Forced into an absolute, heavy silence, we sit shoulder to shoulder in the dim light. He doesn't move an inch away from me, his warmth seeping through the fabric of my dress, trapping me in a quiet, breathless bubble of our own making while the choir begins to sing.
Alessandro’s large hand leaves his lap, sliding slowly over the hem of my dress to touch my bare leg. His palms are rough, warm, and deliberate as they begin to move higher. A jolt of pure panic flashes through me. I look around quickly before reaching down to aggressively bat his hand away.
He stays completely still for a fraction of a second, his dark eyes boring into the side of my face, testing my resolve. Then, with an unbothered confidence, he replaces his hand right back on my thigh, gripping the soft skin firmly.
"Alessandro!" I whisper-hiss, my voice trembling as I try to pull away from his touch without drawing the congregation's attention.
He leans in so close his lips graze the shell of my ear, his breath a scorching contrast to the cool air of the church. "You better stay still, sweetheart, before I lay you on the bench and show everyone exactly who you belong to."
I freeze, completely stunned by the sheer, unadulterated dominance in his gravelly voice. My heart thumps violently against my ribs, trapping the breath in my throat. He takes my paralyzing shock as an open invitation, sliding his heavy hand higher up my thigh, his long fingers effortlessly pushing the silk of my underwear to the side.
I jolt at the direct contact, a silent gasp slipping past my lips. Before I can find the strength to shove him away, his fingers slide directly into my aching, slick heat.
"So fucking wet for me," he breathes against my neck, his voice a dark, possessive rumble that sends a vicious shiver straight down my spine. "You were made for me,dolcezza."
A wave of dizzying pleasure crashes over me, so intense it makes my vision blur. I violently bite down on my bottom lip, burying my teeth into the flesh until I taste copper, doing anything to keep from letting out a loud, shameful moan that would echo across the sacred walls.
Terrified of drawing the attention of the people just a few rows ahead, I force my entire body to stay completely rigid, anchoring myself against the wooden armrest. He handles me with a slow, agonizingly wicked rhythm, the quiet, slick friction of his fingers moving inside me sounding deafeningly loud over the choir’s holy hymnal.
Without a shred of warning, he yanks his hand out from beneath my dress. I gasp softly at the sudden emptiness, but the sound is instantly trapped in my throat as he slowly raises his glistening fingers and slides them directly into his mouth.
He holds my gaze the entire time, his dark eyes burning into mine with absolute satisfaction. The visual is so fiercely dominant, so unashamedly filthy, that my core clenches hard with a violent, involuntary wave of lust.
"Alessandro..." I breathe, my voice trembling so much it’s barely a thread of sound.
"So fucking sweet," he rumbles. "I’m highly tempted to throw the whole plan away and eat you out right here in the back row."
"Please..." I whisper, though I don't even know if I'm begging him to stop or begging him to give me more.
He chuckles darkly, and sinks his fingers right back into my slick heat. This time, I don't even try to push him away. I don't pretend to resist.
I close my eyes for a fraction of a second, letting my head fall back against the wooden pew as the priest’s booming voice suddenly rocks through the speaker system again.
Oh no. What am I doing? Oh no.
The guilt fights with the pleasure, a brutal war raging inside my chest. I'm in a sacred house, right behind my sisters and dozens of innocent families, and I'm letting a monster ruin me. But even as the panic spikes, the words to command him to stop completely die in my throat.
I want the sin.
I want his touch.
His hand pumps in and out of me with a fierce, unwavering rhythm, the filthy, wet sounds completely masked by the voice of the priest. Then, he curves his fingers inside me, his thumbdeliberately brushing over my hyper-sensitive clit in a perfect stroke.
I completely shatter.
My vision goes white as a massive, violent orgasm crashes over me, my internal muscles clamping down around his hand in tight, desperate waves. I violently swallow a crying sob, my fingers burying into the fabric of his tailored suit jacket so hard my knuckles turn white.
My goodness.
He watches the pleasure break across my face, an arrogant, dark satisfaction written in every line of his features. Slowly, he withdraws his hand, bringing it to his mouth once more to lick it completely clean, his eyes never leaving mine.
He flashes me a dangerous, knowing smile that tells me he knows exactly how completely he owns me now.
Without another syllable, he rises smoothly to his feet. Before I can even find my breath or open my mouth to speak, he melts right back into the deep shadows near the cathedral doors, gone as quickly and silently as he arrived.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ALESSANDRO
