Page 110 of Falling for Mr. October

I give his arm a gentle shove. “Not funny.”

“I’d like to eat apple pie filling off you, though. It would taste twice as sweet.”

I gasp as he reaches under my nightgown and finds me bare, a satisfied smile creasing his face.

“Now, please, Bianca. Put your hands on the bed so I can play with you the way you’ve been playing with yourself every night.”

I want him to do exactly that, so I plant my palms on the comforter, which is still warm and spicy-smelling from his skin, and he wraps his big hand around my hip. He arches over me, his heat engulfing me, and reaches his fingers down to play between my legs. Using his other hand, he brings the vibrator into position.

My mouth parts as he slowly thrusts it in, his fingers still stroking me.

“This doesn’t hurt, does it?” he asks, faltering. Which is both ridiculous and sweet, because his dick is much bigger.

“No, it doesn’t hurt.” I push against it. “It feels really, really good. But not as good as you.”

“Tell me, tesoro,” he whispers in my ear. “Were you thinking of me when you were in there night after night? Because I was thinking about you.”

The combination of the vibration and his confident, easy strokes is already making my bones and joints feel liquid. I can barely hold myself up, not that I’d need to, because he still has that hand wrapped around me, supporting me.

“Yes,” I admit. “You…I had one of your videos on the screen.”

For a second, I worry he’ll be pissed. That he’ll still think of the Shirtless Chef as someone other than him—as his more successful doppelganger. His brighter shadow.

But he kisses the side of my face, thrusting the toy in deep again, his fingers continuing their soft but steady pressure between my legs. “But my face isn’t in those videos, so I didn’t get the privilege of seeing you.”

I laugh, but it comes out as a half moan as he moves the toy again. “If you could see everyone your recorded self sees, I’m sure you’d see hundreds of people getting off.”

“But there’s only one person I’d want to see.”

He hits a spot that drives a moan out of me, and my whole body quivers with the strength of my release as he continues his gentle thrusts of the toy, his fingers stroking me. He murmurs sweet nothings in Italian, and I feel cherished. I feel loved.

“Now, Giovanni. I need you inside of me now.”

He swears and turns off the toy, throwing it onto the mattress. It’s all I can do to keep from launching myself at him as I wait for him to tear open the condom wrapper. And finally, there he is—pressed up against the back of my legs, wrapping his hand around my hip again. Moments later, he’s filling me up, just like he was seconds ago, but this time with his hot, hard cock. The feeling of fullness, of completion, is so beautifully overwhelming, my mouth slips open.

“I’m sorry it doesn’t vibrate,” he whispers into my ear, then bites it lightly while I laugh.

But the laughter dries up when he reaches between my legs as he pumps into me. I can already feel pleasure blasting through me, intensified. He feels so perfect, so absolutely right, and tears gather in my eyes.

Crying would ruin everything, so I will them back, trying to force myself to accept this for what it is—really hot sex with a beautiful man. No one needs to be hurt. This can just be about our mutual enjoyment of each other.

“You feel so good,” he says softly. “So right for me. Does it feel good for you?”

“Yes.”

I need to see him, though.

It’s an awful thought, a dangerous thought, but I want to look into his eyes when I come, and I want to see him come. I want us to experience it together. I hold back the request, though, because surely he’d know that it means I have feelings I shouldn’t.

Then he pulls out, the loss of his heat and pressure shocking, and turns me around to face him. “I want to see your face,” he says. “I need to look into your eyes.”

I stare at him, thunderstruck. It’s as if he read my mind.

He must see the shock on my face, and maybe the tears in my eyes, because he suddenly looks worried. Possibly even terrified.

“Bianca, are you okay?” His voice is urgent, his words tripping over each other. “Did I⁠—”

“I want to look in your eyes too,” I confess. “I was just thinking that.”