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He lifts me up, setting me on the edge of the counter, his fingers threading through my hair. His mouth is warm, his tongue soft against mine, and I reach for him, my own hands running through his thick, dark hair. I feel him suck in a breath when my fingertips ghost down the back of his neck, the hand on my hip pulling me to the edge of the counter as I feel his thick cock press between my thighs.
We still have all of our clothes on, but it feels achingly intimate. Here, in my kitchen?—
I break away with a soft gasp, looking over his shoulder. “Shit, Lorenzo—we can’t do this here.” I half expect Niki to come wandering in at any moment, wanting water or something else he forgot to ask for before bed. The last thing I want is to try to explain what’s happening between me and the strange man he only just met tonight—much less have to explain anything involving the birds and the bees at all. I’m dreading the day when we have to have that conversation.
“Where should we go?” Lorenzo’s voice is muffled against my neck, his teeth and tongue still making a trail back down to my collarbone. Every hair on my body stands up, like static shock, the pleasure of it making me nearly moan again as I grip his shoulders.
I want to pull him closer, but I push him away instead, sliding off of the countertop. I start to try to move past him, but he grabs my hip, pulling me against his body again. He feels so close that, for a moment, I’m not sure where he ends and I begin, and I want him even closer. I want more.
“I want you,” Lorenzo whispers, as if echoing my own thoughts. When I look up at his face, it’s no longer unreadable. It’s taut with need, desire written over every inch of his features, his eyes dark with lust. “Where do we go?”
I press my lips together, breathing hard. The thought of him leaving now is almost painful. I reach for his hand, wordlessly, and pull him out of the kitchen, leading him through the living room and down the hall.
The instant we’re in my bedroom with the door closed, Lorenzo reaches for me again. I gasp as his mouth crushes against mine, his hands on my waist, my hips, curving around my ass as he lifts me up effortlessly, my legs going around his hips. He carries me to the bed, spilling me back onto it, and as he joins me, I put a hand on his chest, stopping him as he leans over me.
“I work for you.” I whisper the words, feeling them hang in the air between us.
“I don’t care any longer.” His gaze is hot and hungry as it roves over me, like he’s starving and I’m a feast. “I’ve thought about you every day since I saw you in that mansion. Every night. I only fantasize about you. I haven’t touched another woman since I saw you. I can’t want anyone other than you. And once I tasted you—” His eyes close, his knee pushing mine apart as he surges between my legs, the hot, heavy weight of his cock pressing between my thighs. “I need you, Mila.”
For tonight, he means. He can’t mean anything else. It’s impossible. But it’s enough to wear down my defenses to the breaking point—as if they weren’t there already.
“Lorenzo, I?—”
“Nothing will change.” He reaches up, brushing my hair away from my cheek, his fingertips smoothing over my cheekbone. “Just for tonight, Mila. I need?—”
“You said it will change something. How can this not change anything?” I gesture between the two of us, at his body stretched atop mine, the wild look of desire in his eyes, the way we’re nearly pressed together even as we try to think of why we should stay apart. “How can you say all of those things and think that this won’t change anything?”
“Maybe I’m lying to you. Maybe I’m lying to myself.” His face tenses, a shudder rippling through him as he runs his thumb over the line of my cheekbone again. “I came here as soon as I thought you might need me. I’m not—I’m not like this, Mila. I’m not a man who needs someone else. I’m not a man who wants like this. Who feels this kind of lust. I never have been. But right now?—”
He lets out a shuddering breath, reaching for my leg with his other hand and hooking it around his hip. He leans his weight into me, just enough for me to feel how impossibly hard he is.
“Right now, Mila,” he breathes, “I feel like I might die if I can’t be inside of you.”
My defenses shatter. I’ve never heard a man speak to me like that, never even imagined it, and I’m defenseless against it. I know there are a dozen reasons why I should throw him out of my bed, why I should tell him to leave, why I should never have allowed him to come into my apartment in the first place. But I reach for him, tugging his mouth back down to mine as my legs lock around his hips, and I feel him sink against me as if with relief that I haven’t told him to leave.
