Twenty-Eight
ALLISON
“ O h, God,” Allison groaned. Every muscle in her body ached—the good kind of ache.
After her and Angelo’s Shower Sexcapades ? , she’d been too exhausted to move. The man had literally carried her to his bed like a caveman hauling his prize back to the cave. It was both romantic and absolutely ridiculous, but she hadn’t complained. She couldn’t, even if she’d wanted to—she was that spent.
It was early afternoon when they were done, and now she’d woken up in the dead of night after sleeping right through the rest of the day.
Alone in the king-size bed, she faced the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city outside was so dark she had to squint, waiting for her eyes to adjust.
She hadn’t had much time to explore Angelo’s place the day before, but she’d definitely noticed the space. His penthouse was huge, and that most certainly extended to his bedroom.
His bedroom. Oh God. I slept in his bed.
Allison shot upright, her sleep fog instantly gone as the cool night air hit her bare skin. She gasped as the covers slid off her. It was March, and the weather hadn’t warmed up yet, making the chill all the more noticeable.
First night here and I already slept in his bed? Why the fuck didn’t he take me to my own room?
For a split second, she wondered if he even had a room set up for her, but that thought quickly dissolved. The guy had a penthouse with two floors. There had to be a room for her somewhere.
She let out a breath, then tossed the blankets aside and headed for Angelo’s unnecessarily large walk-in closet to find something to wear.
She felt like a college student sneaking around after a night of steamy sex, searching for clothes to do the famous walk of shame. Although, back in her college days, the sex hadn’t exactly been…memorable. Also, she wasn’t doing the walk of shame now. She lived here now. All her clothes were just downstairs, but she wasn’t about to parade around naked in her new abode.
She rifled through a few drawers, finding some black boxers that looked like they’d fit. No way was she wearing his clothes without underwear. That’d be crossing into way too intimate territory.
She glanced around the closet before grabbing a pair of black sweatpants, grateful for her pregnant belly and thicker thighs. At least the pants wouldn’t slide off. Lastly, she plucked an impressively large black t-shirt from one of the racks.
I swear, the man owns nothing but black. I bet even his socks are black.
Curiosity got the better of her, and she opened a few more drawers.
Yup. All black. Socks included.
Resisting the urge to keep snooping for any hidden treasures, she headed off for a much-needed actual shower.
Allison descended the stairs twenty minutes later, feeling refreshed and smelling like Angelo’s fancy honey shampoo. Passing a stack of empty moving boxes, guilt crept in—she’d left her brother to handle the unpacking while she was, well, getting feasted upon.
A faint noise from the kitchen caught her attention. Curious, she turned the corner to find Angelo, cooking in nothing but sweatpants.
Oh Lord almighty. Help me survive this hornfest. Amen.
She cleared her throat, trying to signal her presence—and maybe dislodge the lump that had formed there. “Hello.”
Really? ‘Hello’? That’s the best you’ve got?
“Oh, you’re awake,” Angelo greeted, unusually cheerful, without looking up from the pan he was stirring. “Hope you like cacio e pepe. I’m adding chicken—my own recipe.”
The thought of creamy, savory pasta almost made her moan, but she held it in.
Oh yes, please.
She slid onto a chair at the kitchen island, fully appreciating the view of him pouring white wine into the skillet. “Didn’t know you could cook.”
He chuckled. “I wasn’t kidding about that avocado toast.” He glanced at her with a smirk that should’ve been illegal.
Allison discreetly crossed her legs. “Well, at least one of us can.”
“You don’t cook?”
She scoffed. “Only if overcooked pasta with burnt tomato sauce counts.”
He snorted, causing Allison to grin. “We can work on that. Though, I’d eat your soggy pasta any day.”
She resisted the urge to physically swoon, as a wave of heat washed over her. His slight accent added an extra layer of appeal to the word pasta. She’d noticed it earlier and naturally blamed her hormones, but now it was back, making everything he said sound positively sinful.
She cleared her throat again, desperately trying to refocus. “Let’s just hope you never have to.”
Angelo laughed, a deep snort escaping as he threw his head back. The sound always made her smile, though right now it did something else entirely. Her gaze lingered on his broad shoulders, the way his hands rested on the kitchen island, and she had to banish the improper thought that flashed through her mind before it went any further.
