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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Alessio’s laugh makes me hot and desperate and furious all at once. And it sets off shivers all over me.
When I try to push him away, my effort is so weak, he says, “That’s a joke, right? You pretend to push me away, so you can tell yourself you resisted.” I can’t deny it. “Really, you want to let me in, don’t you.” I want to argue. But it’s true.
“You want to fight me off,” his voice is a hoarse whisper, “but you want to be sure that you’ll lose.”
I shake my head and I feel like screaming.
“Come here.”
For all the effort I make, no words come out of my mouth.
He pulls me hard against him, he looks right in my eye and he takes me. His tongue opens me right up. Makes me his prisoner. His mouth takes mine. Taking what he wants with no hesitation, he kisses me. He’s violent, like he’s going to tear me apart. I should struggle. But I want it. He knows what he wants and he doesn’t hesitate.
His lips press into mine. I try not to respond; I try so hard. But my body has been wanting his breath. The taste of his lips. The press of his mouth. His tongue.
My back arches me to him.
He runs his hands over my body and he holds my breast while he bites so hard on my neck, I think he’s going to draw blood. I should be resisting, but I feel myself drawn into his mouth, and I want him even more. My back arches to press my tit into his hand, even while I’m pressing on his arm, like I could push him away.
Meanwhile, his breath is hot. He looks in my eye. I gasp.
His fingers are inside my panties.
Where will he stop? Will he stop at all?
He presses with his thumb around my clit. My bare, exposed flesh seeps and swells at the touch of his. His flingers slip between my folds and he opens me like a velvet purse. A soaking wet velvet purse. However much I squirm, I can’t hold back the gasps and moans as he finds new places and angles to set me off.
Devilish evil tightens the corners of his eyes. “You could be walking around with a big patch of wet.” No smile on his mouth, but a deep rumble in his chest as he shrugs. “Could be a stain…”
I wriggle up onto the bench and grab his hair. Pulling his head down, I spread my legs wide and pull his face down between them.
He looks up at me over my mound.
Gripping his hair tight in my fingers, I find my voice. “You start a fire, soldier,” I look him directly in the eye, “you’re going to be right in the flames.”
The look from his eye into mine, when I’m telling him how it is, is like an exchange of raw power. A two-way lightning bolt. It’s a kind of power I never felt before.
But then, as his tongue finds its way to me and starts to work around, onto me, and into me, I feel shockwaves. A bubbling, firecracker rise of the sweetest shocks of torture I ever knew.
The way he commands me makes me weak. I feel like I don’t have the strength to resist him. He laps and lashes me, launching me into cartwheels of cold flame and searing hot ice showers.
My fingers claw in his hair. I’m horrified at the thought of the driver watching all this. Seeing me splay and show myself like an animal, driven on splashing waves of raw lust. But, as I look across, there’s a solid screen between us and the front of the car. I have no idea how long that’s been there.
I gush and thrash again at the thought that, up to now, I didn’t even care. I wanted this hard, bad man, the last man in the world I should have. A man I should go to hell, move straight to hell, do not pass Go, and do not collect two hundred dollars, just for thinking of him in that way. In that place between my wide-open wanton thighs. There at my bouncing, rocking mound. There with his mouth in my pussy.
I wanted him the first moment I heard his voice. The moment he started to bully me.
Oh, God, I’m clenching in spasms, tensing and shaking all over, going over and over again.
Just when I’m ready to give up and collapse, he makes me cum one last, drained, squeezed out gasping time. He reams me with his fingers, hard and relentless, catapulting me up to another, higher plateau. I can’t breathe as he shamelessly probes and scrapes inside, finding all the smaller triggers and flashpoints, working his way in a slow, steady, cruel spiral toward my high, soft, wet button.
Every precise and perfect stroke and press is like he’s a conductor, and he’s playing all the parts of my body as an orchestra.
He grins as he sits back on his haunches. He looks in my eye as he slowly unbuckles. He reaches up for the waistband of my wet and flimsy panties. If I let him get his way now, this moment, I really will be lost. And I want to. I want to so very much.
The power in his eye is enough to make me want to feel all the power in his body. And to feel it deep inside me. I can tell by the tone of his growl that’s exactly what he plans.
