He pushed open a door at the end of the landing and tugged me into a huge room, with a balcony at the far end which looked out over the gardens and the city below. The view was breathtaking, but that wasn’t why I was struggling to breathe when he let go of my hand, strolled across the expanse of silk carpet and opened the terrace doors onto the night.
A scented breeze brushed over my exposed skin, which, thanks to my mini-dress, was a lot.
Instead of returning to me, he sat in an upholstered chair that looked antique, crossed his ankle over the other knee, and smiled at me, the feral light in his eyes as tempting as it was intimidating.
‘My arrogance is part of my charm, Mia,’ he said before flicking his index finger to indicate my dress. ‘It is time for you to show me everything that is under that dress.’
‘But… I’m…’ The words seized in my throat as I stalled. I’d never done a striptease before, and as bold as I’d felt up to now, I was suddenly struggling with a serious case of performance anxiety. ‘Really?’ I managed. ‘That’s not very seductive…’
‘And yet you are already wet for me,’ he replied.
My thighs quivered as the evening breeze chose that precise moment to make me aware of how damp I was. For him.
‘How do you know that?’ I blurted out, challenging him to cover my mortification.
He crooked his finger at me. ‘Come.’
I walked towards him, aware of the swollen spot between my thighs every step of the way. He unfolded his legs and spread his knees. Placing a hand on my hip, he positioned me between his muscular thighs.
Every part of me trembled as he tucked a knuckle under my chin and forced my gaze to his. ‘If I find that you are wet, Mia, I will have to punish you for lying.’
My eyes widened as the need pulsed and throbbed between my legs. His hand trailed under the hem of my dress. He cupped me to run his finger along the seam of my sex.
I sobbed and grabbed hold of his shoulders in a desperate attempt not to collapse into a heap, his dominating caress so sure, so entitled it was electrifying. His knuckle brushed my clitoris, and I bucked against his hold, shocked by the brutal sensations radiating outwards. Already.
But just as I felt myself shooting towards orgasm, he denied me the touch I needed and gave my bare buttock a stinging slap.
I jolted upright. ‘You bastard,’ I managed, my throat dry.
‘I said you would be punished,’ he said, his eyes dark with hunger and bright with satisfaction.
‘I never said I wasn’t aroused…specifically,’ I said, trying to justify myself but losing ground fast. I wanted what he was offering, his power and dominance pushing me out of my comfort zone in the most delicious way possible. I’d never been so close to orgasm before so quickly.
‘Then do as I demand,’ he said.
‘I don’t like being ordered about.’
‘Yes, you do…’ He brought his finger to his lips, my juices glistening in the moonlight and calling me a liar, then sucked his fingertip. ‘Delicious,’ he murmured, the gruff approval making need grip me again. ‘Take off the dress so I can feast on you, Mia.’
I shuddered as heat poured through me—his dictatorial tone as hot as that sure, entitled caress.
A part of me knew I really ought to tell him no. I was a feminist, which meant I shouldn’t be turned on by his bossy tone, or that stinging slap. But in that moment, my poor neglected libido was making all my decisions for me.
Dave had never gone down on me, because he said he found it repulsive. So I’d locked that desire away with all the others. But Vito didn’t just look like he wanted to eat me. He looked as if he would punish me again if I didn’t let him…
I lifted the dress over my head and threw it away, feeling bold, and more belligerent myself. No point in being coy, or contrary. I could subjugate my equal rights for one night, for the greater good—i.e., discovering what it was like to have a man actuallywantto fulfil my biggest sexual fantasy.
‘Brava ragazza,’ he said, the low tone and that fierce gaze raking over my breasts and making me painfully aware of my nipples poking the red lace. He inclined his head. ‘The bra,’ he announced. ‘Lose it.’
I didn’t need to be asked twice. I reached behind me but struggled to unclip the hook. It took me a few painful seconds, but he made no move to help me. Once I’d finally unclipped the bra and let it drop, I was shaking—with need or mortification, or possibly both.
But then he adjusted his trousers and unzipped himself to reveal a pair of black stretch boxers with an obscene bulge which had to be the thick ridge I had felt earlier.
Desire swelled and throbbed, my need painful as my sex ached with emptiness—the desperation to feel that bulge inside me all I could focus on.
Before I had a chance to contemplate how quickly I was losing every one of my inhibitions, he curled a hand around my waist and tugged me closer. He blew across my bare nipple. My back arched, offering the swollen peak to him.
He licked at the tip, swirled his tongue around the edge. I thrust my fingers into his hair. But before I could start begging—just as he had said I would—he reared back, dislodging my hands.
