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Luca grins, reading me like a book. “Get in the shower, dirty girl.”
The stream of water just touches my backside as he swipes the bottle of wine from the counter and follows me in. Placing his palm in the center of my chest, he pushes me gently until my back hits the tiled wall. His gaze intent, he lifts the bottle to his mouth and drinks as his hand skims my collarbone and feathers my nipples, then he tilts the bottle and pours the red liquid across my breasts.
“Luca—”
He dips his head and licks the wine away, lapping and suckling until I can’t tell where the wine leaves off and the water from the shower begins. I tilt my head back against the shower wall with a moan, my knees quivering as his teeth glide across the sensitive skin of my nipple.
Lower.
I want him lower.
I shove my hands into his hair, trying to push his head down toward my pussy.
“Patience,” he whispers, pulling away. Staring into my eyes, he tips the bottle again, this time letting the wine run across my abdomen and between my legs. I shiver as it hits my slit, and Luca drops to his knees before me. He drags his tongue along my clit, holding onto my hip with one hand and the bottle of wine with the other.
His eyes glitter up at me; he drinks deeply, then spits the mouthful of wine across my pussy. His lips follow, and he buries his face in my cunt and laps almost reverently at the bitter wine as it mixes with my own excitement.
I widen my stance to give him more room and twist my fingers in his hair to give me strength, rocking against his mouth. Luca always said he loved to eat pussy, and his enthusiasm for the task proved his sincerity.
The fingers of his one hand curl around my ass cheek, spreading my folds wide enough for him to reach upward with his fingers and stroke me until incoherent words tumble from my lips.
The other hand presses the cold neck of the wine bottle high on the inside of my thigh, nudging it ever closer to my opening.
Goose bumps break out across my flesh, and I tense. Sex with Luca was always eventful in the past. He was adventurous and borderline depraved, always ready to push my limits with edging and objects and a little taste of pain when he thought I needed it.
He almost always had a reason behind his methods. I was in my head, and he wanted to get me out of it. I was angry about something, and he needed to redirect me. He was angry and needed to turn that passion into something productive.
So I don’t doubt there’s a reason he has that wine bottle so close to my pussy right now.
“W-what are you doing?” I ask.
“Did you fuck anyone in California, Carina?” The bottle twists higher, slipping just barely inside my pussy.
I stiffen, straightening, but Luca’s hand on my hip is relentless as it holds me in place. There it is. He’s jealous. Funnily enough, I was too busy helping Sal Fiorelli build his empire and too intimidating for most of the men out there, but I have no intention of setting his mind at ease. Instead, I glare down at him.
“What kind of question is that? Did you fuck anyone here in the last five years?” I reply.
He pushes the bottle farther inside me, an inch, maybe. His other thumb works my clit at the same time, and the conflict of feeling has me groaning.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he answers. “I’m gonna fuck you with this bottle, my wild one.” Giving proof to his words, he slowly works the neck of the bottle farther inside my pussy. I can’t help the instinct that drives me to grind helplessly against it. “That’s right. Fuck it. Fuck it, and know none of those other men were anything more than a vessel.”
He fucks me fast and just this side of hard with the unyielding glass, intent on giving me pleasure but not hurting me, using his free hand to rub the swollen bud of my clit.
When I’m close, he pulls the bottle swiftly from my pussy and lets it drop to the floor of the shower with a dull thud. The last of the wine spills onto the floor, mixing with the water of the shower as he grips my hip and rotates me. “Turn around.”
I listen, daring to reach out and wrap my hand around his cock first, hard and swollen and rising nearly to his navel. He jerks my hands away and slaps them flat against the white marble tiles, then pulls my hips out and pushes on my lower back.
I know what he wants and arch my back to give him the best angle to my pussy. He responds with an appreciative growl, stroking his fingers through my folds and spearing them into me briefly before pulling them out and smearing my cream around his dick.
“You’re fucking soaked,” he says, voice filled with dark satisfaction.
He positions himself at my entrance and, with no further preliminaries, slams inside.
For one perfect moment, we’re both still.
It’s been so long.
My body has craved this for what feels like an eternity, and from the way he pulses inside me, he’s suffered from the same hunger.
