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He kissed my neck, his lips hot, insistent. He tore the split of the dress up to my back so he could shove the fabric aside, exposing my ass to his hungry gaze.
“God, you’re beautiful.”
He was beautiful too. I tried again to turn, to see him, but still he would not let me. He had me against the bed, leaning against the mattress for support, while his palms cupped my ass cheeks, pulled them apart to reveal the duskiness at their base.
“Marco, I need you,” I cried out.
He needed no further invitation. I felt the thick head of him pressing against the entrance of my sex. So thick. Splitting me apart.
“Beg for it,” he growled against my neck.
“Please Marco, I want you.”
He pushed himself in slowly. The thickness of him stretched me so exquisitely that a raw scream tore from my throat.
“Yes. Oh God, yes!”
He pushed harder, his shaft sliding inside me with such tormenting control. “You like that, baby?”
“Yes, please. I need you.”
“Need me to what?”
I could have clawed him for making me say it. The smug bastard.
“Fuck me,” I begged. “Please fuck me. Hard.”
He laughed. His hand gripped my hair. “Good girl.”
And then he fucked me. Hard, fast, relentless, his hands gripping my hips to hold me in place.
And I screamed, grinding back against him to meet every thrust, my body lost in a mad, wheeling rainbow of sensation.
And then somehow we were on the bed, him on top behind me, fucking me into submission while his hand palmed my breasts and nipples roughly, then dragged down to my clit and thumbed it hard, bringing me to a wrenching, punishing climax.
He came too, with a shout of satisfaction behind me. And then sank, heavy against my back, finally pulling my face back towards him for a deep, possessive kiss.
I lay spooned against him for a long while. Until he left to go to the bathroom. His own bathroom.
And I went to mine. Showered, my mind a fog.
When I came out, wrapped in a towel, I found him already dressed and on my bed, waiting for me. So dangerously beautiful, he made my heart ache.
Why were some men born with such predatory grace that you simply couldn’t tear your eyes from them? That your heart sang at the mere thought of belonging to them, of them belonging to you?
I blushed as soon as I saw him. My eyes went to my bedroom door. “Oh God,” I said, my hands flying to my cheeks, remembering how I had screamed.
He grinned a tiger’s smile. “Don’t worry. This house has weird acoustics. They won’t have heard us downstairs, even if we can hear them sometimes. I’ve tested it.”
That brought me down from cloud nine with a thump. Tested it for all the women he brought here, no doubt.
“Aren’t you a busy bee,” I muttered, turning away from him to go sit at my dressing table.
He came to stand behind me. His fingers played with my wet hair.
“Get dressed for breakfast, amore. My mother hates it when we’re tardy.”
“Then you should go down. I have no intention of staying to have breakfast.”
