Page 72 of Lorenzo

But then the tip of his cock keeps teasing me, tantalizing me. I feel my own juices gush in response.

I’m certainly ready now.

“Yes,” I whisper.

Without another word, he picks me up and puts me on the counter now scattered with flour.

He sets me on the flour-dusted counter, my skirt and panties gone, but my stockings and heels still in place.

Exposed beneath his stare, my clit tightens and pulses.

Without another word he takes one of the flour sacks, puts it beneath his knees, and plunges his tongue into me with practiced skill.

Having ignited the initial fire, he turns his focus to the area where my upper thigh meets my outer lips. The tension and pulsating sense of anticipation drives me crazy.

“I want you,” I say. “I want you now.”

Lorenzo rises, his hard cock firm as it juts toward me.

“You’re not to tell me your demands. You’re only to satisfy mine. Get down on the floor. On your hands and knees.”

I do so. Though he orders me to look down, I hear him kicking off his clothes.

What will he do to me?

My heart beats in my chest.

But I can’t make myself vocalize the words.

He comes down on top of me, covering my mouth with one hand as he inserts himself into my wet throbbing pussy.

He starts slow. I sense he’s making sure I’m not feeling pain, since our initial encounter was so recent. When he feels no resistance, he grabs my ponytail and enters me fully.

He fucks me hard. Relentless, fierce, and aggressive.

Lorenzo grips my ponytail, using it to angle my body toward him.

I don’t feel any pain, only my own excitement as he works toward his climax.

Before he comes, he titillates my clit with his fingers. My orgasm tears a sharp cry from me. Lorenzo climaxes right after me.

Then he brings me down with him as he collapses on me on the floor.

His arm circles me, warm and possessive, his hold gradually tightening.

For the first time since I arrived in New York, I’m not so sure I want to rush to leave.

CHAPTER 31

EMILY

“Mike, Paul, good morning,” I say, stepping inside Salvatore’s kitchen. The morning light streaming in from the skylight is already reflecting off the copper pots hung above the prep station.

The yeasty aroma of rising dough hits me before I’ve even cleared the doorway.

It’s only been two days since Dante hired Mike and Paul. Yet the two men communicate as if they’ve been working together for a decade.

Mike looks up from his clipboard and gives me a friendly smile. He negotiated the hell out of Lorenzo, but now that his contract has been signed, he moves through this kitchen like he owns it.