Page 44 of Tempting Tessa

“Please,” she begs, grinding her hips down against my cock.

I stand up suddenly, lifting her with me. She weighs nothing in my arms, her curves fitting perfectly against my body as I hold her. Setting her down on her feet, I brush a strand of hair away from her flushed face.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, watching her eyes struggle to focus.

She hesitates, clearly thrown by the change in direction. “What?”

“I asked if you’re hungry,” I repeat, tucking that stray hair behind her ear. “When’s the last time you ate something?”

She hesitates, biting her lower lip as she considers the question. I can see her weighing her options, deciding whether to fight me on this or give in.

“Yes,” she finally admits, her voice soft.

“Let’s go to dinner.” I run my thumb across her bottom lip. “I made a reservation at Portofino.”

Her eyes widen slightly. Portofino is exclusive, the kind of place where you need to know someone to even get on the waiting list.

“I just need to change and go to the bathroom first,” she says, gesturing down at her dress.

I nod, watching as she turns and walks toward her bedroom. Her hips sway with each step, and I imagine bending her over right there in the hallway, hiking up that tight dress, and burying myself in her heat.

I hear her moving around in her bedroom, then the sound of the bathroom door closing. I strain my ears and hear exactly what I expected—the sound of her medicine cabinet opening, followed by the telltale foil pop of a pill packet.

My lips curl into a smirk as I imagine her standing there, thinking she’s being so fucking responsible taking her birth control pill.

I’m going to pump so much cum into her tight little pussy, over and over, until my seed takes root. I’ll fill her with my baby, watch her belly grow round with my child.

And fucking love every goddamn second of it.

Chapter 14

Contessa

I’m about to let the most dangerous man in New Haven cut my steak and I can’t decide if that makes me a masochist, an idiot, or just hopelessly fucking addicted.

Portofino is packed, standing-room-only by the bar, but Matteo waltzes past the hostess and every table like the mafia Jesus parting a sea of Birkins and Brooks Brothers. His hand never leaves the small of my back. It rests there, hot and firm, a warning and a brand.

We walk straight to the rear, and there’s an empty booth, deep red velvet, shadowed and private. I clock the three dudes in suits at the corner table who go silent as we pass, all three pointedly not watching us, which means they’re definitely watching us.

Matteo slides me out of my coat with one practiced motion, like he’s undressing a princess or a hostage, and eases me into the booth. I try to sit opposite him, and he gives me this stern eyebrow as if to say, ‘don’t even try it’ and slides in right beside me.

He unbuttons his suit, slowly, the way a surgeon might take off his gloves after rearranging someone’s insides, and my thighs clench reflexively. I hate that it works on me. I hate that I want it to.

Matteo glides in after me, barely leaving more than a whisper of space between us on the leather bench. He’s close enough I can feel the heat coming off his thigh, and when I look down under the table, he’s already splaying his legs wide, king of the booth, the city, probably the universe. I feel like a snack on a plate, and I don’t hate it.

“Wine?” he asks, already scanning the wine list like he’s memorized it.

I’m too busy staring at the veins running up his hand to answer. The sleeves of his jacket are tailored so tightly they could double as compression gear. He catches me looking and gives a slow, knowing grin.

I clear my throat and reach for the menu, because someone in this relationship is going to pretend this is a business dinner.

“Eyes up, Contessa.”

“I was just deciding if I should order the Malbec or the Chianti,” I lie.

He leans over, voice pitched low. “You were checking to see if my hands would look as good wrapped around your throat as they did last week.”

I flush so hard it feels like my blood is made of napalm. “Maybe I just like the view.”