18. Chapter Eighteen #2
I can feel the tension building inside me, a coil of desire tightening in my stomach, waiting to spring.
I reach between us, my fingers finding my clit. I rub it in a firm, circular motion, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.
The added sensation is almost too much.
"Oh, God, Lorenzo," I moan. "I'm so close."
He leans down and kisses me, and it's a wild, desperate kiss, full of teeth and tongue.
We devour each other, lost in the moment, lost in each other.
His hips piston into me, and I move against him.
I can feel my inner walls starting to flutter and clench around him.
He knows I am close. And he is going to give me exactly what I need.
Except just as I'm about to fly over the edge, he stills.
My eyes fly open, and I cry out in shock. My body is trembling on the brink, and I try to get him moving again, but he holds still, not budging an inch.
"Lorenzo," I gasp, my voice a ragged plea.
He chuckles, and it's pure evil. "I made a promise to you, Donatella. I intend to keep it."
I furrow my brows. A promise? What prom—
I narrow my eyes. That son of a bitch.
"Bite me," I say.
He smiles. "Gladly. But not what I was going for. I remember saying you would beg."
"I distinctly said I will not beg," I say, my pride rearing its stubborn head. I try to rock my hips, but he has me pinned. My body is screaming. I want to come so badly I could cry.
"Everyone has their price, dolcezza," he whispers. "I'll find yours."
Then he starts moving again, but this time it's that slow, maddening pace that had me on the verge of insanity before. I am already so wound up, and my body starts responding immediately.
It doesn't take long for me to be right back on the edge, and I'm right back where I was.
This time, I'm prepared when he suddenly stops. I'm already rubbing my clit, so I just keep on doing it. Who said I need his dick for that? I am in control of my own orgasms, thank you very much.
Except that Lorenzo knows exactly what I'm doing.
Before I can make myself come, he catches my hand, stilling my movements. He pins both of my wrists above my head again with one of his hands, leaving me completely and utterly at his mercy again.
"Nice try," he says.
I arch up and try to buck him off me, but he's shockingly strong for someone with such a lean build.
He keeps me pinned, and I can't move.
I am completely and utterly helpless.
And I am starting to get desperate.
"I really am going to kill you," I say, out of breath when I finally stop fighting. "As soon as I get my hands free. And I will enjoy it. I'll probably even name my favorite dagger after you."
"You think about me when you're sharpening your daggers?" He leans down and bites my lower lip, a not-so-gentle bite. "God, you're hot."
"Fuck you," I say.
"I'm trying, sweetheart. You're the one making this difficult," he says, giving me a slow, deep thrust that drives me wild. "I can do this all night. Can you?"
He's bluffing. He has to be bluffing.
I'm not going to call him on it, though.
Because I'm not entirely sure I can.
And I'm not sure I want him to stop.
He starts moving again, thrusting into me again and again.
He brings his mouth down to mine, but he doesn't kiss me.
"All of this can end," he murmurs against my lips. "Or rather, it can continue. All I need is one little word. You know it. It's not hard."
"No," I gasp, and then he hits that spot. That wonderful, perfect spot inside me. "God, yes, there. Don't stop."
He chuckles, and I feel the rumble of it against my breasts. "I won't... If you tell me what I want to hear."
He continues to thrust, hitting that spot again and again.
It's torture.
I can feel the tension coiling inside me, so tight it's almost painful.
I'm so close. So, so, so close.
And I will do anything, anything at all, to feel that release.
I look up at him, at the dark gleam in his eyes.
He knows he's won.
I know he's won.
He's going to get what he wants.
And I hate that I want it just as much as he does.
"Lorenzo," I say, and the name comes out in a breathy, whimpering whisper. It's a very different sound from when I said it a few moments ago.
"I'm right here, dolcezza," he says, still moving inside me, still holding me on the knife's edge. "Just say the word."
I close my eyes. I take a deep, shuddering breath.
And I give in.
"Please," I whisper.
"Look at me," he commands. "Let me see those beautiful eyes when you beg for me."
My eyes flutter open, and I'm immediately caught in his gaze.
He slows down, but doesn't stop.
And I am a goner.
I am so, so, so gone.
"Please, Lorenzo," I gasp.
He lowers his head and whispers against my ear, "Please what?”
He's a bastard.
A magnificent, wonderful, terrible bastard.
"Please," I sob, and it's no longer a whisper. It's a full-throated plea. "Please fuck me and let me come."
He kisses my cheek, and then the corner of my eye. "As you wish, my Donatella," he murmurs, and the possessiveness in his tone makes me even wetter, which makes him groan and press deeper into me.
And then, he finally, finally, gives me what I need.
He lets go of my wrists.
He starts moving, really moving, hard and fast and deep. He reaches between us and finds my clit, and he starts rubbing it himself, circling it in a rhythm that matches the pace of his thrusts.
And this time, he doesn't stop.
It only takes a few moments for me to come apart.
The orgasm that tears through me is violent, intense, and all-consuming.
My entire body goes taut, then starts to shake, and I scream as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me.
I'm aware of him groaning my name as he keeps thrusting into me, prolonging my orgasm.
I have no idea how long it goes on for, but I know my vision goes black, and I can hear a vague ringing in my ears. By the time my pussy clamps down on him, milking him, I'm a mess.
His hips jerk, and he slams into me, filling me with his own release, and it sets my sensitive pussy off again. I cry out as another, smaller orgasm rolls through me, and this one is gentle. A sweet, warm wave that seems to go on forever.
I'm completely limp, my limbs heavy and unresponsive. I can't move. I can't think. I can only feel. His weight on top of me, his cock still inside me, the rapid beating of his heart against my chest.
He collapses on top of me, but he's careful not to crush me. He buries his face in my neck, and I can feel his ragged breath against my skin.
We lie like that for a long time, our bodies tangled together, our breathing slowly returning to normal. I wrap my arms around him, holding him to me, and he makes a soft, contented sound in his chest.
I've never felt so safe. So complete. So cherished.
And it's terrifying.
I don't do this. I don't do this... connection thing.
It's dangerous. It's a vulnerability.
It's a weakness.
And I am not weak.
I'm suddenly desperate to get away, to put some space between us, to reclaim myself.
I start to squirm, trying to get out from under him.
He lifts his head, and the look on his face is a mixture of satisfaction and concern.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
"Fine," I say, and push at his chest. "You're heavy."