11. Adriana #2
“Leave them.” He stands and comes around the counter, stopping right in front of where I’m sitting. “They’ll be there tomorrow.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“I have a cleaning service.”
“That’s decadent.”
“That’s efficient.” He’s too close. Way too close. “How are you really feeling, Ana?”
“I told you…”
“Not about your family. Not about Rafael.” His hand finds my jaw, tilts my face up. “About this. About us.”
My heart is hammering. “What do you mean?”
“I mean last night wasn’t part of any plan. This morning wasn’t part of any plan.” His thumb brushes my bottom lip and I forget how to breathe. “None of this is. I keep wanting to put my hands on you and there’s no angle to it, no plan. I just want you. It’s making me stupid.”
“Enzo…”
“So I need to know.” His voice drops, goes rough. “Is this still just an arrangement to you? Or is it something else?”
I should lie. Should say it’s just an arrangement, keep it clean, keep it safe. That’s the smart play. That’s what the old Ana would do.
But I’m so tired of being the old Ana.
“Something else,” I whisper. “I think it’s something else.”
He kisses me before I finish the sentence.
It’s not soft. Not gentle. Not the careful exploratory kiss from last night. This one is hungry, demanding, a little bit desperate, like he’s been holding back all day and finally ran out of reasons to stop.
I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer and kiss him back just as hard.
“Ana.” My name comes out rough, scraped. “Tell me what you want.”
“You.” No hesitation. No second-guessing. “I want you.”
He lifts me onto the counter and I gasp at the cold marble against my thighs, but then his mouth is on my neck and I stop caring about the temperature.
His hands slide under my shirt, hot against my skin, and I arch into him like my body knows exactly what it wants even if my brain is still catching up.
“Tell me if you want to stop,” he says against my throat.
“I don’t want to stop.”
He pulls back and looks at me, breathing hard, hands on my hips like he’s restraining himself. “I should be gentle with you. After last night, after everything today…”
“I don’t want gentle.”
His eyes darken. “No?”
“No.” I pull him closer by his collar until our mouths are almost touching. “I want to feel something other than sad and scared and lost. I want to stop thinking.”
“What do you want to feel?”
“Good.” I kiss the corner of his mouth. “I want to feel good.”
“I can do that.” He kisses me back, deep and filthy. “I can make you feel so fucking good.”
His hands slide under my shirt and push it up. I lift my arms so he can pull it off. The black lace bra cups my breasts and his eyes drop straight to it.
“Christ, Ana. You told me to get it,” he says, voice rough.
I reach for his shirt buttons and work them open fast. He shrugs out of it and I shove at his pants next, getting the belt loose and the zipper down.
He steps out of everything while his mouth finds my neck, then lower, kissing over the lace edge of the bra.
He pulls one cup down and sucks my nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking until I arch.
I spread my legs wider on the cold marble and he steps in close.
His cock is already hard against my thigh.
He kisses down my stomach, open mouthed and wet, until he reaches the top of the matching lace panties.
His fingers hook in the sides and he drags them down my legs, dropping them on the floor.
He drops to his knees between my thighs.
His tongue drags straight up my slit, slow and firm, then circles my clit.
I grab the edge of the counter and moan.
He sucks on the swollen nub, then pushes two fingers inside me without warning.
They slide in easy. He pumps them while his tongue keeps working, licking and sucking until my hips rock against his face.
“Enzo,” I breathe. “Don’t stop.”
He adds a third finger and stretches me open, curling them on every thrust. My head falls back.
The cold counter under my ass makes every hot lick feel sharper.
He keeps going until my thighs start to shake, then he stands up fast. He grips my hair and pulls me forward off the counter until I drop to my knees in front of him.
His cock stands thick and ready right at my lips.
“Open,” he says, dominant and hot, one hand guiding the back of my head.
I part my lips and take him in. He tastes clean and a little salty.
I suck hard around the head while my tongue swirls underneath.
He groans low and pushes deeper, controlling the pace with steady thrusts into my mouth.
I relax my throat and let him fuck it slow and deep, saliva dripping down my chin.
My hands grip his thighs for balance while he pinches one of my nipples through the lace with his free hand, rolling it until it stings in the best way.
He pulls out after a minute, breathing heavier, and lifts me back onto the counter.
We kiss hard, tongues sliding, tasting each other.
He yanks the other bra cup down and sucks that nipple too, biting lightly before soothing it with his tongue.
I reach between us and stroke his cock, spreading the wetness from my mouth along his length.
He grabs a condom from the drawer beside us, tears it open and rolls it on without breaking eye contact.
Then he lines up and pushes inside in one long thrust. No pain this time.
Just full and hot and exactly what I need.
I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him closer.
He fucks me hard against the marble, skin slapping, but he never stops touching me.
One hand stays on my breast, pinching and tugging my nipple in time with his thrusts.
The other slides down to rub my clit in tight circles.
He leans in and kisses me again, deep and messy, swallowing my moans while he keeps pounding.
I break the kiss to gasp when he angles deeper and hits that spot over and over.
He moves his mouth to my neck, sucking marks there, then back to my breasts, licking and biting until both nipples ache.
My fingers dig into his shoulders. He keeps the rhythm steady and relentless, hips snapping, thumb never leaving my clit.
Every time I start to tighten around him he slows just enough to drag it out, kissing my lips again until I’m dizzy.
“Harder,” I tell him. He gives it to me, pounding into me until the orgasm crashes through. My pussy clamps around him and I cry out. He follows right after, groaning as he comes, hips jerking deep inside me while his fingers keep circling my clit through the aftershocks.
We stay there for a long moment, tangled together, breathing hard. His forehead is pressed to mine and his hands are gentle now, stroking my hair, my back.
“Still okay?” he asks.
“Better than okay.”
Better than I’ve ever been.
He helps me down from the counter and catches me when my legs buckle. We’re both a mess, sweaty and disheveled, and I can’t stop smiling.
“Shower?” he offers.
“Together?”
“If you want.”
I should say no. Should take some space, process, think about what I’m doing and what it means.
“Yes,” I say instead. “Together.”
He grins and takes my hand and pulls me toward the bathroom.
I follow, and I try not to think about how much I want this. How much I want him. Not for revenge. Not for show.
Just for me.
I bury the thought and let the hot water wash everything else away.