Maybe I could just…
Fuck it.
I get out of bed and fly toward the door.
It’s late, he’s asleep. Nothing will happen. I just want to see if…
I stop dead.
There, standing in the hall, staring at my door, is Rocco.
The darkness masks his face, but I can see by the way his shoulders rise and fall that he’s breathing deeply.
“Cas,” his voice is low, almost gravely. “Get back in your room.”
“Why?”
The tension between us thickens. That unspoken thing between us lashes out, hungry, predatory.
He steps closer, and a strip of moonlight illuminates his face. I almost gasp.
“Because I’m about three seconds away from pushing you through those doors and fucking you until you scream.”
That look, that darkness in his eyes, spells only one thing. Everything seems to click in place. It’s not just me. He feels it, too, is being driven mad by it.
It would take nothing at all, and the release that had been building within me for days would finally subside. I could finally think straight. I could finally…
“Then why are your clothes still on?”
The invitation is out of my mouth before I can talk myself out of it.
Rocco wastes no time. He stalks forward, arms encapsulating me as he picks me straight off the floor.
I gasp, not at the firmness of his touch or the electricity that seems to bounce off his skin, but at how hard his crotch is as it presses into mine. It feels so fucking good. My legs instantly wrap around his waist, pulling him in closer.
He hisses in my ear as he carries us back into my room, back onto the bed. He throws me down carelessly, and I whimper at the lack of contact with his body.
In the darkness of the room, I can barely make out his silhouette.
“You think you could just sit there in that fucking dress,” his voice vibrates across my skin as his hands spread open my legs, “and torment me like that?”
I can’t answer as his deft hands hoist up the skirt of my dress and begin to massage my inner thighs. I squirm under his touch, nudging him further toward the place I want him to be.
“Were you trying to lure me here,Angioletta?Is this at yourdiscretion?”
His hands disappear, and I look for him frantically. A dark shadow looms over me as if he is contemplating exactly how he wants to take me.
I’d been too brash at dinner, antagonizing him like that. Now he’s making me wait as some kind of cruel revenge.
“Please, Rocco,” I beg the shadow before me. “Don’t you want to feel how wet I am?”
I begin to rub at the thin material of my panties to prove my point, gasping at the delightful friction I can create with little effort.
Rocco slaps my hand away. It’s a sharp movement that I barely have time to register before he’s lying between my legs.
“Were you this wet at dinner?”
I can’t think as his breath tickles along my thigh.
