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10
STEPHANO
Gigi’s breath hitches, and I ease back to watch the rise and fall of her breasts as she digests my words and their implication. Her eyes are dazed with arousal, and I’m burning to make her come apart. To have such a hold on her that her mind succumbs to me and lets her body soar.
“What do you think, Gigi?” I slide my lips along her hairline to the shell of her ear, then trace a thin line along its edge with my tongue. “I’ll touch you with my mouth only, even if you beg for more.”
And beg, she will. I’ll find satisfaction in not giving in to her, not giving her what she really craves. Cock. And lots of it.
“I’d like to see you try,” she says, her voice breathy.
I continue my journey to the spot south of her ear and press a lingering kiss there, opening my lips and sucking a bit. Her breathing becomes strained, and I smile against the sensitive skin. As if I would fail.
She raises a hand to touch me, but I step out of reach, knowing full well she’d see the painful swell of my rock-hard cock battling my pants.
“Tit for tat, angel. You don’t get to touch me either. Accept that you’ll be burning to within minutes.”
And I can’t wait to feel her break this very rule. Feel that hot palm of hers cupping my sack, her fingers circling my girth and finding they can’t quite close around it.
“Fine.” She laughs. “You’re so fucking arrogant.”
“And you’re such a fucking pain in my ass.” And the reason why I’m going to teach her this lesson. Looking down at me as if she’s better than me. A Mafia don’s daughter. Either way, one thing I know to be true: between the legs of every condescending rich woman, there’s a pussy that doesn’t get enough attention.
I step away and stare into the party pack she opened. It’s a good selection. The handcuffs are tempting, so is the whip because this one can do with some discipline, and since I can’t use my hands, it’s a good alternative. As I take it out, she clears her throat.
“No whip.”
I meet her gaze. “No?”
“Nothing that leaves marks or…or bruises.”
Fuck. She might as well have dunked me in an Arctic ice bath. Those words only mean one thing: she’s been there, done that, and didn’t like it one bit. And none of it was probably for sexual pleasure in the first place.
It’s not what I had in mind, but I drop the whip back into the box without saying anything. I pick out some condoms, lube, the chocolate body paint, stuff them in my pockets, and then pluck a single white rose from the arrangement on the table.
I brush the soft petals along the length of her arm. “More to your liking?”
Goose bumps swarm to the surface of her skin, and she leans her head back against the wall, closing her eyes. “Yes.”
The way she leans back opens her neck and the elegant line from her chin down to her chest and the valley between herbreasts. This dress was made for this, exposing skin and hinting at the pleasures hidden by the many folds of the skirt hugging her curves.
I caress her with the rose, tracing a line down her neck, and by the time I’m between her breasts, her nipples have pebbled hard, straining against the fabric. My cock is ready to break her, but I know how to contain myself, to control every last need and emotion pulsing through my veins.
I inch closer and bend to follow the rose’s path, licking and pressing open kisses against her neck, lower, tasting her and inhaling the flower bouquet captured in her perfume. Her arms hang limp by her sides, but she flexes her fingers, and I find purchase on the wall again to keep from digging into the dark tresses falling over her shoulders. I caress my lips over the swell of her breast.
“Help me out here, angel,” I murmur, and she reaches up to slip off the dress’s shoulder, revealing the most perfect pert and begging nipple; an island in a sea of creamy skin I want to get stranded on.
I groan my pleasure and lick it once, rolling my tongue over it, and her body quivers.
“Stephano,” she whispers.
She’s going to beg, all right.
I straighten, and our gazes latch. “Yes?”
She pushes from the wall and takes the head of the rose between her fingers. I don’t let go of the stem, and she leads me with it to the circular sofa. Delicate heeled sandals are discarded on the rug, and the plush cushions are indented where guests sat earlier. She pushes the cushions to the sides, making a nest. And when she settles in it, decadent with her dress half slipped off and exposing her breast, she arranges her skirts and spreads her legs.
I tower over her, my cock pulsing with need at this sudden show of confidence, but I don’t even adjust it where it’s testing my pants’ limits.