We lay there like that for a long time—longer than I’ve imagined that we would. I thought it would be fast and hard and messy if we ever finally gave in, but there’s a depth of longing in Lorenzo that I can feel being drawn out of him by inches, as if he’s a man who has never been gentle, who has never been soft, and is at long last giving in to the urge to feel that with me. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I can hear myself shouting that this is too tender, too intimate—that what we are to each other shouldn’t feel like this. But I can’t bring myself to rush it.
He kisses my mouth slowly at first, then harder, devouring me and then backing off again as his hands slide through my hair and trace the column of my neck, drifting down to my breasts. I feel him strip off my tank top, leaving my skin bare in the cool room, and the first touch of his lips against the curve of my breast makes me arch and gasp.
I have to be quiet, and it feels impossible. Even just the graze of his lips over my nipple, the slide of his tongue around it as it stiffens, makes me reach up to curl my fingers in his hair, pleasure radiating out over my every nerve. It’s all I can do not to moan aloud.
His mouth traces a damp path to my other breast, repeating the motion, until both of my nipples are hard and peaked, and my head falls back against the pillows, my hips grinding against him. Lorenzo’s mouth drags down between my breasts, over the smooth concave flesh of my stomach, down to the space between my hipbones as his fingers curl in the fabric of my leggings. He grazes his teeth over the first line of bone and then the other—and then pulls the leggings down, hard, together with my panties.
In a moment, I’m entirely naked underneath him, while he’s still fully dressed. He looks up at me, dark hair tousled around his face, green eyes hot with lust as he wraps one arm around my thigh. He draws my leg back, his hand sliding over my stomach, fingers reaching down to splay the folds of my pussy open as his gaze drifts between my legs.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes, his eyes meeting mine once more, and then I feel the hot press of his mouth against my aching flesh.
He groans, the sound muffled against me, his tongue sliding from my entrance to my clit in one hot, long lick that leaves me trembling; my head turned into the pillow to muffle my cry of pleasure. I don’t know how I can manage the need to be quiet—it feels good, too good, and every muscle in my body trembles with the effort as he kisses and licks my folds and clit with the same slow build that he used on my mouth. Gently at first, and then harder, his soft attention turning to hungry feasting as his lips fasten around my clit, sucking my swollen flesh into his mouth. His tongue flutters over it, and I feel my fingers curl into his hair, tugging at the roots and scratching at his scalp as I get closer and closer to the edge, with no outlet for my need to scream how good it feels.
I want to be somewhere we don’t have to be quiet. I want to moan and wail and cry out as he licks and sucks, eager to send me hurtling over the edge, and my fingers claw into the blanket as I arch against his mouth. I can feel how wet I am, soaking his face, and I nearly bite my tongue with the effort to stay silent as the pressure of his mouth turns harder, hotter, and the orgasm slams into me.
My hips arch up against his lips as I come hard on his face, riding his tongue as my thighs tighten around his head. It feels so good it’s almost unbearable, a pleasure so strong it’s nearly pain, and I feel him pin me against the bed with the arm wrapped around my leg as I writhe against him. It feels like it won’t stop, wave after wave of pleasure so intense that it leaves me gasping, breathless as it finally ebbs, the throbbing between my legs intense and still aching.
Lorenzo lifts his head, his mouth glossy with my arousal, his eyes darker than ever with need. “God, Mila?—”
“Please.” I gasp the word, reaching for him, desperate to feel his naked skin against mine, his naked heat filling me up. “Come here. Please.”
He moves up my body, offering no resistance when I start to tug at the buttons of his shirt. He leans down to kiss me, the taste of me still on his mouth, a bright, sharp tang against my lips as I undo his shirt in a hurried fever. I think I feel one of the buttons pop, but he doesn’t seem to notice—or he simply doesn’t care.
