Chapter 11 #3
"We did." I lean in close, my mouth hovering just above hers, close enough that she can feel every word against her lips. "And we are going to finish this later."
It is not a suggestion. It is a promise.
"Later," she repeats, her voice breathy, her fingers still twisted in my shirt like she is not quite ready to let go.
"Later," I confirm, pressing one more kiss to her mouth—slower this time, deliberate, a preview of exactly what I plan to do to her when we have privacy and time and no disapproving sales associates interrupting. "When we get home. When I can take my time with you properly."
She shivers against me, and I feel it everywhere we are touching.
"But right now," I continue, forcing myself to step back even though every instinct is screaming at me to stay exactly where I am, "you are going to change back into your clothes. And I am going to buy every single thing in this room. And then we are going to go home."
"And then?" she asks, her eyes dark and knowing.
I lean in one more time, my mouth right against her ear, my voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "And then, Lina, I am going to make you scream my name so loud the entire house hears it."
Her breath catches audibly, and I feel her whole body respond—tension coiling tight, thighs pressing together, a soft whimper escaping her throat.
I pull back with a grin, forcing myself to put actual distance between us before I say fuck it and finish what we started regardless of store policies.
She nods, still looking slightly dazed, and I slip out of the fitting room before my self-control completely abandons me.
The sales associate is waiting in the hallway, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval.
"We'll take everything," I tell her, pulling out my wallet.
We barely make it through the doorway before I spin her around, pinning her back against the doorframe that leads into the living room.
My mouth crashes down on hers, and she tastes like cherry gloss and the mint from the gum she was chewing in the car and something that is just Rosalina—sweet and addictive and mine.
"Luca," she gasps against my mouth, her hands already fisting in my shirt.
Her back hits the doorjamb with a soft thud, and she gasps—a sound I swallow whole, greedy for every noise she makes.
Her red top is a thin scrap of cotton under my palms. I can feel the frantic beat of her heart through it, feel every ragged breath she takes. The black leather shorts she poured herself into this afternoon are a fucking masterpiece, hugging every curve, but right now they're just in my way.
My hand slides down, over the swell of her hip, the taut leather giving just enough to let me slip my fingers beneath the waistband. She's hot against my knuckles. Jesus Christ.
"Luca," she breathes, arching into me, her hips seeking pressure, seeking friction, seeking me.
"Shhh," I murmur against her lips, then trail my mouth down the column of her throat, feeling her pulse hammer under my tongue. "Let me feel you, Lina. Let me see how wet you are for me."
My fingers push past the elastic of her panties—black lace, of course, because she's trying to kill me—and find her slick and swollen and so fucking ready.
I groan, the sound rough in my throat, vibrating against her skin.
She's drenched. My middle finger slides through her folds, gathering her wetness, and I press the pad of it against her clit in a slow, circular motion.
She cries out, a sharp, ragged sound that goes straight to my cock, and her head falls back against the wood. "Oh, god."
"You hear that?" I whisper, my lips moving against the delicate skin of her earlobe.
I sink one finger into her, and she's so tight—a silken, clutching heat that makes my cock ache in my jeans, straining against the denim.
"That slick little sound? That's all for me.
You're so fucking tight, baby. Soaking wet and squeezing my finger like you don't want to let go. "
I add a second finger, stretching her, and she whimpers—a desperate, needy sound that makes me want to pin her to this doorframe and fuck her until neither of us can remember our own names.
I work them in and out, curling them just right to hit that spot inside her that makes her see stars, watching her face contort in pleasure.
Her eyes are squeezed shut, her lips parted on panting breaths. I kiss her again, swallowing her moans, fucking her with my fingers in a steady, deep rhythm that has her hips rolling against my hand.
"Think you can come just like this?" I taunt, my voice low and rough. "Pinned against the door with my fingers in your cunt? I bet you can. I bet you're close already."
She just moans, her hips meeting every thrust of my hand, her nails digging into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks. I can feel her body coiling tighter, the tension building in her thighs where they press against mine, in the way her breathing turns ragged and desperate.
I'm kissing down her neck, towards the neckline of that red top, when a sharp gasp slices through the heavy air.
Not from Rosalina.
My head snaps up.
