I smile, a slow, satisfied smile.
I catch sight of his wound again, and my smile dims just a bit. As much as I want to drive him crazy, we have to be careful. I don't want to hurt him.
My movements become even more deliberate, gentler.
His breathing is ragged.
I can feel the tension coiling in him.
I speed up my movements, my grip firming.
"Caterina," he warns, his voice strained.
"I want to feel you come, Adrian," I whisper.
His whole body tenses, and his hand goes to my wrist again, stopping me.
"Not yet," he says, and before I can protest, he has me in his arms.
I gasp, my arms going around his neck to steady myself as he lifts me like I weigh nothing.
"Adrian! Your side!" I whisper harshly.
"I'm fine," he grits out, but I see the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead, and I know he's not. He's pushing himself, for me.
The thought makes my chest ache.
He carries me to the bed, laying me down gently. He stands over me for a moment, his gaze sweeping over my body, hot and possessive.
I've never felt so exposed, or so safe.
He lies down beside me, careful not to put any pressure on his wound.
"You're sure about this?" he asks, and I love him for it. For giving me one last out.
I answer by putting my hands on his shoulders and gently guiding him back against the pillows, careful of his injured side. I straddle him, hovering just above him.
I am in control.
I am not a victim.
I am not a prize to be won.
I am Caterina Conti.
And I want this.
I lean down and kiss him, deliberately keeping things slow and easy. It doesn't stop the heat from growing between us.
His hands are on my waist, his thumbs stroking circles on my skin.
I can feel him, hard and ready, just beneath me.
I move against him, a slow, deliberate drag of my soaking pussy against his length.
He groans, the sound swallowed by my kiss.
I do it again.
