AllFreeNovel
Share Us
So I can take care of you. Yes. Yes, I want that.
“Soft,” he murmurs, his eyes ablaze, searing my flesh more than any oil ever will. “But not velvety like your skin.”
The timbre of his voice is low and gruff, silently threatening to do unspeakable things that I’m going to enjoy.
When he steps back, I shimmy the dress below my hips. Somewhere, deep in my consciousness, I remember I’m not wearing panties. But the thought is too far away to hold on to.
The dress puddles at my feet, and I step out of it.
He appraises my naked form. Unabashedly. Like he owns me. He doesn’t say a word as his gaze skims every inch of my body, but I see the unfettered lust shining in his eyes, as I burn for him.
“Do you need help getting up on the counter?”
So I can fuck you like a whore? He doesn’t actually say the words. They’re unspoken, utter filth flitting in the charged air, making me ache for him.
I shake my head. “No.”
My arms are strong enough to hoist myself up without too much trouble. Although barely. Rafael watches me squirm as I try to get comfortable on the cold countertop. It’s nearly impossible. I have never felt so naked.
He moves closer, nudges my knees apart, and stands between my legs. The shorts he’s wearing hide nothing. The fabric is so flimsy, his cock pushes it without effort until he’s nearly grazing my swollen clit. But it’s not quite enough to give me any relief. I need his mouth to soothe it like he did when I was sprawled on the desk in the vineyard.
Desperate for him, I wiggle my bottom to get a wee bit closer. When he catches me, he lifts my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. The irises are black and blue swirls of depravity, sending a gush of arousal onto my thighs.
“I’m going to make you so needy, so wanton, you’re going to hump me through my clothes, Angel.”
Too late. I’m already there.
I’m not a woman who anyone would ever call angel. It feels almost sacrilegious as I sit naked on the island, my nipples hard, achy points and my pussy begging for his touch.
I run my fingers over his jaw, enjoying the rash of stubble. He shuts his eyes for a moment, letting me explore.
Something inside me is still unsettled. I don’t know what it is, and every time I try to form words, they die in my throat.
He opens his eyes and inches closer until he’s wedged against my pussy. “Whatever you’re thinking about, Angel, put it away. There’s no thinking now. Just feel.”
He lowers his mouth to mine, and I return the kiss with all the passion and need I feel, squelching all the chatter misfiring in my brain. All I feel is him. His masculine scent filling me. His calloused fingers on my thighs. His mouth that tastes of bourbon and sin. The sensations beckon as they lull, luring me closer to a dangerous place, where I’ve always ached to go.
“Rafa, I want you,” I pant, shamelessly.
My hands glide aimlessly over his broad chest, over hard ridges and canyons, eventually finding his waistband, where they begin to wander toward what I really want. What I’m too afraid to want. What if this is one and done?
“You’re overthinking,” Rafael tuts, taking hold of my wrists with one hand and pinning them at the base of my spine. My back arches and my breasts jut forward. I’m helpless, and what confuses me most is that I like it.
“You can stop this at any time. Just say the word. That’s your prerogative. But what you may not do is control the script. That’s my prerogative.”
His voice is low and rough, and my pussy is throbbing with anticipation, even though I’m not sure I’m capable of giving up that kind of control.
“So it’s all about you?” My voice is shaky, and I curse myself for sounding weak. “You get to decide what’s good for you, and what’s good for me too? That doesn’t seem fair.”
They’re just words. I know this isn’t all about him. But I don’t know how to do what he’s asking. I can’t give up control, even to him. It’s not in my nature. He’ll have to take it if he wants it. I’ll let him. But I can’t hand it over.
He lets go of my wrists and cradles my face. “Tonight is all about you, Angel. I won’t push you hard—just nudge you gently.”
Gently? I’m not sure you’re capable. And I’m not sure I care—or if I even want gentle.
“Trust me to lead you to pleasure—only pleasure. If following isn’t for you, then you’ll know, and you’ll never have to follow again.”
But I’ll never touch you again either. He doesn’t say that part out loud, but it dangles between us, with sharp, craggy points.
