23. Chapter Twenty Three #2
That seems to encourage her, and she grows bolder. She takes more of me into her mouth, her tongue swirling and exploring.
I close my eyes, losing myself in the sensation of her mouth on me. She is eager and enthusiastic, and it is driving me wild.
My grip on her hair tightens, and I begin to move her head, setting a faster pace.
She takes it, her eyes watering slightly, but she doesn't resist.
Her mouth is hot and wet and perfect, driving me to the brink of ecstasy.
I can feel my orgasm building, a tight coil in my groin.
"Donna," I groan, my hips bucking. "That feels so good."
She hums in response, the vibrations sending a jolt of pleasure through me.
I thrust my hips, pushing my cock deeper into her mouth.
She gags slightly, but she doesn't pull away. Instead, she relaxes her throat, taking me in even deeper.
The sight of her, on her knees, my belt a dark band across her back, trapping her arms against her side, helpless, her lips wrapped around my cock, her eyes watering, is the most erotic thing I have ever seen.
"Look at me," I command, my voice rough with desire.
She does, her eyes locking with mine as I begin to thrust my hips, fucking her mouth.
I can see the trust in her eyes. The surrender.
It’s a gift.
My grip on her hair tightens, my pace increasing. Her mouth is a hot, wet heaven, and I am lost in the sensation.
I can feel myself getting closer, my body tensing.
"Donna," I gasp, my hips bucking.
Her eyes lock with mine, and I see the understanding in them.
She knows I am close.
She wants me to come in her mouth.
I can see it in her eyes.
But I don't want to come in her mouth.
I want to come inside her.
I want to fill her perfect pussy.
I want to hear her say my name as I thrust into her, as she tightens around me, as she comes with me.
I pull out of her mouth, my cock glistening with her saliva.
A protest dies on her lips as I pull her to her feet and lift her onto the desk. Her papers rustle, a cup of pens clatters to the floor.
She looks over her shoulder, her eyes wide, a mixture of surprise and arousal on her face.
"Lorenz—"
I take her mouth in a rough kiss, cutting off whatever she was about to say, as I spread her legs wide and enter her in a single, hard thrust.
She cries out into my mouth, shocked and pleased. Her legs wrap around my waist, her body arching into mine.
Her pussy is tight and wet, a perfect, welcoming home for my cock.
I break the kiss, my forehead resting against hers as I begin to move, setting a brutal pace. I am no longer holding back. I am taking what is mine, leaving no more room for doubt.
The desk groans beneath us, a protest to our fucking. Outside, I can hear the sounds of the city. Inside, there is only the sound of our bodies coming together and the sounds she's making.
Her head is thrown back, her neck a long, elegant line. Her cries are a beautiful, wild music.
"Harder," she cries out. "Lorenzo. Harder."
I am happy to oblige.
I thrust into her, again and again, each stroke drawing out the pleasure for both of us.
Her body is a masterpiece, all muscle and smooth skin. Her breasts, freed from the confinement of her bra, bounce with each thrust.
Her skin is flushed, a rosy pink that starts at her cheeks and travels down her chest to her stomach.
Her arms are still trapped, so she is completely reliant on me to hold her up.
She has no choice but to take what I give her. To surrender.
She is completely at my mercy.
But she doesn't know she is also completely in control.
Of my body, of my pleasure.
And of my heart.
"Lorenzo," she moans. "Lorenzo, I'm close."
"Me too, cara," I murmur against her skin, my teeth nipping at her earlobe.
"I'm so close. I need to come," she says desperately. "Can I come? Please?"
My blood sings at her plea.
She wants my permission to come.
I want to give her everything.
"Not yet," I say.
Her body tenses in protest. A frustrated groan escapes her lips.
I smile against her skin. I love when she's frustrated.
It makes her submission all the sweeter.
"Lorenzo," she begs. "I can't hold on any longer."
"You can," I say. "I know you can, amore mio."
I increase the tempo, my hips moving in a blur of motion. Her body is writhing beneath me, her cries growing louder, more desperate.
My own control is wearing thin. I am close to the edge, so close.
But I need to feel her come around me. I need to feel her body tighten, to feel her walls clenching around me as we both tumble over the edge together.
I can feel her body start to tremble, a sign of her impending orgasm.
Just as I feel the tightening of my balls and the tingling at the base of my spine, I reach between us and rub her clit.
"Now, Donatella," I command. "Come with me."
Her head drops back, and a silent scream forms on her lips as her body grows taut. She trembles for one perfect moment where the world stands still for us both.
Then she comes.
Her inner walls clamp down on me, her body convulses with the force of her orgasm.
I thrust into her one last time, burying myself deep inside her as my own release washes over me.
My cock pulses, and then I'm filling her, my body shuddering. Her body trembles, her legs tightening around my waist as she rides out the last of her orgasm.
The room spins for a second as I rest my forehead against hers, my body still shaking from the intensity of my release.
Her breathing is ragged, her body limp against mine.
We are a mess of tangled limbs and sweaty skin.
We are perfect.
For a long moment, we stay like that, my body still inside her, our hearts beating a frantic, synchronized rhythm against each other's chests.
I have one arm around her, holding her body to mine, and one hand braced against the desk, holding us both up. I realize with some shock that my arm is shaking. Not from exertion. From emotion.
She has completely undone me.
Donna’s head shifts against my shoulder, her breath hot against my neck. The leather of my belt is still cinched around her, trapping her arms. Her skin is damp. Her legs are still wrapped around my waist lazily.
The room is filled with the scent of our sex like a musky perfume that clings to the air and our skin.
The sounds from the city outside seem distant, muted, like a world that doesn't belong to us anymore.
I finally have the strength to lift my head and look at her.
Her eyes are closed, her face flushed. Her hair is a wild mess around her head, some strands stuck to her damp cheeks.
She looks like a woman who has been completely and thoroughly fucked.
She looks beautiful.
I lean down and kiss her gently, a complete contrast to the rough, demanding sex we just had. While kissing her, I reach down and unbuckle my belt, dropping it to the desk with a soft thud.
Her arms come around me, and we embrace as our kiss deepens.
When we finally pull apart, she rests her head on my shoulder again.
"I can't feel my legs," she says, her voice still husky.
A chuckle escapes me. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"I'm serious," she says sleepily. "I think you're going to have to carry me out of here and pour me into my car."
"I'll carry you wherever you want to go, cara," I say, and realize I mean it.
I would carry her anywhere.
She lifts her head. "Are you going to buy me a new desk, too? I think you broke it."
I follow her gaze. The drawer is hanging open. Several pens and her stapler are on the floor. The papers on her desk are scattered. There's a dent in the wood where my knee was.
I let out a chuckle. A very satisfied one.
"I'll buy you a new one," I say.
"You're damn right you will," she says, but there's no heat in her words. She looks around the office again. "We scared Mocha off."
I look around, startled, having forgotten about him. I can just see him in the kitchen area, huddled in the corner, facing away from us.
"I think we embarrassed him," I whisper.
Donna lets out a laugh.
"He’s such a drama queen," she says.
"He was just starting to like me too," I say.
"He'll get over it. He likes men who spoil me," she says.
I reach up and push a damp strand of hair away from her face. "Is that what I'm doing?"
Her smile fades, and her gaze turns serious. She studies me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine.
Then she looks down, and when she looks back up, her defenses are back in place. "Well, between the food and the sex, I'm feeling pretty spoiled."
I resist the urge to push. She's not ready.
And truth be told, I'm not sure I am either.
"I aim to please," I say arrogantly.