The Mistress That Tamed De Santis

A groan ripped from him when he finally looked. She looked down too, saw how her breasts thrust up towards him, her nipples tight and needy and erect—begging for more than his visual attention. They wanted touch. He muttered something unintelligible. Before she could ask him what he’d said he bent his head and took her nipple in the hot cavern of his mouth. Her breathing came quick and erratic as she watched him take pleasure in her body—in pleasuring her.

She closed her eyes, sprawled back on the desk, basking in the sensations as he explored her more fully. He pushed between her legs, grinding against her, and cupped her other breast in his hand, his fingers teasing that taut peak. When he pushed her full breasts together to lave both nipples with his tongue, she almost arched off the wood completely. All her restraints were now off, her need unleashed. She bucked, thrusting her hips against his, wanting him to strip her, touch her and kiss her where she was hot and wet and so, so ready.

Never had she been ready for a man the way she was for him. Never had a man made her feel this aroused. The ache between her legs burned, her blood ran faster in a quickening beat of need. She reached out, wanting to explore him too. His skin was hot to the touch. His jaw bristled but it was so good as it gently abraded her tender skin. She raked her hands across his back, the heat of him burning through his sweatshirt.

His muscularity surprised her. He was only ever pictured in suits so she’d never have guessed he’d be this defined. Granite muscles like these meant he worked out—regularly and hard. She wanted to see them. Wanted to touch. But he pressed down, smothering her attempts to pull his sweatshirt up, distracting her from that goal by simply kissing her again and again and again while running his hands over her bared breasts with wicked skill.

And she couldn’t resist succumbing to the pleasure of it.

That it could be this man who pulled this feeling from her? This unadulterated lust. He left no room for regret or reason. There was only this, only now. His breathing roughened but he said nothing more. He kissed down her neck, then lower to tease with fiery touches across her quivering belly, then back up to her breasts. But his hand worked lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her flimsy short pyjama bottoms. She parted her legs further without thinking about it, aching for him to touch her there. He growled guttural approval as his fingers cupped her intimately. She shuddered at the intensity of desire that consumed her as he gently stroked. She was so close. The pleasure built so shockingly quickly. She’d never been so close with anyone.

‘Antonio...’ She breathed the quietest plea as she arched against him, right on the edge.

He froze, then glanced up to look into her eyes for a heartbeat. Dazed, she didn’t register his tormented expression. But then he pulled away from her, his face now utterly impassive.

‘You’re stopping?’ She gasped in disbelief. ‘Now?’

His lips twisted but he didn’t reply. Running his hand through his hair, he huffed out a harsh breath and stepped back from her.

Astonished, she stared, realising what he’d done. He’d done this to prove a petty point. And he’d proved it already. But it was also a punishment. He was putting her in her place in a humiliating show of power—he could have her any way he wanted, however he chose.

But now he chose not to.

That he’d use his sensual dominance over her this way was most especially cruel because she’d never felt anything like this. No man had made her want in this way and this one time she’d almost felt pure, sensual pleasure, it had been snatched from her. She swept her hand over her belly, as if she could press away the ache deep inside.

‘I don’t need you,’ she muttered angrily. So hurt. ‘I don’t need any man.’ She didn’t need any one.

He turned back, his gaze smouldering. Her legs were still splayed. She was so exposed, half-stripped and spread on her own damn desk for him to toy with but she refused to cover up and show how shamed she felt.

‘What are you doing?’ His words sounded raw and accusing.

She realised he was staring at her hand pressed low on her belly. Bitterness rose in her throat. Because yes, the only way she’d ever experienced an orgasm was by her own action. But as if she’d do that now?