Page 159 of Corrado

His hand on her trim waist glided over smooth, damp skin that shivered from his touch until his thumb grazed her clit between their tightly grinding bodies. He swiped at her clit once, then twice, pressing harder the third to really make her scream.

And that’s when she came.

It was a beautiful sight.

He leaned back a bit just to watch it all unravel for her, too. The way her pussy was stretched full of him, her arousal soaking his cock as it slid out of her before slamming back in to feel those inner muscles of hers clenching around him. How her body trembled against the bed, her hands falling from his sides to fist into the sheets.

The muscles in her throat flexed and tensed with the shout of his name that fell from pinked, quivering lips.

And what a sound that was.

All throaty.

Broken.

High.

As fast as he’d come up to watch that sight, and sear it into his memories so it wasn’t one he would soon forget, he fell back into her. His arm locked around her back, and his other found steadiness against her vibrating thigh. He worked his body harder against hers, soaking in every second of her orgasm as he came closer and closer to his own.

“Come,” he heard her mumbled. “Fucking come.”

It sounded so needy.

So desperate.

He just wanted to give it to her.

Soon, the thrusts of his came to a still with one final flex of his hips as he spilled into latex while he panted against Ginevra’s heartbeat thrumming fast like a hummingbird’s wings at her throat. He couldn’t make sense of anything—couldn’t speak beyond the dark cusses that fought their way past his lips.

“Fuck, fuck … fuck.”

It was blinding.

That release?

Everything he needed.

And it changed everything.

Of that, he was most sure.

Ginevra dragged in lungful after lungful of air as she stared at the ceiling, and he stared at her profile. “Oh, my God.”

“Stay in my bed tonight,” was all he could think to say. “Sleep here with me. Be here with me.”

Because if he couldn’t have one, then he needed the other.

She blinked. “Okay.”

Corrado stared out the window of the office as he fixed the phone in his hands simply by touch alone. He didn’t look down to check what pieces he was snapping back together. The battery, and the back. Holding the phone, he pressed the button on the side until he felt it vibrate against his palm.

Turned on.

He swore it was muscle memory that allowed him to swipe his thumb across the screen, pulling up the messenger app, and hitting the most frequent contact at the top. Alessio.

He was too busy watching his reflection in the window of the office because he thought part of him didn’t recognize the man staring back in the glare of the city below. The shape of his body, and the way his undone pants rested low on his hips were all the same.

The face?