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“Just fuck me, Lorenzo,” I pant against his lips. “Please—just fuck me.” I’m aching, soaking wet, and I want him inside of me. In this moment, I no longer care why we should or shouldn’t, or what it means if we do. All I can think about is how hollow I feel, how, for the first time in years, I can remember what it feels like to want, and I want him to be the one to fill me.
A shudder runs through his taut body, and I feel his fingers tighten against my hip, but he shakes his head. “No,” he whispers softly against my lips. “I’m not going to fuck you today, Mila.”
I whimper at that, my hips arching against the hardness of his cock pressed between my legs, and my cheeks flush at the sound. I don’t think I’ve ever sounded so wanton, so needy before. “I?—”
“Shh.” His thumb brushes over my cheekbone as he kisses me again, lazily rocking against the juncture of my hips as if we have all the time in the world. As if we aren’t doing this in a public building, behind a locked door that someone could unlock at any moment. “Don’t worry, sweet girl. I know you need to come.”
The arousal that floods me makes me feel boneless, floating, ready to come undone at any moment. His mouth moves from mine, his lips tracing my jaw, my neck, as his hand dips between my legs. “God,” he breathes against my skin. “You’re soaked through; you’re so wet. You poor thing. My sweet, needy principessa.”
His. The word should terrify me, should make me want to pull away and run, but it only makes me want to be closer, to sink into him even more. Yes, I think mindlessly, as his fingers stroke the outside of the tight fabric between my thighs. I want to be his. I want him to protect me. I want to belong to him.
Lorenzo pulls my leotard to one side, his fingers sinking against the thin material of my tights as he gently rubs the outer folds of my pussy. His mouth is at my collarbone, tongue tracing the hollow of my throat, and then he pulls back as he looks at me.
I’ve never seen so much raw lust in a man’s face. “So wet for me,” he breathes. “I need to taste you, principessa. I need to make you come.”
And then, as I hear another of those helpless whimpers slip from my mouth, he yanks me closer to the edge of the desk and drops to his knees.
Still holding my leotard to one side, fingers curled around the fabric and braced against my thigh, he presses his mouth between my legs. I clap my hand to my lips the instant I feel the heat of his tongue against my tights, stroking through the fabric, his saliva and my arousal soaking it until I can feel it sticking to my swollen, aroused flesh. He laps at my outer folds, licking in long, slow strokes that only make me squirm against his mouth, desperate to feel him against my naked skin. Desperate for more.
“These are in my way,” he murmurs, his tongue sliding over the opaque tights once more. “I need to do something about that, I think, dolce.”
And then, to my utter shock, he takes the tights between his teeth and fingers, and rips them open.
I squeak, jumping a little with the shock, and Lorenzo looks up at me with one steadying hand on my other thigh. “I’ll replace them,” he murmurs softly, as if that were anywhere in my head at this particular moment, with the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen on his knees in front of me.
“You can come for me as many times as you want, dolce,” he says softly, grazing his lips against my thigh, and then his mouth is pressed tightly between my legs, and I forget how to breathe.
His mouth feels like heaven. His tongue is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. He holds me open wide, thighs spread, his tongue sliding from my entrance to my clit as if he wants to taste every inch of me, swirling tightly around the swollen flesh there. He eats me like a starving man, his fingers pressing into my thigh as he circles my clit, again and again, until I can feel myself edging close to the brink. I grip the desk with one hand, the other still pressed to my mouth to muffle my moans.
When his tongue leaves my clit, I nearly cry out in protest. He licks downwards, flicking his tongue along my folds, grazing them with his teeth as if he wants to draw it out. We could get caught, I nearly say, glancing at the door, but the thought only drives my arousal higher. When I imagine the door opening, someone walking in to see Lorenzo Campano on his knees as he devours my pussy, my entire body clenches, and I let out a shuddering gasp.
Lorenzo chuckles, low and deep, the sound vibrating against my skin. I moan, hips arching up against his mouth as his tongue stiffens, and he drives it inside of me like a small cock.
I nearly cry out. I never knew it could feel this good. No one has ever gone down on me like this before. Lorenzo thrusts his tongue inside of me, small, quick strokes, and then his tongue softens, curling as he touches places I never imagined being licked before. He lets go of my thigh, his hand coming up to press against my pelvic bone as his thumb starts to massage my clit, and I buck against his touch as I try to muffle another shuddering moan.
“Lorenzo, please.” He liked when I begged him before, and I imagine he might again. “Please fuck me. I need your cock, please.” The feeling of him fucking me with his tongue has done nothing to ease that craving. I want him to push me back onto the desk and fuck me more than I want to breathe.
He groans, the sound muffled against my wet flesh, but he shakes his head. From where I’m sitting, I can see that his still-exposed cock is rock-hard again, stiff and pearling pre-cum as he fucks me with his tongue.
That sight, combined with the pressure of his thumb against my clit and the wet heat of his tongue inside of me, is what finally sends me over the edge.
Every muscle in my body stiffens as the orgasm hits me, crashing over me with a force unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I clench around Lorenzo’s tongue, my clit throbbing as I ride his face, biting into the side of my hand to keep from screaming. The pleasure is more intense than I could have imagined, and only his hand on my thigh, keeping me pinned to the desk, keeps me from falling. My back arches, my entire body contorted with the climax, and I can feel my arousal flooding his lips and tongue.
He doesn’t stop. He keeps thrusting his tongue inside of me, rolling his thumb against my clit as the waves of pleasure crash over me again and again. And then, just as I think it’s starting to ease, he pulls his tongue free and removes his hand, and his lips fasten around my still-pulsing clit.
“Lorenzo!” I gasp his name aloud, shuddering with the sudden over-stimulation, but he doesn’t stop. He reaches down, thrusting two fingers into my still-clenching pussy, fucking me relentlessly as he sucks and licks at my clit. “God, Lorenzo, please fuck me, please?—”
I need his cock. I need him to fill me up. “You’re so hard, I can see it. Please?—”
He pulls away, his fingers still thrusting as he looks up at me. His mouth and chin are glistening with my arousal, his green eyes dark, his hair a tousled mess. “I’m not going to fuck you, Mila,” he growls. “If you ask again, I won’t let you come.”
My eyes widen, and I let out a helpless whimper, shaking my head. I only just came, but the thought of him stopping now is unbearable. I arch against his fingers, and a dark smirk passes over his lips as he leans forward, giving my clit a soft kiss. It’s a tease, and I look at him pleadingly.
“If I give you a third finger, will you stop begging for my cock, dolce?”
I nod, already desperate to come again. Lorenzo’s smirk deepens, the look of lust on his face utterly devastating as he leans in again, his mouth pressed exactly where I need him most as I feel him thrust a third finger into my aching pussy.
“Be a good girl,” he murmurs, swirling his tongue around my clit. “And come the way I tell you to.”