And there he is. Gabriel. Lounging on the deep leather couch as if it's a throne, a hardbound book open in one hand.
The lamplight catches the sharp angles of his face—those high cheekbones, that strong jaw—his expression unreadable.
But his eyes… his eyes are fixed on us with a heavy-lidded intensity that sends a jolt straight to my groin.
Rosalina freezes, her body going rigid around my fingers, every muscle tensing. A flush of embarrassment blooms across her chest, painting her skin pink.
Gabriel's mouth curves into a faint, knowing smile. He doesn't move.. "Don't stop on my account," he says, his voice a calm, deep rumble that seems to vibrate in the quiet room.
A wicked idea sparks in my mind, hot and immediate.
I turn my head, my lips brushing Rosalina's ear.
She's trembling now—whether from arousal or embarrassment or both, I can't tell.
"You see that?" I whisper, my voice barely audible.
My fingers are still inside her, but I've gone motionless. "He's watching. He likes what he sees."
I feel her shudder, a full-body tremor that travels through her and into my hand.
"Let's give Gabe a show," I breathe, the idea taking full, glorious shape in my mind. "Maybe he'll join us."
A soft, helpless sound escapes her throat. Not a protest. Not even close. A surrender. A thrill of pure possession shoots through me, making my cock pulse.
"Good girl," I smile against her skin.
I start moving my fingers again, a slow, deliberate fucking that makes her gasp and her knees buckle. I hold her up against the doorjamb, my other arm braced beside her head, caging her in. My eyes lock with Gabriel's over her shoulder.
"Look at her," I say, my voice louder now, meant to carry across the room. "Can't even stand up. Just from my fingers."
Gabriel closes his book completely and sets it aside on the end table. He leans back, spreading his arms along the back of the couch, his gaze heavy and heated. "The top," he says, his tone casual but commanding. "Yank it down. I want to see her tits."
A surge of heat—competitive and dark and electric—floods my veins.
Yes. My hand leaves her hip. I fist the material of her red top and pull hard.
Buttons fly, scattering on the hardwood floor with tiny plastic clicks that sound obscenely loud.
The top gapes open, revealing a black lace bra barely containing her full, perfect breasts.
"The bra," Gabriel commands, his voice dropping an octave, getting darker. "Take it off."
I don't hesitate. I reach behind her, fumble with the clasp for half a second, and it gives way.
I peel the lace down, baring her to the cool air and Gabriel's hungry stare.
Her breasts are full and heavy, heaving with every ragged breath she takes.
Her nipples are hard, dusky peaks that beg to be touched, to be tasted, to be tormented.
I palm one breast, rolling the stiff peak between my thumb and forefinger, applying just enough pressure.
Rosalina cries out, her back arching off the doorframe, pushing her breast more firmly into my hand. My other hand is still working between her legs, the wet, rhythmic sounds obscenely loud in the silent room, echoing off the walls.
"Pinch her nipple," Gabriel instructs, and I can see his hand drift to the front of his dark trousers. I see the bulge there, the unmistakable evidence of his arousal, the deliberate movement as he palms himself through the fabric. "Harder."
I do. I twist the sensitive bud between my fingers, pinching hard, and she sobs—a sound mixed with pain and blinding pleasure. Her cunt clenches violently around my fingers, pulsing, trying to milk them.
"She likes it rough," I grit out, fascinated by the way her body responds, by the way she's completely at our mercy.
"I can see that," Gabriel murmurs, his voice rough now too. His eyes are glued to where my fingers disappear into her leather shorts, watching the movement of my hand. "Is she close?"
"Fuck yes," I groan. I can feel it—the telltale fluttering of her inner walls, the way her entire body is tensing like a drawn bowstring. "She's gonna come. Gonna scream for us."
Rosalina is panting, desperate, her words barely coherent. "Please, Luca, please—I need—please—"
"Let her," Gabriel says, and there's a dark edge of anticipation in his voice, a hunger that matches my own.
I speed up, my fingers pumping harder, faster, curling, rubbing that spot inside her that makes her see stars, makes her forget her own name. She's right on the edge, teetering, her mouth open in a silent scream, her whole body trembling.
"Stop."
The command is flat. Absolute. Like a whip crack in the silence.