Page 238 of Lorenzo

He watches me carefully, waiting.

The answer comes easier than anything else has.

“I love my sons,” I repeat.

Chapter Thirty

Donna

"Oh, Lorenzo," I moan, my voice muffled by the pillow. "Please don't—"

I lose my breath with the next thrust, my back arching as I try to push back against him. But he's got me pinned tight to the mattress with one hand on the back of my neck, and the other holding my wrists behind my back. He's a solid wall of muscle at my back, thrusting into me with deep, hard strokes that are making me lose the ability to think straight.

"Please don't?" he murmurs, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You want me to stop?"

Almost at once, he stops, mid-thrust, and begins pulling out with agonizing slowness.

"No," I gasp, my brain finally catching up. "Don't you dare."

He stops, leaving just the tip of his cock inside me.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through my back. "Then what do you want?"

I struggle against his hold, not because I actually want to get away, but because the sheer helplessness of the position is sending my arousal to dizzying heights. I'm completely at his mercy, and he knows it.

Except he still hasn't moved a fucking inch, and I can't push back to take more of him.

"Bastard," I pant, finally giving up. I blow hair out of my face as the fight leaves me.

"Ask me nicely."

"There's a special place in hell for people like you," I spit out.

He laughs and leans over so his lips brush against my ear. "I adore you, amore mio." He shifts slightly, and the movement rubs against me in just the right way. I bite my lip to keep from whimpering. "Now, let's try this again. What do you want?"

I close my eyes as the denied pleasure continues to build in me, making my toes curl.

"You're so wet for me, Donatella," he murmurs, and I know that he's looking down to see my pussy stretched around him. "Look how well you take my cock, how badly your tight little cunt wants more."

The worst part is that I know he's not just talking dirty to get me all worked up, even though he knows it's my weakness.

He means every damn word. He's watching me with absolute fascination as he fills me, enjoying my desperate need for him almost as much as he enjoys being buried in me.

I let out a frustrated huff.

He's got me in a bind. The more I fight him, the more he enjoys it.

The more I give in, the more he enjoys it.

And the thought of it turns me on even more. I've never felt for anyone the way I feel for him, never known anyone who understands me the way he does.

And that terrifies me as much as it thrills me.

Love for him swamps me in equal measure with the desire he's causing.

I've never been a romantic, not really, but somehow he's managed to sneak past all my defenses.

"Please, Lorenzo," I whisper, my voice hoarse from emotion.