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I slowly kiss my way up every inch of her body, memorizing the way she smells, tastes, and feels with my tongue, listening to every little moan of pleasure that she gives along the way. I pay extra attention to her nipples, her sensitivity to different sensations causing my cock to harden as I play.
Her head lolls to one side and then to the other, riding through the pleasure that I give, as her hands dig into the comforter to absorb the sensations. I grasp them both and slowly bring them over her head. “Trust me?” I ask.
She swallows, and the pulse on the side of her neck begins to beat erratically. Isabella nods, her eyes a swirling storm of blue.
“Words, Isabella. I need to hear you,” I tell her, caressing the delicate skin of her wrists, kissing one and then the other. “Yes, I trust you,” she says on a ragged breath.
I wrap the silky material of my tie around her skin, once and then twice, looping it before raising her arms above her head and affixing them to the ornate ring on the headboard. A design not intended for use such as this, the playrooms downstairs usually sufficing, but the ring is effective nonetheless.
I push the hair from her eyes so that I can see every emotion that passes on her lovely face before kissing her lips, trailing along the sensitive shell of her ear, and to the curve between her throat and shoulder that makes her shiver with desire.
This time, she has no ability to deflect her pleasure through the use of her hands. She has no recourse but to absorb every flick of my tongue and kiss of my mouth. I take my time, enjoying the way she builds, the way her belly raises and lowers. She’s remembered what I asked and doesn’t raise her hips, but when my tongue strokes through the tiny patch of fuzz on her mound, she moans and tries to shift.
I smile up at my fiery beauty from between her legs, so ready to give her what I want, but I’m far from done making her squirm. Her training and trust will take time in play, just as it will take time to earn her trust in all matters of the heart.
Chapter16
Isabella
I wake latethe next morning, stretching before rolling over to look at the empty side of Lorenzo’s bed. My stomach growls, having worn the late-night meal of wine, pizza, fruit, and cheese off with our lovemaking.
There’s a dome-covered dish on the counter with an assortment of muffins, bagels, donuts, and fruit. I snag one of the blueberry bagels and pour a cup of coffee from the carafe.
The scent of him on my body wafts to my nostrils as I pad to the bathroom and head straight for the shower. I soap my skin with the loofah that not only yesterday he used to rub my center. The roughness of his scruff and the loofah down below, both my first experiences with the combination of pleasure and pain.
I grin because he is such a contradiction.
Brutally ordering the murder of men who dare to spy on me and follow us to a store by an army of soldiers he has at the ready. More likely than not they did intend to hurt me, especially given the number of cars that flew into that parking lot and number of bodies his men left lying on the street. Lorenzo clearly doesn’t have any compunction about sending a message to anyone who dares to touch me.
But then he has this gentle side that he only seems to share with me. Tying me up in his bed, causing both pleasure and discomfort as he rubbed me different ways, immediately following with gentle, caressing strokes. An intoxicating combination bringing me from one crashing orgasm after another, but only after he allowed me to come.
And yet earlier this morning, he let me lead. Placing me on top, giving me the reins as he watched every movement that I made. I smile at the memory, shy at first, so unlike me, but Lorenzo Larussio brings out the desire to explore everything I’ve never known. Always really in charge of my pleasure.
He demands it…
I step into my dress boots, zipping them up and glancing at the full-length mirror to make sure the black dress is in place. I fluff my hair with my fingers and glance at the clock. Ready in plenty of time to get to the funeral scheduled for noon. I’ve barely gotten dressed when the door to the penthouse opens and closes. “Lorenzo?” I ask, calling out as I head to the living room.
There’s no answer.
“Lorenzo?”
But Lorenzo is nowhere to be seen. The guard from yesterday stands in the living room and is scowling at me. “You didn’t answer my text or phone call.”
I inhale a deep breath, trying not to let him see my initial fear at having a stranger in the penthouse. Especially the one with eyes that look like they could kill you and then go eat a fine meal without giving it another thought. “I’m not used to being glued to my phone,” I tell him, which is more than half a lie.
A reporter is never far from her phone unless, of course, she’s been otherwise occupied all night with a dark-eyed devil who makes every neuron in her body come alive. I gesture to the table where my phone still sits from last night, so entirely wrapped up in Lorenzo that I never gave it another thought until now.
The scowl still plastered on his face makes me feel as though I owe him at least some explanation for not answering when he called. “It’s sitting right there. I was in the shower.”
His eyes seem to soften a little. “I saw Lorenzo downstairs and knew he wasn’t up here. One of our newer men took my place. He wasn’t at his station when I arrived. I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he says.
I smile, relief flooding through me with rapid speed. “Thank you. I didn’t catch your name,” I tell him.
“It’s Bruno. I’ve worked for the family for years. Came over from Italy with them a while ago,” he tells me.
Lorenzo thought highly enough of him to make sure he had something to eat last night when he ordered for me. I extend my hand. “I don’t think we’ve officially met. I’m Izzy Arden,” I tell him.
He grins. “You’re famous around here. It’s not every day that a reporter writes stories about the family and lives to talk about it,” he says.
