair.
I'm not going to lie. Her threat, more than anything, has me completely and utterly on board for round two. And three. And...
But right now, I think that’s enough.
I take pity on both of us and finally take her clit into my mouth, sucking it hard as I surge my fingers into her hard.
She screams, her back arching off the bed.
I don't let up this time. I want her to come. I want to feel her orgasm, to taste it.
I flick my tongue against her clit, then suck it again, my fingers continuing to pump into her, hard and fast.
I can feel her inner walls begin to flutter, a tell-tale sign of her impending orgasm.
That's all the encouragement I need.
I double down on my efforts, licking and sucking her clit, my fingers curling inside her to find that sensitive spot that will send her over the edge.
Her body goes taut, stiff as a board, and I know I've found it.
I press against it, rubbing it in a firm, circular motion as I copy the movement with my tongue on her clit.
Her toes curl, and a garble of unintelligible sounds escapes her.
Her pussy clamps down on my fingers hard, and her orgasm crashes through her with the force of a tidal wave.
Her body convulses, writhing and bucking against my face as I continue to work her through the intense pleasure. Her juices flow, soaking my fingers and flooding my mouth.
I don't stop. I keep up the pressure, the rhythm, drawing out her orgasm until one leads into another and all she can do is scream my name over and over, her cries echoing in the quiet room.
She loses all control of her body, her thighs tightening around my head, and her hands clawing desperately for purchase anywhere on the bed. She's lost in it, a slave to it, and I'm the one who put her there.
I've never seen anything more beautiful.
I lap at her greedily, savoring her taste, the feel of her, the sounds she's making.
It is the most erotic thing I have ever experienced.
I finally slow my movements, giving her a chance to come down from the high.
Her cries turn to whimpers, then to soft moans, until she is completely spent, her body limp and pliant beneath me. She's panting heavily, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.
I gently withdraw my fingers and give her one final, gentle lick. She cries out weakly and shudders, her entire body trembling in the aftermath.
I move back up her body, covering her with my own, and take her mouth in a deep kiss. I know she can taste herself on my tongue, and she doesn't seem to mind. In fact, she kisses me back with a surprising amount of fervor, her arms coming around my neck, holding me to her.
We kiss for a long time, neither of us in a hurry to end it, as our tongues tangle and dance.
My cock is rock hard, pressing insistently against her thigh, but I ignore it for the moment.
I want to savor this. To savor her.
She breaks the kiss, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
“You are a menace,” she says, her voice raspy.
“And you, Donatella, are magnificent.”
A slow, tired smile spreads across her face.
I rest my forehead against hers, both of us catching our breath.
"Are you trying to kill me?" she asks, her voice hoarse and raspy.
I chuckle. "There are worse ways to go."
She lets out a weak laugh that ends in a moan.
"I need a minute," she says. "Or ten. Or maybe a week."
I smile against her skin. "We have all the time in the world."
And then, she does something that surprises me.
She rolls us over until she's on top of me.
Her blonde hair cascades around us, forming a golden curtain. She looks down at me, her blue eyes hazy with satisfaction.
"Maybe I don't need that much time," she says, her voice husky.
I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs stroking her cheeks.
"You're insatiable."
"You started this," she says, leaning in to nibble on my earlobe. "What? Now you can't handle what you let out?"
I laugh, a deep, rumbling sound in my chest.
"Trust me, dolcezza," I say, my hands sliding down her back to cup her ass. "I can handle anything you can dish out."
She rocks against me, her wetness sliding along the length of my cock.
I groan, my fingers digging into her flesh.
I know she's still sensitive, but I also know that's not going to stop her. If anything, it will probably spur her on.
She looks down at me, her eyes dark and full of challenge.
"We'll see about that," she says, and starts kissing her way down my body.
I watch her, fascinated. I've never met a woman like her before. She's a paradox—a bundle of contradictions. Hard and soft, vulnerable and guarded, giving and demanding.
And right now, she is focused.
Very, very focused.