Chapter Ten
Mario
She is sprawled on her bed, wrecked and beautiful.
Her hair is a dark, damp fan against the white pillow. Her skin is flushed, her chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, dazed, a soft gray-green in the dim light of the room.
She looks thoroughly, completely, gloriously fucked.
And I have not even been inside her yet.
My cock presses hard against my trousers, painful and insistent.
I am not a patient man.
But I am a controlled one.
And I am going to savor this.
I start to unbutton my shirt.
Her eyes follow the movement, her gaze dropping to my chest as I reveal it inch by inch. She watches me with a new, sharper focus, her own exhaustion forgotten, washed away by the tide of her pleasure.
I shrug out of my shirt and let it fall to the floor.
She sucks in a sharp breath.
I am not vain. I am simply a man who takes care of his body. It is a tool, and I keep it sharp. The results are plain to see.
She stares at my chest, my stomach, her gaze hungry.
It is a look I have seen many times.
It has never affected me like this.
I reach for my belt.
The buckle makes a soft sound as I unbuckle it. I unzip my trousers, the slow slide of the zipper loud in the quiet room.
I push them down, along with my boxers.
My cock springs free, hard and heavy.
Her eyes widen. She licks her lips, a small, unconscious gesture of pure desire.
She is not afraid. She is not intimidated.
She is ready.
She watches me as I kick my clothes aside, as I stand naked before her. Her gaze is a physical touch, a caress that is hotter than any fire.
I crawl onto the bed, over her, caging her in with my body.
I lower my head and press my lips to the hollow of her throat, tasting the salt and sweat on her skin. I feel her pulse beating against my lips in a wild rhythm that matches my own.
I move lower, my lips tracing a path down her body.
I linger at the swell of her breasts, my tongue flicking over the sensitive skin, tasting the faint scent of her lotion.
I reach the delicate lace of her bra.
I do not bother with the clasp.
I simply hook my fingers into the cups and pull them down, baring her to my gaze.
Her nipples are tight, hard peaks, begging for my attention.
I take one into my mouth, sucking hard.
She cries out, her back arching off the bed, her hands flying to my hair, holding me to her.
I lavish her with attention, my tongue swirling, my teeth nipping, until she is writhing beneath me, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
Then I move to the other breast, giving it the same treatment, until she is a mindless, whimpering mess.
I could do this all night.
I could spend hours just exploring her body, learning every curve, every hollow, every sensitive spot that makes her gasp and moan.
But I am a selfish man.
And I want more.
Her reaction, however, has me thinking differently.
Her pleasure is now my pleasure. Making her whimper and moan is my new focus.
I want to hear all the sounds she can make just with my mouth on her breast. I want to feel the way her body bucks and trembles.
I want to see her lose control completely.
I settle my weight over her and take my time, sucking and nipping, until she is mindless with desire. Her hands are fisted in my hair, her hips rocking against mine in a needy rhythm that is driving me insane.
I will have that. I will have all of it.
I release her nipple with a final, slow lick and she tenses with anticipation.
I look up and watch her face as I trace a path with my tongue...
To her other breast.
Her gasp is the sweetest sound I've ever heard.
I lavish it with the same attention, and she responds just as beautifully, if not a bit more desperately. Her back arches, her fingers tighten in my hair, her breath hitches.
She is so responsive, so alive. It is intoxicating.
She has never had this.
No one has ever taken the time to learn her body like this.
No one has ever cared enough.
The thought brings a fierce, possessive surge of satisfaction.
I am the first.
I am the only one who will ever see her like this.
The only one who will ever make her feel like this.
I continue my slow, deliberate exploration of her body, my lips and tongue tracing patterns on her the soft skin of her breast, until she is trembling, her entire body strung tight with a desperate need. She is a live wire humming with an energy that is all for me.
I could do this forever.
But I want more.
I want to taste all of her.
I move lower, my lips pressing a trail of kisses down her stomach. As I do, I unclasp her bra and slide it off her, toss it into the darkness of the room.
The only spot of light on her is the warm light of the bedside lamp that was on when we came in.
She is a goddess in the spotlight.
I dip my tongue into her navel, and she giggles, a soft, breathless sound that is so unexpected, so endearing, that it makes my chest ache.
I look up at her.
Her eyes are wide, her lips parted in a small "o" of surprise.
She looks… shy.
This is a new reaction.
A new layer to this complex, fascinating woman.
