Chapter 30
EMILY
Lorenzo is the last one to leave. Or so I think, until I realize he isn’t leaving at all.
He just stands there with his hands in his pockets while Dante, Gina and Angie file out.
I watch as Lorenzo’s dark eyes move slowly around the dining room, pausing on the table, the chairs, the light fixtures, and the bar.
Taking it all in as if he finally recognizes what an asset the restaurant has become.
I feel a thrill shoot through my body when his dark eyes take me in. It’s like he’s seeing me as a personal asset in a similar way.
Some women might think the possessive way his dark eyes swept over me as chauvinistic.
And I always counted myself as one of those women.
At least, before Lorenzo.
Now I’m enjoying the sensation of being claimed. Especially by a man of Lorenzo’s stature and charm.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, sir,” Mike tells Lorenzo, after he and the young chef Paul scrub the kitchen clean. “I hope to hear from you and your brother once you make your decision.”
“You’ll hear news soon,” Lorenzo reassures him. “Dante makes fast decisions. And congratulations on pulling off such a great showcase meal.”
I sense Lorenzo’s praise is mostly for my benefit.
When he closes the door behind them, Lorenzo turns around and looks at me.
Neither of us says anything.
The air crackles electric between us.
We’ve only been together once. So many times, I felt compelled to call Anna and hash out the reasons we haven’t had sex since that first time.
But with Lorenzo and I just now connecting, I didn’t want Anna influencing how I behave toward Lorenzo.
Besides, even she doesn’t know the whole story of why I’m here.
“You really pulled it off,” he says, with a discreet nod. “After Gina got pregnant, I’d given up on the restaurant.”
“Why? She’d be back after the baby’s born.”
“Maybe. But she’s having Dante’s first-born son. That’s a bigger responsibility than handling any restaurant.”
“This isn’t the Dark Ages. Women can do both. I bet you think women belong in the kitchen,” I tease.
”Depends on what the woman’s doing in the kitchen,” he says, moving toward me. His fingers reach behind the pencil skirt I wore for the meeting to untie my apron.
He returns my teasing tone. I feel moisture gush from my pussy as I see the look of lust in his dark eyes.
Lorenzo leads me into the kitchen. It’s spick and span, but for some reason the chef left a bowl of rising dough and flour.
“You know how to roll dough, don’t you?”
“Yes.” My voice comes out a whisper. Maybe because he’s so near, I’ve lost my voice.
“’Start rolling, then.”
“Why?”
“You’re not to question me, Emily,” he says in that commanding voice of his. “You’re only to obey. Take off that jacket.”
I do as he says.
“Now your bodice.”
I had worn a corset-like bodice under my business jacket. Maybe subconsciously hoping something like this would happen.
His eyes linger on me.
“The bra, too.”
My breath catches. I reach back and unclasp it, letting it fall forward off my shoulders.
The yeast-scented kitchen is cool against my bare skin. The chill air turns my nipples erect.
He looks at me, his dark eyes making his desire clear.
“Now that skirt.”
I peel the skirt down slowly, letting it drop to the kitchen floor. Then I stand in my stockings and wispy silk panties, teetering on my too high, too expensive Louboutin shoes.
I’m about to ask what he wants me to do next, when Lorenzo raises a rough hand to stop me.
“You’re not to ask questions. Take off those panties.”
I never considered myself a prude, but there seems something scandalous about wearing shoes and stockings but no panties.
As I peel them off and kick the silk undie away, I blush to think that Lorenzo can see my glistening pink sex. With all the blood pounding in my pussy, I imagine my lips must be puffy with want.
“Now, make some pizza. I like to see my woman cooking for me in nothing but stockings and heels.”
I wash my hands, then knead the dough. My weight going into the effort, my breasts bouncing as I move.
Knowing he’s watching my movements, my nude body, feels exciting and humiliating at the same time.
In a moment he comes behind me.
“Keep working,” he says, pressing his trouser-covered cock against my ass.
I remember that night we made love. The full length of him inside me. It hurt a little, but it also felt so natural. Like we were meant to be together.
Now he takes out his cock. I feel its moist tip, wet with pre-cum, against my tight entrance.
I flinch.
“Relax,” he says, his voice harsh, commanding.
I struggle to focus on the dough, my fingers numbly shaping it, slapping it down, then shaping it again.
The tip of his cock enters me very shallowly, barely a nudge.
“Lorenzo …” I say beneath my breath.
“You’re not allowed to talk,” he orders. He reaches for something in his pocket and whatever it is he rubs on his cock.
It’s some sort of lubricant.
It’s too soon. I’m not ready.
But then the tip of his cock keeps teasing me, tantalizing me. I feel my own juices gush in response.
I’m certainly ready now.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Without another word, he picks me up and puts me on the counter now scattered with flour.
He sets me on the flour-dusted counter, my skirt and panties gone, but my stockings and heels still in place.
Exposed beneath his stare, my clit tightens and pulses.
Without another word he takes one of the flour sacks, puts it beneath his knees, and plunges his tongue into me with practiced skill.
Having ignited the initial fire, he turns his focus to the area where my upper thigh meets my outer lips. The tension and pulsating sense of anticipation drives me crazy.
“I want you,” I say. “I want you now.”
Lorenzo rises, his hard cock firm as it juts toward me.
“You’re not to tell me your demands. You’re only to satisfy mine. Get down on the floor. On your hands and knees.”
I do so. Though he orders me to look down, I hear him kicking off his clothes.
What will he do to me?
My heart beats in my chest.
But I can’t make myself vocalize the words.
He comes down on top of me, covering my mouth with one hand as he inserts himself into my wet throbbing pussy.
He starts slow. I sense he’s making sure I’m not feeling pain, since our initial encounter was so recent. When he feels no resistance, he grabs my ponytail and enters me fully.
He fucks me hard. Relentless, fierce, and aggressive.
Lorenzo grips my ponytail, using it to angle my body toward him.
I don’t feel any pain, only my own excitement as he works toward his climax.
Before he comes, he titillates my clit with his fingers. My orgasm tears a sharp cry from me. Lorenzo climaxes right after me.
Then he brings me down with him as he collapses on me on the floor.
His arm circles me, warm and possessive, his hold gradually tightening.
For the first time since I arrived in New York, I’m not so sure I want to rush to leave.