“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer you’ll get, Tesoro.” No matter how often he said it, my chest still ached.
It didn’t help that the champagne had gone to my head, a pleasant warmth spreading through my limbs. I’d kicked off my sandals somewhere around hour four, curled into the leather seat with Beau nestled beside me, and just watched him.
The way his hands moved when he talked—expressive, elegant, dangerous. The way his jaw clenched when he mentioned his father. The way his eyes softened when they landed on me.
I was drunk onhim.
When I came back from the bathroom—splashing cold water on my cheeks, trying to cool the heat building under my skin—I found him waiting in the aisle.
He filled the narrow space, broad shoulders blocking my path. His eyes raked over me, slow and deliberate, undressing me with nothing but a look.
“Sei bellissima,” he murmured, his voice rough.
Before I could respond, his hands were in my hair, tilting my head back, and his mouth crashed into mine. His tongue slid against mine, tasting of champagne and sin, as I melted into him. My hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more.
“I want to fuck you right here on this plane,” he breathed against my lips. “I don’t think I can wait to get to where we’re going.”
My heart hammered. The audacity of him, the sheer, arrogant confidence.
And damn, it turned me on.
But I refused to make it easy for him.
I pulled back, meeting his dark, hungry eyes. “You may be used to getting what you want.” I let my voice drop, low and teasing. “But I’m used to working for everything. So if you want it…” I traced a finger down his chest. “You earn it.”
Something flickered in his gaze. Surprise, respect, need.
Then he dropped to his knees.
Lorenzo’s hands gripped my hips, fingers curling into the fabric of my sundress as he steadied me in front of him.
“Then put me to work,” he said, his voice a low growl.
His hands moved with practiced efficiency, pushing up the hem of my dress up, inch by inch, revealing my bare skin to the cool cabin air. I’d worn no panties—a deliberate choice, one I’d made before boarding. I wanted him to have easy access. I wanted him to know I was his.
When he saw I was bare, a low growl rumbled from his chest. “Cazzo. Did my sweet wife plan this?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The way he was looking at me—like I was something precious, something he intended to devour—made my words evaporate.
He pressed a tender kiss to my inner thigh. Then another, higher, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below my pussy. I gasped, my hips twitching toward him.
His tongue slid through my folds in one long, slow stroke, from my entrance to my clit, sending a shockwave through me. I cried out, my head falling back, my grip on the seat tightening. He lapped at me like I was nectar, like he’d been starved for the taste of me.
He guided my leg up, hooking it over his shoulder. The position left me completely open, completely exposed. I could feel the cool air against my wet pussy, could feel the weight of his gaze as he took in the sight of me spread for him.
“Stunning,” he breathed.
And then he dove in.
His mouth locked onto my clit, sucking hard, and I screamed. Not a moan—a full, pleading cry. The sound echoed off the cabin walls, swallowed by the hum of the engines. His tongue circled me, flicked me, teased me, and I could barely stand.
His fingers found my entrance, sliding two fingers in, curling to hit that sweet spot that made stars burst behind my eyes. I bucked against his hand, against his mouth, my hips grinding against his face like I’d lost all control.
“Yes—fuck, yes—right there.”
He hummed against my clit, the vibration sending shockwaves through my core. I felt the pressure building, coiling tight in my belly, my toes curling inside my heels.