This was not the time—definitely not the place—but it was getting harder to remind herself of that.
He put a lid on the skillet, lowered the heat, and checked something in the oven she hadn’t even noticed was on.
Then he turned around, and Allison nearly blacked out.
His abs were on full display, the sweatpants hanging low enough to reveal that maddening V-line that led to her favorite place. The dim kitchen lighting only accentuated the perfection in front of her.
She licked her lips, imagining what it would be like to eat him instead.
Fucking yum.
“See something you like, sweet girl?” His teasing words broke her reverie, his smirk growing as he crossed his arms, muscles flexing in a way that was definitely on purpose.
That sexy bastard.
“I—”
“Because I do,” he cut her off smoothly.
Allison blushed hard, falling right into his trap. Her face grew hotter, and she narrowly resisted the urge to fan herself.
A flood of thoughts filled her mind. Did he really mean what he said earlier? Or was it just something blurted out in the heat of the moment?
But would he call me his if it didn’t mean something?
She was about to ask when she noticed something odd—Angelo was no longer in her line of sight. Instead, she felt his warm breath on the back of her neck, sending a ripple of goosebumps down her spine.
When did he move?
Somehow, without her noticing, he had closed the distance between them, his arms now bracketing her against the cool marble countertop. All while she was too caught up in her own little whirlwind of thoughts to even notice.
“What’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours, omorfiá mou ?” His voice was barely above a whisper, yet the words seemed to land straight in her chest, where they nested.
Allison cleared her throat, trying to steady herself while inhaling his scent—a mix of mint and leather. Odd, but somehow it fit him perfectly.
“Nothing,” she lied.
He chuckled against her back, his chest rising and falling in time with her rapid pulse. “I can practically see the gears turning, Allison.”
Heat crept up her neck. “I was just thinking.”
“About?” His voice was soft, almost gentle—a contradiction to everything about him.
She swallowed hard. “Earlier.” The word slipped out, her voice lower than she intended.
Angelo hummed, leaning in just enough for her to feel his presence, his warmth, though he kept his weight off her. She loved the way he surrounded her, without overwhelming her.
“Were you picturing my head between your legs?” His lips brushed the back of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. “Or maybe you were thinking about how I bent you over and you made you take it like a good girl.”
Oh God.
She was definitely thinking about it now.
“No, I’ve got it. You were thinking how I fucked you in the shower, holding you up with nothing but my hips, weren’t you?”
A moan escaped her, louder than she meant for the stillness of the night.
His chuckle was darker now, the playful edge sharpened. His hands left the countertop, grazing lightly along her sides, and her breath caught in her throat.
“What are you—” Her voice caught in her throat, thick with something unmistakable: pure, unfiltered lust . “What are you doing?”
“I’m thinking of enjoying a little appetizer while the main course finishes cooking.” He spun her around on the stool—the spinning stool she hadn’t realized was revolving. Damn you, fancy furniture. “And maybe,” his voice dropped lower, “I’ll have dessert too.”
Her thighs squeezed together instinctively.
Before she could form a response, Angelo’s hands were on her waist, effortlessly lifting her onto the kitchen island. Then, he settled into the stool she had just vacated, like a man about to indulge in a multi-course meal, getting comfortable for what was to come.
This man is going to be the end of me.
“Now,” he teased, “the timer’s set on the food, and I plan to make you come at least twice before it goes off.” His large hands moved to her thighs, spreading them apart with deliberate ease.
Allison swallowed hard. “Tw—Twice?” she stammered, sounding ridiculous but too far gone to care. Not when he was looking up at her like she was his last meal before crucifixion.
He nodded, a dark smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “At least twice. You’ve unleashed something inside me, Allison, and it. Is. Ravenous ,” he growled, eyes glinting with wicked intent.
Suddenly, she understood exactly what kind of magic he meant.
His fingers hooked into the waistband of her sweatpants, his voice a low command. “Up, sweet girl.”
Without thinking, she obeyed.
He slid her sweats off slowly—torturously—and Allison’s breath grew heavier with each passing second. She had never been particularly sexually active, partly by choice but mostly because of her own insecurities.
How could a man, even half as handsome as Angelo, look at her in a sea of beautiful women and choose her?
