“Feel you, Tesoro. How wet you are. Soft. You’re so soft.” He glided his fingers over me, finding my clit and stroking it. “So beautiful in your need. You feel so good on my fingers. Hot. Silky. So wet, baby. You have no idea how turned on I am right now. How fucking beautiful you are.”
I was lost in a sea of sensation. His mouth. His body. His magical fingers on me. The air around us was cool, but in his arms, I was on fire. He slipped one finger inside me, making me whimper. He added another, pressing his thumb to my clit and rubbing tight, intense circles on it, his touch sure and perfect. I began to shake, my entire body reacting to him. To his touch. He sped up his movements, covering my mouth with his, his tongue once again twisting with mine.
Colors exploded behind my eyes as my orgasm hit me. Hard, potent, and powerful. My body locked down as it raced through me, obliterating everything in its path. I bucked against his hand, my muscles spasming around his fingers. I screamed my release into his mouth, his lips swallowing my cries. I gripped his shoulders, tightened my legs around him as I rode out the sensation. The pleasure was so great, I almost passed out.
Until it ebbed. Trailed off into low tremors that shook me. His mouth gentled, his kisses becoming tender touches, sweet presses of his lips. He slid his hand from me, wrapping me in his embrace. “You are so beautiful when you come for me,” he murmured into my ear. “So fucking beautiful. I can’t wait to get you naked and in my bed and feel you come all over my cock.”
It hit me. What happened. What I had allowed to happen. Our gazes clashed, his filled with understanding.
“Don’t. Don’t freak out.” He kissed me. “That was perfect. You were perfect.”
“I can’t–I don’t…” I groaned, letting my head fall to his neck. Why did he reduce me to this stuttering woman, incapable of thinking or talking straight?
“I know, Tesoro. I know. You do the same to me.”
Jesus. Now I was saying my disjointed thoughts out loud.
“I mean, I have never—” I waved my hand “—done that in a parking lot.” Embarrassment flooded my system. “Oh my God, let me go.”
His arms tightened. “No.”
“Please.”
He set me on my feet but didn’t release me.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
I lifted my eyes to his, startled to see how close his face was to mine.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “For trusting me.” Then in a gesture I didn’t expect, he pressed his lips to my forehead, his mouth lingering.
I tried to find my anger. My indignation. I couldn’t. All I felt was contentment. Satisfaction. My body felt as if every muscle had turned to liquid. Once again, the feeling of being safe and protected welled within me. I wanted to stay in his arms forever.
Sadly, I knew that wasn’t possible.
I pushed at his chest, and he eased back. My gaze dropped to his crotch, and I wanted to groan. Tentatively, I slid my hand along his waistband, but he caught it in his large palm, shaking his head and kissing it.
“Not tonight.”
“But that seems unfair. It looks, ah, uncomfortable. I could help you with that.”
He rested his head on my shoulder, turning his face so his breath blew over my skin. “Jesus, you have no idea how tempting that is.” He kissed the juncture of my neck. “I want you alone, not on your knees in a parking lot. You mean too much for that.”
“But—”
His mouth silenced me, his lips sliding over mine sensuously. “Soon,” he promised. “You must be tired, and you need to get home.”
Reality struck like a bolt of lightning. “Theo,” I gasped. I had to get home. Panicked, I pushed at him, digging in my pocket for my keys. “I have to go.”
He didn’t argue, instead, walked me around to the driver’s side, waiting until I slid in. I turned the key, hitting the steering wheel in frustration when it didn’t turn over. It did this sometimes, and it took several attempts to get it going. I tried again, cursing low as it clicked and nothing else.
“Your battery is dead.”
“But I just got it,” I insisted, turning the key.
His hand covered mine. “That won’t work. Trust me.”
“What am I going to do?” I mumbled. Normally, Ziggy would drive me home, except I knew he would be drowning his sorrows over Lara already.
Stefano held out his hand. “Come with me.”
Strangely enough, I did.
We pulled up in front of the house. Stefano bent low, studying the Victorian-style residence. “Nice.”
“Mrs. Scott has lived here for forty years. She has the main floor. I live upstairs.”
He nodded. “I live not far from here.”
“Oh, not in Littleburn?”
“No, we’re only ten minutes away from there, and I like Lomand.”