Such a contrast to the woman angrily drilling her finger into my chest.
It makes me want more.
Experimentally, I dip my tongue in again.
Another giggle.
She squirms.
"Stop it," she whispers, pushing lightly at my head.
I smile against her skin.
"No," I murmur, and then I do it again, this time swirling my tongue around the sensitive skin.
She gasps, her back arching, the giggle dissolving into a moan.
I have found another one of her weak spots.
Another weapon in my arsenal to make her fall apart.
I will use it as I see fit.
But right now...
I continue my journey, my lips and tongue and teeth exploring the soft skin of her belly, the delicate curve of her hips. I nuzzle the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and she moans, her legs falling open, an invitation I am not strong enough to refuse.
But that doesn't mean I can't play.
I place a trail of kisses and nips along the inside of her thigh, avoiding the one place she wants me most, my beard stubble leaving a faint red path in its wake.
Her hands grip the sheets, her knuckles white.
"Mario," she gasps, her hips lifting off the bed, a silent plea. "Please."
I look up at her from between her legs.
Her face is a mask of desperate desire, her hair plastered to her damp forehead.
I simply press her hips down to the bed and continue as I was.
"Patience," I murmur.
I love the little frustrated whimper she makes.
She is so used to being in control. So used to having all the answers.
Not here.
Not with me.
I move to her other thigh, mirroring the movements, my lips and tongue teasing, tormenting.
She is writhing now, but unable to go anywhere under my firm grip.
I am enjoying this too much.
The sight of her, lost to pleasure, completely at my mercy, is the most erotic thing I have ever seen.
But my own control is starting to fray.
The need to be inside her, to claim her, to make her mine, is a primal urge that is getting harder and harder to ignore.
I look at the scrap of lace that is the only thing separating me from her. The fabric is nearly black now, soaked with her arousal.
I lean in and press my open mouth against her through the lace.
She cries out helplessly.
I taste her. Even through the fabric, I can taste her. Salty and sweet and uniquely Victoria.
I nuzzle her, my lips pressing against her clit, and she bucks against my face.
"Mario, please," she sobs.
She is panting, her hands clenched in the sheets. Her body is no longer flat on the bed but curved in an arch as she fights my grip on her hips. She tries to pull away and push closer at the same time.
That is the moment I know the teasing has done its job.
I want to push her further, just to see what she would do.
I grip the fabric of her panties.
I don't take them off.
I rip them.
The sound of lace tearing is loud in the quiet room, a final, definitive act.
She gasps, her eyes flying to mine, shocked.
I don't give her a chance to recover.
I lower my head and finally, finally put my mouth on her.
I lick a long, slow stripe up her slick folds.
Her taste explodes on my tongue, and I groan, a deep, guttural sound of pure satisfaction.
This is what I wanted.
This is what I have been craving.
I devour her.
My tongue delves into her heat, tasting her, exploring her. I find her clit, a small, hard pearl of nerves, and I circle it with my tongue, teasing, tasting.
She is mindless now, a creature of pure sensation.
She is no longer fighting me.
She is riding my face, her hands tangled in my hair, holding me to her, her hips grinding against my mouth desperately.
A beautiful sight, but I'm not quite ready to give her what she wants.
I slow down, lightening the pressure, drawing back until I am barely touching her.
"No," she whimpers. "Don't stop."
I pull away completely and look at her.
She is a mess. A beautiful, glorious mess. Her hair is a tangled halo around her head, her face is flushed, her lips are swollen. Her chest is heaving with each ragged breath.
And her eyes are fixed on me, dark with a need so intense it is almost frightening.
She has the look of a cornered animal.
Desperate.
Wild.
Beautiful.
All mine.
"Please," she begs. "Mario, please."
I smile, slow and predatory.
"Please what, Victoria?" I ask, my voice low.
"Please don't stop," she begs. "I'll do anything. Just don't stop."
I almost come at her words.
I love how she sounds.
How desperate she is for me.
I crawl up her body and press my lips to her, letting her taste herself on my tongue. She kisses me back with a wildness that is breathtaking.
"Do you taste how delicious you are?" I murmur against her lips.
Her response is a desperate whine.
She can't form words. She just writhes against me. She is trying to get friction from my leg that is pressed between hers.
She is failing.
I am in complete control.
I kiss her again, dipping my tongue into her mouth.
"Why would I stop when I've just started?" I say, my lips still brushing against hers.
Her whimper is broken by a harsh sob.