“Third strike.” A wicked smirk played over his lips. “And I thought this evening would be disappointing.” His words were ice, eyes promising retribution.
With that, he released me and turned away, starting a conversation with the banker on his other side. I sat there, a knot in my stomach, shoulders tense, waiting for the ax to fall. Because there was no way he’d just let it go. Would he hurt me? As the minutes ticked by, I stupidly started to relax, picking at my food and draining another glass of wine. Giovanni laughed at some joke I hadn’t paid attention to, his hand landing on my thigh almost casually. Of course, nothing he did was casual. Warm fingers slid into the split of my dress, traveling up and dragging both the skirt and table cloth to my hips. My pulse ticked up, blood roaring in my ears as my body trembled. With fear? Anticipation? I really wasn’t sure. When he brushed my underwear, my hand shot out, gripping his wrist.
“Tsk tsk, piccola.” His lips pressed to my temple, and to anyone looking on, he seemed like a sweet and loving fiancé. “You’re racking up quite the rap sheet tonight.”
I met his gaze, lips so close I could taste the whiskey on his breath. “Please.” It was all I could say, though I had no idea if I was begging for—his mercy or his wrath.
He cocked a brow, waiting, and I knew I was making it worse for myself. I released his wrist, and he kissed my forehead, lips lingering on my skin as he slipped one finger past my panties and brushed over my clit. I sucked in a sharp breath, and he picked up his drink, sipping it with the casual grace of a man in absolute control of everything around him. He resumed his conversation with the banker while I couldn’t focus on a single thing but him and his fingers. I tried to breathe, to remain calm, but no man had ever touched me like this.
Liquid pleasure trickled through my body, and it took everything in me to remain still while he stroked lazy circles over that bundle of nerves. He was a master manipulator, strumming out perfect notes until I writhed and danced to his tune. I hated him; I wanted him. I needed more, everything he had to offer, and all the things I’d relish in prying from him. When he sank one finger inside me and pressed his thumb on my clit, I nearly came, biting down on my lip in an effort not to cry out.
The metallic tinge of blood coated my tongue along with mortification. I was going to come in front of all these people. The second my pussy started to clamp down on his finger, though, he stilled, leaving the sensation to fizzle away. Thank God. My body sagged at the reprieve, but he started right back up. And I wanted to scream for an entirely different reason. That was what he did through most of the main course—which I didn’t touch. He kept me riding those waves, peaking and retreating until I was desperate. I didn’t care who saw me anymore; I was just mindless with need. This was his punishment, I realized.
I could only imagine what I looked like right now, skin flushed, breaths uneven, his perfect little puppet, dancing on strings he plucked and pulled. And the worst part—he was barely even paying attention, carrying on a conversation as though he weren’t completely wrecking me.
When I was beyond desperate, he finally turned to me. His breath caressed my throat, the skin feverish compared to the brush of his whiskey-chilled lips.
“You didn’t make a sound.” When his fingers left my body, a small whimper escaped me as though defying him on principle, and I felt him smile against my skin. “Good girl.”
The praise made my insides tighten and clench, and Jesus Christ, I clearly had daddy issues.
He sat back in his chair, slipping that finger between his lips and sucking the taste of me from it. His eyes were all heat and drowning intensity, and in that moment, I wanted every bit of it. I wanted to taste myself on his tongue while he made me come for him. I’d never needed anything so much in my life. Anyone watching him would know exactly what he was doing, what he had done, but Giovanni didn’t care because he was untouchable. And I didn’t care because he’d made me mindless.
“So sweet. So pure and untouched.” Then he fisted my hair and granted me my wish. He kissed me, his tongue slipping between my lips, forcing the combined taste of him and me and whiskey over my tongue.
That kiss re-ignited everything I was trying to simmer down until I was panting against his lips. Giovanni also seemed to have reached his limit because I was dragged to my feet and being led through the gala before I knew what was happening. My head spun from the alcohol and him and the lust pumping through my veins like a damn freight train.