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I respond, not with words but with a small mewl.
“Are you wet for me?” he murmurs, dipping his finger into the Port again. “I’ll bet you are.” He traces a finger over my throat and between my breasts, his warm mouth following, lapping the luscious droplets from my flesh.
I’m hot.So hot. And my heart hammers as he sucks the liquid from my neck. Tomorrow there will be a bruise there too.But this is different,I tell myself. He’s in control now—I feel it—not only of himself, but of me too.
Desperate to soothe the throb between my legs, I tighten my thighs around his and slide a hand over his broad chest.
His heart is pounding, too, powerful and steady. Instead of backing away, instead of heeding the warning that this is quickly getting out of hand, I lift my hand to his scruffy jaw and explore the sharp contours of his face.
Antonio rests his hands on my hips, his eyes boring into mine. He doesn’t move as my fingers travel along his skin—not at first.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his raspy voice enveloped in a lustful haze.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
He takes my hand and brings it to his lips. I purr when he places a small kiss on my fingertip, and while I’m soaking in the blissful moment, he lowers his mouth and bites into the soft flesh.
“Ouch!”I cry out from the surprise, not because the sting is painful. I jerk my hand away, but he doesn’t let go—not before he brushes his lips over the bite mark.
“Some women find a little pain heightens their enjoyment. Some men too,” he says, his fingertips skating up my inner thighs, searing the sensitive skin as they go.
“Do you enjoy pain?” I ask cautiously.
His thumbs move in a steady rhythm, sweeping closer and closer to my panties, until they graze the lace-edged gusset. “With you? I could enjoy almost anything.”
His thumbs slide under the lace, and I let my eyelids flutter closed. “Look at me,” he demands softly. “Yes. I enjoy pain. Inflicting it, mostly.”
25
Daniela
My heart stops, but his fingers don’t, and I’m too aroused to press him about the kind of pain he likes to inflict.
“So wet,” he murmurs. “So tempting. So innocent. I’m going to take your sexy panties,” he whispers above my ear. “Did you wear them for me?”
I gasp as he slips the underwear down my legs, slowly, stopping only to slide off my shoes.
“Before the night’s over, I’m going to soothe that little ache between your legs. You’ll feel so much better,” he coos.
Shame washes over me. But I don’t want him to stop.
“But first.” He grazes my lips, gently, and tugs at my blouse. “Take off this pretty flowered shirt for me. Show me what’s underneath.”
Suddenly I feel shy, and I hesitate. Antonio doesn’t urge me on. He doesn’t say or do anything. He’s patient, with all the confidence of a man who knows I’ll eventually do as he asks.
I swallow hard and avert my eyes while I pull the shirt over my head and unfasten the hooks on my bra. My mother’s locket dangles between my breasts, and I take it off and lay it on the table, hiding it under my wrap so I don’t have to look at it while he debases me.
When I had sex with Josh, he always took off my clothes. He never required me to hand them over. Antonio’s doing this because it adds an element of humiliation, like parading me through the streets while I carry the white flag of surrender for all to see.
The worst part is that I don’t mind—not really. There’s something about it that’s sensual, stirring the need in me beyond anything I’ve ever experienced.
He holds out his hand, and I place my clothing into his outstretched palm. He doesn’t give them a passing glance as he drops them at his feet.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs, cupping my breasts. He makes small, tight circles around my nipples. They bead for him, gladly, as though pleasing him is more important than anything else. Maybe even more important than what I want.
Don’t I want this?Isn’t this what I fantasized about on the long bus ride home from my night job, and later, alone in my bed?
The thoughts bleed away as he pinches a nipple, making it impossible to think about anything but the erotic sensation.“Ahhh.”