Yet, that was exactly what had happened when they first met, wasn’t it? He’d singled her out from all the gorgeous women in the room, women who would’ve likely fallen at his feet with just a glance. That night, she’d felt confident—thanks to a little tequila, but mostly because of Angelo’s undivided attention.
And it wasn’t just that night. For months now, he had been choosing her. It was something rare for her, to feel like someone truly preferred her over anybody else.
And it felt incredible .
For once, she wasn’t thinking about her extra weight or her fuller figure. She wasn’t second-guessing herself. She was a woman receiving the pleasure she deserved .
“Eyes on me, sweet girl.”
Her gaze snapped to his, the intensity in his eyes making them look like molten chocolate. For a fleeting moment, she wished she could drown in them.
In the short time she’d been lost in her thoughts, Angelo had already peeled off her sweatpants and underwear, tossing them aside without a care in the world. His hands slid up, bunching the hem of her t-shirt, his eyes never leaving hers as he gave another simple command.
“Hands up.”
She obeyed without hesitation, raising her arms as he tugged the shirt over her head, leaving her completely bare before him, while he remained half-clothed.
She barely had the time to register the unfairness of it, before Angelo hooked his hands behind her knees, pulling her closer to his face.
He inhaled deeply, eyes falling shut as a low groan escaped him. “Fuck, you smell divine.”
Her cheeks burned, but it wasn’t from embarrassment.
I didn’t know men like this actually existed outside of romance novels.
And then his tongue was on her, feather-light, almost shy. But she knew better. Angelo Taylor wasn’t shy—he was savoring her, taking his time, while Allison indulged in the view of him between her legs.
“I could taste you forever and it still wouldn’t be enough,” he murmured against her.
“Your mouth is sinful,” she whispered, her fingers threading through, his hair, tugging gently at the soft chocolate ringlets that fell over his forehead in a perfect, effortless mess. The kind of look she knew other men would kill for.
His low chuckle vibrated against her inner thigh, sending another wave of heat straight to her core. “Your body is sinful.”
His gaze locked onto hers, burning with intensity, as his hands slid up from her knees, skimming her stomach before cupping her breasts. His touch ignited a fire deep in her belly, liquid heat pooling between her legs.
Angelo’s smile turned feral. “And I think you enjoy my mouth just fine” he whispered, his words a dark promise.
Then his tongue was back on her, teasing, licking a slow line from her entrance to her clit and back again, leaving her trembling. His hands expertly toyed with her nipples, sending pleasure in every direction, and a deep moan escaped her lips.
Unlike earlier, he hadn’t wasted time with elaborate foreplay, going straight for the main course. And normally, she’d have something to say about that—but not now. Not when his hands and mouth were so busy driving her insane.
“Oh, fuck,” she moaned, her voice breaking the quiet of the night. Her head fell back, one hand gripping the countertop, the other tangled in his hair. Her body quivered, desperate for more, her walls fluttering around nothing, aching for him.
“Angelo—God, I need you,” she pleaded breathlessly.
But Angelo didn’t stop. He kept circling her clit with maddening precision, kept teasing her nipples, his control never slipping. He was holding her at edge, and she felt like she might start sobbing if he didn’t push her over in the next few seconds.
“Please,” she whimpered. “Please, Angelo. I need you inside me. Now.”
Her voice broke as she kept pleading, barely aware of what she was saying anymore. It was too much—the slow burn, the unbearable tension. She was teetering on the brink, desperate, ready to shatter, to explode—
And then, suddenly, he stopped.
Her head snapped up, wide-eyed and breathless. “Why the hell did you stop?”
“Because if I don’t have you now,” he groaned, pulling off his sweatpants to reveal his incredibly hard cock, “I’ll go insane.”
With a swift, fluid motion, he plunged inside her.
“Oh, fuck,” Angelo groaned, his voice ragged.
“Oh my God, yes,” Allison moaned in perfect harmony.
He seized her hips, right on top of the bruises from their previous efforts, and began to thrust with relentless force. Each movement was brutal, his pace impossibly fast, making her walls tighten around him almost instinctively.
Allison panted, struggling to form coherent thoughts as he pounded into her. “I’m already—oh fuck—already so close,” she managed to gasp, her legs wrapping around his hips to keep him close.
