Page 139 of Lorenzo

Her face is flushed, her lips swollen from my kisses, her eyes dark with desire.

“You are so beautiful,” I say, my voice raspy with emotion.

A flicker of uncertainty crosses her face before she masks it.

I kiss her again, pouring all the desire I've held in check for days into it. I explore her mouth, savoring her taste, her texture, her.

My hand continues its exploration, tracing the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips, the soft skin of her inner thigh.

I can feel the heat coming from her pussy, the wetness of her arousal.

I want to taste her. To feel her writhe beneath my tongue. To hear her scream my name as she comes apart.

I will, I think. I just need a little patience.

I shift my weight, and she opens her legs wider, an invitation I am more than happy to accept.

I move my fingers to her folds, sliding them through her wetness.

She shudders, a soft gasp escaping her.

“You’re so wet for me, dolcezza,” I murmur against her lips. “So ready for me.”

Her only response is a soft moan as I slide a finger into her tight, wet heat.

Her back arches off the bed, her body clenching around me.

“Lorenzo,” she whimpers.

I add a second finger, stretching her, preparing her for me.

I move my thumb to her clit, circling it slowly, teasing her, building the tension. Her hips buck against my hand, her movements growing more and more frantic.

I kiss my way from her lips, down her neck, across her collarbone, until I am hovering over her breast.

I take her nipple into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the sensitive peak before sucking it.

She cries out, her hands fisting in my hair as I bite down a little hard, then soothe the sting with my tongue.

I lavish the same attention on her other breast, taking my sweet time. Making her wait. Making her beg for it.

And boy does she. Well, in true Donna fashion, it's more like a threat.

"So help me God, Lorenzo," she pants. "If you don't get on with it, I'm going to strangle you."

I laugh. A low, deep rumble in my chest.

"Patience is a virtue, Donatella," I say, kissing my way down her stomach.

"Virtue, my ass," she spits out. "I am not a virtuous woman."

"Thank God for that," I say, giving her nipple another hard suck, making her jump. "I much prefer the sinner."

But I impart a little bit of mercy on her and finally continue my downward journey, pressing soft kisses against her stomach, her hip, her inner thigh. I still have two fingers buried deep inside her, slowly—unbearably slowly—pumping in and out of her.

I can smell her arousal, and my own desire spikes in response.

I want to bury myself inside her, but I want to taste her more.