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“Mmm,” he murmured against my neck as he lowered his hands and began pulling my shirt up my body.
“And there’s only one person who can help with what I need.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, reaching around and unfastening my bra. He slid it down my arms, slowly, my nipples already hard in anticipation. “And what do you need, Ms. Moretti?”
I reached for his jeans, unbuttoned them. “Mr. Blaire . . . I need you to fuck it out of me.”
“With pleasure,” he said, lifting me. I wrapped my legs around him, sucked at his neck as he walked us to the bed.
I was naked moments later. He leaned over me, already protected, his hand splayed over my stomach. He bent down, his lips on mine, the tip of his dick right at my entrance, rubbing and pushing me open, but not taking me. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you anything you ask for.” His eyes darkened, pulsing with a hedonistic desire, but there was longing there, too. Like he wanted to say more, ask more, but couldn’t find the words.
I wrapped my fingers around his neck. “I want you to fuck me.”
He slammed into me once and stilled. “Damn, you feel good.” He pulled out, slammed into me again. He lifted my legs over his arms, trying to get as deep as possible. He held me like a glorious barbarian who wanted to be so far inside me that we were almost one. His body was pressed to mine, my legs bent, my knees up by my head. We were entwined in each other, our limbs like vines climbing a trellis. I was lost to the feelings he brought out in me. Like that first sip of a fine wine, lingering on my tongue, hitting the throat as I swallowed, a smooth intoxicating warmth spreading slowly through my system.
He was rough, raw, and wild as he buried his cock deep inside me, his strangled sounds against my ear. He bit my neck, sucked. His breath hot against my ear, skin against skin, both of us slick with sweat and need.
“Too rough?” he asked, checking my face for any indication that I was not thoroughly gratified.
I slipped my legs out from under his arms, scratched my nails down his back, and dug my heels into his ass. I begged him for more. Begged him for harder. Begged him not to stop. My fingers kneaded his tight, round ass, nails digging into his flesh. He told me to keep doing it, to mark him, brand him. His words pushed me over the edge. I came once, then again, as he continued to thrust into me, biting my neck and chest. I dug my teeth into his biceps as I came undone around him one more time, calling out incoherent nonsense, my mouth and body quivering from our storm of passion.
He wasn’t done. Still hard inside of me as my legs quivered. “Jesus, Siena. I love—it.”
His stutter stopped my heart.It?Did he just stop himself? I thought, but I was so gloriously unraveled that I didn’t question him.
He turned me over and pulled my hips higher. My ass high in the air, my head on the pillow. He palmed my ass with both hands, pulled my cheeks apart, and entered so slowly I thought I could come again, right then and there. “Fuck, that looks good.” I could imagine his face, his eyes, watching himself as he pulled out and then pushed back in, watching how my lips wrapped around his cock as he slid in and out.
I felt his hands move up to my hips, grab and hold on. His thrusts became rhythmic, my ass shaking from his onslaught, his balls hitting my pussy as he plunged roughly.
“Yes, just like that,” I said, bringing my fingers between my legs. This animalistic fucking was undoing me. “Don’t stop. Almost there. Harder.” I was rubbing myself as I took two of my fingers and clamped onto his cock, sliding back and forth, deep inside me.
“Yes, baby. Keep doing that,” he said as his hand came to my breast. “God, you feel so fucking good wrapped around my dick.”
His voice above me, his scent surrounding me, his hands holding my body caused every one of my senses to shoot into overdrive.
“Fuck, it’s so deep like this. I’m gonna come.” He pushed into me violently once, twice more, then stilled, his chest pressed to my back, his arms on either side of my body, his breathing like he’d just run the 400-meter dash.
He kissed my shoulder as he moved over my body still under him.
I turned my head and kissed his wrist. It was the only part of his body that I could reach.
He collapsed onto his back. I turned onto my side, and he patted the mattress until he found my hand, dragged it to his mouth, kissed it, and laid it on his chest.
I relished the fact that he had fucked my brains right out of my head.
When our breathing finally returned to normal, Michael cleaned himself up, dimmed the lights, lit some candles, and brought dinner to us in bed. The sight of him naked, walking around so I had a perfect view of his body, made my mouth water. My stomach growled, and I slapped a hand over it. “Someone’s hungry,” he chuckled, giving me a cocky look.
“I’m hungry for food. Not you,” I joked. I was starving now, having worked up quite the appetite despite having eaten with my grandparents earlier.
“Sure,” he teased right back.
We sat on the bed: him in his sweats, me in his shirt. The bowl of pasta, steam rising, sat in between us, the spicy scent making my mouth water.
I sipped the wine he poured me. “How is it?” he asked.
“Good. Nice label. You’re becoming quite the wine snob,” I snickered. He had Moretti wine on hand, claiming he “knew the owner.”
He bent forward, kissing my lips, sucking my tongue into his mouth. “Mmm. Does taste good.” He took a forkful of pasta. “So, how was your day?”
