Page 145 of Lorenzo

Especially not so damn soon.

"Tell me what you want, Donatella," he murmurs, his dark eyes holding mine. He's still holding my wrists above my head with one of his large hands. I can't touch him.

I try to press my hips up, to take him inside me, but he moves with me, keeping me just out of reach.

"Tell me," he demands again.

I am a proud woman.

But I am also a woman who is about to die if he doesn't get on with it.

"I want you to fuck me," I say, the words ripped from my throat. It's not begging. Definitely not.

"As you wish, dolcezza," he says.

And then he pushes inside me.

He does it slowly, giving my body a chance to adjust to his size. He's big, and it's been a long, long time for me.

A long, long, long, long, long—oh God—time.

He pauses for a moment, allowing me to get used to the fullness, to the way he stretches me, filling me completely.

I can feel every inch of him, and it's the most exquisite torture.

I try to move my hips, to take more of him, but he holds me still.

"Patience," he says, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

He's killing me. He is literally killing me.

And I am going to enjoy every second of it.

He finally starts to move, and I gasp.

He starts out slowly, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back in, filling me again and again, going deeper each time.

It's agonizingly slow. Deliciously so.

He's holding my gaze, and I can see the desire there, the raw, primal need that I know is reflected in my own eyes.

He releases my wrists, and my hands immediately go to his shoulders, my nails digging into the hard muscle.

His hands slide down my body, cupping my ass, tilting my hips to give him better access. The change in angle allows him to go deeper, until, finally, he's buried to the hilt.

We both groan.

He stills for a moment, giving me a chance to catch my breath. I feel impossibly full, stretched to the limit. Every nerve ending is on fire. My entire body is humming with a pleasure so intense it's almost painful.

And we haven't even really started.

"You feel so good," he whispers against my neck. "So tight. So wet. So perfect for me."

He starts to move again, maddeningly slow, letting me adjust.

But I have no interest in adjusting.

I want the wild, frantic pace I know he's capable of.