Page 148 of Lorenzo

It's torture.

I can feel the tension coiling inside me, so tight it's almost painful.

I'm so close. So, so, so close.

And I will do anything, anything at all, to feel that release.

I look up at him, at the dark gleam in his eyes.

He knows he's won.

I know he's won.

He's going to get what he wants.

And I hate that I want it just as much as he does.

"Lorenzo," I say, and the name comes out in a breathy, whimpering whisper. It's a very different sound from when I said it a few moments ago.

"I'm right here, dolcezza," he says, still moving inside me, still holding me on the knife's edge. "Just say the word."

I close my eyes. I take a deep, shuddering breath.

And I give in.

"Please," I whisper.

"Look at me," he commands. "Let me see those beautiful eyes when you beg for me."

My eyes flutter open, and I'm immediately caught in his gaze.

He slows down, but doesn't stop.

And I am a goner.

I am so, so, so gone.

"Please, Lorenzo," I gasp.

He lowers his head and whispers against my ear, "Please what?”

He's a bastard.

A magnificent, wonderful, terrible bastard.

"Please," I sob, and it's no longer a whisper. It's a full-throated plea. "Please fuck me and let me come."

He kisses my cheek, and then the corner of my eye. "As you wish, my Donatella," he murmurs, and the possessiveness in his tone makes me even wetter, which makes him groan and press deeper into me.

And then, he finally, finally, gives me what I need.

He lets go of my wrists.

He starts moving, really moving, hard and fast and deep. He reaches between us and finds my clit, and he starts rubbing it himself, circling it in a rhythm that matches the pace of his thrusts.

And this time, he doesn't stop.

It only takes a few moments for me to come apart.