Without responding, he lifts me by my hips and spins around until my front is now flush with the smooth, marble counter. The coolness of the granite does nothing to stop the desire coursing through me.
My skirt is shoved over my hips, and my panties are ripped from my body with a bite of pain that causes me to wince. Rome’s hands are all over my thighs, trailing up to my ass. Within seconds, he’s spanking both cheeks. He doesn’t hold back. The burn of the swats makes me whimper, but my pussy is slick with the need for him to fill me.
“Are you done teasing me now?” Rome questions from behind me. He doesn’t make a move to fuck me, so I wiggle my ass in the hopes of tempting him to fill me, but he chuckles, pulling me to stand. “Dinner first,” he promises while his one hand finds my core, and his fingers dip into my slick entrance. He pumps two fingers in once, twice, then pulls them from my body and brings them up to his mouth. I watch as Rome sucks both digits clean, licking them like they’re his favorite candy.
“Dinner then,” I breathe, my words coming out in a whisper, which makes him smirk. A wolfish grin turns his face into a seductive expression. As ready as I am for him to take me right now, I know we need time to talk.
Chapter 17
Rome
By the time we’re sitting at the dinner table, I’m no longer hard as a rock, and I focus on the food instead of the scent of Elisabet’s pussy on my fingers. She sets the plates down, and I smile when she joins me. The meal smells amazing. I can’t believe she cooked for me.
“Thank you for this,” I tell her earnestly. I glance up, and she’s watching me as I put a forkful of pasta in my mouth. The flavors burst on my taste buds, and I can’t stop the moan of pleasure that rumbles in my throat. “Jesus, this is incredible.”
“Were you doubting me?” she asks with a smile, and I watch as she eats her food. She looks beautiful as she licks the tomato sauce from her lips, and I find my mind drifting toward the bedroom rather than staying here with her.
“Tell me about your mother,” I say before taking another mouthful.
Sadness sparks in her eyes, and I realize I shouldn’t have asked because she’s going to shut down. Silently, I admonish myself for even asking. It was stupid, and I’m about to say so when she speaks.
“She was a wonderful woman. Always smiling, loved me and my father,” she tells me. “We lived in Italy until she died. That’s when my father came out here, and I followed not long after.”
“The name Rossi—”
“She was someone who would love anyone. She always saw the best in people, and that’s what got her killed.” Her words shock me. Her brutal honesty stuns me for a moment. “I always wanted to do something that would keep her legacy living on. And that’s how I came to open the bakery.”
“And you have one already?”
She nods. “Yeah, in New York.”
“Why did you leave?”
Silence is my response, and I realize the time for sharing is over because Elisabet goes quiet and turns her attention on her plate.
“I didn’t mean to dig into your life.” I sit back, regarding her with hopes that she’ll allow me in, even if it’s a foot through the door, but she just shakes her head. “Look, if you want me to go . . .” I allow the offer to fall into the room, hang between us so she can be the one to make the decision. I don’t want to go, but she has to be the one to say she wants me here. I’ve overstepped, I made a mistake, but I won’t apologize.
“No,” she says after a long moment. “I just can’t talk about that yet.”
“Yet?” This causes her to look at me.
She offers me a smile that says sorry, and then she tells me, “There are things that I’m working through. Like you said, this is no strings, and even though we’re having dinner, it’s not dating.”
“Isn’t it? What about lunch?”
“That was pure coincidence.” Now she leans back against her chair, but she keeps her eyes on me. “I just don’t want you to expect something from me that I can’t give you.”
I take note of her choice of words and say so. “Can’t, not won’t?”
She nods. That’s promising. I don’t want her to divulge anything until she’s ready, but I need to know that she’ll at least consider me a friend and offer me something to hold onto.
“That I can work with,” I tell her before going back to my meal and devouring the rest of the food on my plate. I’m filled to the brim and pick up my wine to take a long sip. Elisabet does the same, her eyes on me as she sips her merlot. “Thank you for dinner.”