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“Oh, god,” My toes curl as pleasure converges with a bite of pain, creating something else, something that sends the coil inside me spinning wildly out of control.
He keeps it up, thrusting hard. Fast. Deep. So deep the head of his cock slams against my cervix.
“Nico,” I gasp, my skin awash with tingles of sensation rippling around from where we’re joined. He feels incredible, filling and stretching me in a way that drives me crazy. It’s too much, too fast.
“Oh my God, Nico, slow down,” I gasp.
He immediately does as I ask, but then he lifts my leg to curl around his shoulder and opens me up to his slow, deep thrusts, which end in his pelvis hitting my clit. He does it again, withdrawing almost all the way, then slamming back in, his smooth piercing dragging along my walls.
“Jesus! Nico,” I think I see stars. Okay, now this is something else entirely.
“Cosa vuoi, tesoro?”
I know from the inflection in his tone that he’s asking me something, “Huh?”
As if just realizing I had no idea what he said, he switches to English, keeping up the slow, maddeningly deep thrusts. “What do you want, baby?”
I still have no fucking clue. I only know I’m going to explode into a million pieces if he keeps driving that delicious hard length into me the way he is right now. “Don’t stop,” I beg, feeling the relentless pressure building inside me.
Over and over again, my G-spot and clit are stimulated like never before. Harder and faster. My moans turn to cries as the coil winds up so tight it aches, desperate for release.
He’s staring at me; not my tits or my pussy or even the artwork on my body. His eyes are on my face, watching my pleasure. I feel uncovered and exposed in a way that seems too intimate for what this is.
And then he starts to speak to me again in Italian. Scorching hot, dirty things that make my pussy cream so much and spasm around his thick cock. It’s not about the words. It’s how he says them and the look on his face when he does. It should make me uncomfortable, but instead, I want to watch him back, to see the play of lust across his chiseled features, to see the fire in his irises, which are mostly black now.
And then I can’t hold on anymore; the pressure inside me too overwhelming, and as he thrusts once more, white-hot pleasure shocks right through me in a release that makes me scream.
“Christ,” Nico hisses while my inner walls grip him over and over again.
He throws back his head and his fingers dig into my hip as he follows me over the edge. His cock swells, and he shouts my name, making it reverberate off the walls as he comes.
He remains deep inside me, watching me until my breathing evens and the spasming in my core settles into occasional twitches. Then his fingers ease up on my hip, and he lets go of my wrists. I meet his gaze, expecting to see that semi-vacant, post-sex glaze that most men seem to assume after sex. But his eyes are clear and assessing, making me feel that same exposed sensation as before.
“You feel good, Sophie. So fucking good,” he says, then bends to capture my lips in a leisurely kiss. My hands, finally free to move, greedily roam around the ebbs and dips of his back and shoulders and down to his waist. Just when I think he might start thrusting again since his erection hasn’t flagged, he withdraws.
“Catch some shut-eye; then I’m fucking you again, fiammetta.”
Little fiery one.
Yep, finally looked it up. I obsessed over every single word Nico said to me last week.
“No arguments there,” I smile as Nico’s weight depresses the bed beside me. Then his hands are beneath my arms, pulling me up higher on the bed.
His movements feel unpracticed and jerky. Like he’s not accustomed to dragging post-orgasmic women around in bed. I have a feeling he or the woman would usually be out of the door by now. I decide that’s probably a good thing and let my body relax as he settles in next to me.
I feel the weight of his arm drape over me, and the heat of his body against me is better than a hot fire on a cold night. Better than a stolen Mustang.
Druids until the Reaper takes me to hell.
“Scusa?”
Oh. I hadn’t realized I said that aloud. “Um, it’s only something they say back home.”
“I know. I heard it a few times. I just didn’t imagine I’d ever hear you say it,” he quietly admits, as if to himself.
I turn over in his arms and splay my hand over his tattoo, suddenly needing to know what it means. “Nico?”
“Hmm?”
