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I watch her go, aching to touch her. To run my fingers through her soft chestnut hair as I tug it down from the bun it’s in, to slide my hands down her waist, to squeeze her perfect ass in my palms as I wrap those long, perfect legs around me. My cock hardens in an instant, aching, and I toss back the rest of my wine as I wait long enough for her to be in her room before I go upstairs, too.
I can’t trust myself not to touch her, if I pass her in the hallway right now. My restraint feels thin, frayed, and I don’t want to do anything to upset her, to damage the trust between us. But I want her so badly that it feels hard to think about anything else.
Her bedroom door is closed when I walk past it, the light is turned off. For the briefest second, I think I hear a soft whimper of pleasure, and my cock throbs in response. I reach down, biting back a groan as I adjust myself in my jeans, fighting back the urge to linger in the hallway. To see if I hear her moan again—if Bella is in her room, touching herself. The thought of her long, slim fingers sliding over her wet pussy, rolling over her clit, makes me harder than I would have thought was possible.
It’s not far to my room. I stride inside and close the door behind me, the familiar sound of Bella’s aroused whimpering echoing in my ears as I strip my shirt off and undo my jeans, tossing them and my boxer briefs onto the floor. My hand is already around my aching cock as I lay back on the bed, visions of Bella straddling me, filling my mind as I fumble for a bottle of lube and flick it open, letting it drip onto my straining length.
God. “Fuck,” I curse through gritted teeth as I spread it over my cock, the heat from my hand instantly warming it. It’s easy to imagine that I’m slick from Bella’s pussy sliding over me instead, dripping with her arousal as I start to stroke, gasping with pleasure at the much-needed friction.
I hadn’t realized how much I needed this until I started. My mind is filled with images of everything Bella and I have done together, of her stretched out on the lounge chair poolside as I instructed her how to touch herself, of her eyes wide and glazed with pleasure as she saw my cock for the first time, watched me stroke myself for her. Her, pinned against the wall in my basement gym, her hand wrapping around me for the first time, the feeling of her hot, smooth hand sliding over my cock, urging me to come for her. The sight of her, painted with my cum, the vision of her spread out on the hood of my Ferrari, dripping wet for me as I ate her out. I groan, remembering how sweet she tasted, how hard I came for her as I licked her to a screaming orgasm on my favorite car.
And the first night. The only night.
My balls tighten, my cock throbbing in my fist as I remember how good she felt wrapped around me. Hot and wet and tight, every part of her body, utter perfection, letting me be her first. And god, I want to be the only cock that’s ever in her. The only man who ever touches her like that. Possessiveness floods me, as hot as the arousal that pounds through my veins as I feel that electric pressure at the base of my spine, the promise of bliss as my cock hardens in my fist, and I feel the first pulses as my cum jets out over my stomach.
“Bella.” I groan her name, breathing it aloud in an ecstatic moan as my cock pulses again, painting my abdomen with my cum. It feels so fucking good, but it’s not enough. I knew it wouldn’t be.
Nothing other than her in my bed is ever going to be enough, ever again.
I slide my hand slowly over my still-pulsing cock, sucking in a breath as my fingertips graze the over-sensitive head. My thigh muscles twitch, my hips still arching up, seeking out the tight, perfect clasp of her body around me. I want to come in her, with her, feel her rippling around me while I fill her up, and just the thought is enough to make me start to harden again, before I’ve even fully come down from the first orgasm.
I drop my hand away from my cock, letting out a hiss of frustration. Jerking off is barely a solution for my arousal. Not even a solution—it barely takes the edge off. There are not a lot of options for meeting someone out here in the Italian countryside, but that’s not the problem. If I wanted to, I could take the jet to Rome for a night and pick up some woman at a high-class bar or nightclub. Some model or celebrity with mile-long legs and plush lips who would do anything I asked.
The problem is that I don’t want any other woman. I’ve never been a playboy, but after Bella, thinking of going and picking a woman up for a one-night stand just turns me off. I can feel my arousal fading, just thinking about it.
She’s ruined me for any other woman. And that would be fine—if it wasn’t for the fact that I can’t…that I shouldn’t have her, either.
I get up to go and clean myself up, frustration still humming through my veins, with no solution for it.
I don’t want her to leave. I want her here, with me, with my family, for as long as I can possibly keep her.
What I have to figure out is how to stop myself from wanting her, before it drives me insane.
9
BELLA
Everything would be so much easier if I could be around Gabriel without wanting him.
I thought sleeping with him once would be enough. I thought that, after that one night, all of the mystery would be gone for us both, and the tension, the anticipation of wondering, would be gone.
But I was wrong. I felt it in the living room tonight, almost palpable, that need that has been steadily growing between us from the very start. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to drop my wine glass on purpose, just to recreate that night when I thought he might kiss me in the living room back in New York.
Being just down the hall from him feels like hell. I walk into my bedroom, closing the door behind me, and fall down on top of the covers on the bed, closing my eyes. All I can think about is that he’s so close—that if things were different, I could have him in bed with me right now. And despite all the reasons why I shouldn’t, that’s what I wish I could have. I want him to make me forget. I want to feel like I did before that awful morning when Igor came back. I want to feel the way Gabriel makes me feel.
I slide my hand over the front of my t-shirt, tugging up the fabric over my head, imagining that it’s Gabriel’s hands on me. That he’s skimming his fingertips over my taut stomach, curving them around the cotton cups of my bra, reaching to unclasp it so he can feel the soft shapes of my breasts and my stiff nipples under his fingertips. I sigh softly, whimpering as I pinch my nipples, wanting it to be him playing with them. Him drawing those sounds out of my mouth, tugging my sweatpants down my hips with his other hand as he makes me arch and moan?—
I hear footsteps, and go very still, half-undressed atop my bed. They pause outside of my door, and my heart beats harder, louder, wondering if Gabriel is going to knock. If he’ll come in, and find me like this, stretched out atop my bed with my hands wandering over my body, imagining it’s him.
What would he do, if he found me like that?
The thought of his eyes on me makes me squeeze my thighs together, a pulse of arousal throbbing through me as I strip the rest of my clothing off and kick it onto the floor. I slide one hand down between my legs, letting out another soft whimper when I feel how wet I am. I’m soaked, just from thinking about him. Just from looking at him in the living room, handsome and silhouetted in the soft light, a little more rugged than usual. I could see the ways the past days had worn on him, the stubble on his jaw that he usually shaved, the way his hair looked like he’d run his hands through it a number of times. I’d wanted to run my hands over it. To feel all that stubble scratching over my skin.
I suck in a breath, my fingers rolling over my clit. I want it to be him. God, I want him. My hips arch into my hand, remembering how it felt to have his tongue sliding over me, his fingers thrusting into me, his cock?—
I bite my lip against a moan, abandoning playing with my nipples to slide my other hand down between my legs as well. I push two fingers into myself, curling them in a mimicry of the way Gabriel touches me, arching my back as I imagine that it’s him thrusting into me. There are so many things I want to try with him, things I can only vaguely picture, things that I want him to teach me.
The ache builds and builds, the heat flooding over my skin, my hands drenched with arousal as I work my way toward the orgasm I so desperately need. My body is wound tight, and I know I’ll be able to get myself there—but what I want more than anything is Gabriel. I want his skin against mine, the heat of his body, the muscled weight of him driving me into the bed, his hands and lips and?—