“I know, sweet girl,” he grunted, his breath hot against her skin. “Come around my cock.” He withdrew one hand from her hips to rub small, deliberate circles on her clit.
Just a few deft strokes of her sensitive bundle of nerves and she was catapulted into an explosive climax. She trembled, screamed, finally crossing the edge she had been chasing.
Angelo continued to drive into her, his cock stimulated by her convulsing walls. He groaned, his head dipping down to capture her heaving breasts with his mouth.
“Fuck, every inch of you is perfect. Aplá téleia, ” he muttered, a Greek phrase that only seemed to heighten the intensity of the moment slipping out.
Allison moaned as he eagerly sucked her erect nipple, the sensation sending shockwaves through her. She loved how Angelo always slipped into Greek when he was lost in the throes of pleasure, as if it were his way of hitting a reset button on his senses.
“Jesus—fuck, don’t stop. Please, don’t stop,” she begged, her voice raw and desperate. She was so far gone, feeling the pressure build again in record time. It shouldn’t have been possible, but Angelo proved just how possible it was as she reached for that peak, the edge she was poised to tumble over.
He straightened, adjusting his position to regain momentum, his gaze locked on where they were joined.
“Fuck, look at how well you’re taking me,” he growled, his voice a rough blend of command and reverence, as though he were offering a sacred prayer.
Allison looked down, struggling to fully see everything due to her bump. Her breath caught in her throat as her gaze shifted to Angelo—sweaty, primal, and intensely focused. The sight of him, so raw and unrestrained, pushed her closer to the edge, helping her reach that cliff a little faster.
“So good. You’re taking me so well. Such a good fucking pet.” His words were a whispered secret, almost subconscious, as he squeezed her hips tighter, his grip intense.
The praise struck a hidden nerve inside her, sparking a new kind of pleasure. She moaned at the sound of his filthy mouth, her body responding to the encouragement in ways she hadn’t anticipated.
Before she could ask for the external stimulation she needed, Angelo’s hand left her hip and traveled to her clit. He resumed rubbing those familiar circles, his breathless chant of her name mingling with his moans. “I’m going to fill you up. I’m going to cum so deep inside you that you’ll be dripping for days.”
The combination of his brutal pace, his hand on her clit, and his dirty words overwhelmed her, and she came around his cock for the second time that night.
“Oh, fuck. So tight,” Angelo grunted, his eyes squeezed shut. His movements slowed, his cock twitching inside her as he filled her with warmth. Allison moaned at the sensation, savoring the feeling.
Just then, the shrill beeping of the timer went off.
“Just on time. I’ve worked up quite an appetite,” Angelo chuckled, slipping out of her. She felt his cum dripping onto the countertop, a stark reminder of their encounter.
As she clung to the aftershocks of her climax, Angelo’s gaze never wavered. His chest heaved with exertion, his eyes fixed on her with a mix of glee and satisfaction. The primal look on his face made her shiver, a potent reminder of the man’s intensity.
He reached down, gently brushing a strand of hair from her flushed face, his touch surprisingly tender. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice a husky whisper that sent another thrill through her.
Allison managed a breathless smile, feeling the last tremors of her orgasm ripple through her. She glanced at the countertop, now a reminder of their fervent passion, and mentally noted the cleaning she’d need to do later. For now, the mess was a small price to pay for the mind-blowing sex they’d just had.
Angelo leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. “I hope you’re as satisfied as I am,” he said, his tone softer now, almost careful.
She nodded, too overwhelmed to form words, but the contented sigh that escaped her lips spoke volumes. “I am,” she finally managed, her voice trembling with residual pleasure.
Angelo’s hands, now gentler, roamed over her body with a care that contrasted sharply with their previous roughness. He lifted her gently, helping her off the countertop and guiding her to sit down on the nearby stool.
He grabbed a nearby kitchen towel, wiping both their sweat from their bodies and the countertop. “I’ll clean up the rest,” he said with a faint smile. “You just relax.”
As he moved around the kitchen, Allison sank into the stool, feeling a profound sense of gratitude and affection for the man who had just given her such a powerful experience, and was now happily about to feed her.
The timer’s beeping had stopped, and the quiet that followed was filled with the soft clinking of dishes and their shared, serene breaths.