"A couple of more times and I won't be able to get up and go to work tomorrow," she pointed out with a small, whispery laugh that played along his nerve endings. She pushed her buttocks back into the cradle of his hips, driving his cock deeper into her.
He fucking loved that. "I meant to talk to you about that, dolce cuore--there's no need to work anymore. It might be a good thing if you let me tell Pietro that you aren't coming back."
She leaned down and sank her teeth into his arm. Hard.
"Dannazione donna! Seriously?"
"I'm working, and don't you dare talk to Pietro. I mean it, Stefano. You do that, and I won't be sleeping in this bed or this apartment. You don't get to dictate to me."
She didn't lift her head from the pillow again; her tone was mild, but she meant it. That didn't sit well with him.
"First, Francesca, don't ever threaten to leave me. You won't make it out the door. I want you very, very clear on that. Second, something matters to you, it matters to me, so just say so without the drama. The bite, okay, I get that, but not the threat. Are we clear?"
"Yes, honey, we're clear," she said softly. "Now I really have to sleep."
"I was going to let you sleep," he pointed out, "but now you fucking made my cock hard again with that bite. You have to take care of that before you can sleep."
"You'll have to do that work."
"Fine by me. I wanted to fuck your breasts and cover you in me. That okay with you?"
"Everything you do is okay with me," she said, and rolled over onto her back. "I might be a little afraid sometimes, Stefano, but I'm always willing to try."
"Dio, bambina, you make me almost humble. I'm too fucking arrogant to actually be humble, but it's there."
He was rewarded with her laughter. He straddled her body, rubbing his balls along her belly. She felt so little under him. So soft. He cupped her breasts in his hands before leaning down to give them attention. "I'm going to see if I can make you come without doing anything but using my hands and mouth on your breasts and then I'll fuck you right here. I won't be cleaning you up, Francesca. You're going to go to sleep with me all over you."
"Why do I find that so hot? You're making me wet all over again," she accused. "Can you really do that?"
He proceeded to show her he could.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Fortunately, or unfortunately--staring at herself in the mirror, Francesca couldn't decide which--she had had the weekend off. She couldn't get up and go to work after she'd practically thrown a tantrum fighting for the right to do so. That meant Stefano stayed in his apartment with her and they'd barely made it out of bed. When they did, that didn't seem to matter to him. He took her in the kitchen on the table. On the counter. On the floor in the hall. Up against the wall in the living room. On furniture. In the shower.
Stefano was creative and he'd seemed determined to know every inch of her body and claim it for his own. She was fine with that at the time. Now, looking at the marks on her, the ones she'd loved him putting there, she thought maybe she was a little crazy. The necklace of purplish bites on her neck had barely faded and she doubted if she could find anything to cover them when she went to work.
She swore she could still feel him deep inside her. She was fairly certain she had skid marks on her butt and floor burns on her back. She touched one of the bite marks on her left breast. Just that, the sweep of the pads of her fingers, made her shiver. That was how sensitive she was. That was how awake he made her body.
There was no noise--Stefano never made any when he walked--but he was there, behind her in the mirror, one arm snaking around her waist and pulling her back into him and locking her there. He'd just taken her in the shower, after she'd sucked him off in bed. Her body still was having aftershocks, which she hadn't thought possible just a few days ago. He nuzzled her neck.
"I love how you smell," he murmured, his tongue and teeth already wreaking havoc.
She watched the way her nipples came to twin hard peaks and felt her body melt right into his, pressing back into his bare skin. He was always hot and hard. Perfect. She reached back and circled his neck with one hand, the action lifting her breasts as if an offering. Instantly he cupped them in his hands, and she felt his teeth sink into that sweet spot between her neck and shoulders. That bite of pain coupled with the brush of his thumbs on her nipples sent a spasm through her sex.
"You're so fucking beautiful, Francesca." His eyes met hers in the mirror. "You sure you don't want me to talk to Pietro? I'm all for staying in another few days."
"I'd love to," she answered honestly. "But I can barely walk. I'm sore, Stefano. Seriously sore and I can't seem to resist you. I'm also not going to be a kept woman. I need to earn my own money."
His head came up, body going still. His arm tightened into an iron band. "You're sore? Why didn't you say something to me?"
She turned in his arms and wrapped both hands around the nape of his neck. She knew him now. He was totally protective. He would detest that she was sore and he hadn't noticed or thought of it. Well, he'd thought of it; he'd run her a hot bath countless times, but she always ended up straddling his lap and they'd make a mess of the bathroom floor, water everywhere from their splashing in the tub. She shouldn't have said anything to him.
"Honey, I loved what we were doing. I wasn't going to miss one moment of it. I'm not that sore." That was a lie. She winced because he knew it. His expression told her he did. That and the sudden swat on her bare butt. He smacked her hard. "Ow. Seriously?" She tried to pull away from him but his arm didn't budge. He didn't even act like she'd moved.
"Don't fucking lie to me. Not. Ever. I don't like that I hurt you, Francesca. I like rough sex. I like knowing you're mine and I can put my mark on you and you love it. But not at the cost of hurting you. That's not okay." He suddenly caught both her wrists, pulled them to him so he could inspect them. He'd tied her up more than once. She knew it was more for fun than anything else, but he liked it. He liked having her at his mercy and she'd enjoyed those times with him especially.
"No bruises," she pointed out hastily. "Stefano, I wouldn't have wanted to miss one moment with you. It was the most beautiful weekend I've ever had in my life. I do have to get dressed for work though, and so do you."
He sighed, bending his head to press kisses into the pulse beating in her inner wrist. "You don't have to work. That doesn't make you a kept woman. When we have children, I want you to be with them, not working in some fucking deli so you can call yourself independent. You're never going to be independent. I'm your man, bambina, and that means you lean the fuck on me."
"We don't have children yet, Stefano. And stop saying fuck. I mean it. You need to clean up your language. Sometimes you use that word twice in the same sentence. When we have children, I don't want that to be the first word out of their mouths."
He stared down into her eyes, holding her there like he could, just with his gaze, mesmerizing her. Keeping her captive, under his spell. A slow smile transformed the hard edges of his handsome face. He was so beautiful to her. A gorgeous man and she was falling more and more in love with him.
He'd spent the entire weekend worshiping her body. Claiming her so possessively. Insisting on feeding her. Washing her. Brushing her hair. He treated her like a princess when he wasn't pounding into her. She liked the pounding most of all. And when he slowed it down and took her breath away, he brought tears to her eyes.
"I can do that for you," he agreed. "But you do something for me. Start thinking of us together. What I have is yours. What you have is mine."
She swallowed hard. Shook her head. Felt tears burn behind her eyes and blinked rapidly in an effort to keep them at bay. "I don't have anything to give you, Stefano. I'm not bringing anything to the relationship but trouble. Barry Anthon is trouble. You know that. Any way you look at it, he's trouble. You have so much money, and you're so--extraordinary. You are. I'm . . ."
He took her mouth, cutting her off. His hands slid down her
back, following the curve of her spine to her butt, his hands drifting lower to grip and pull her in tightly so that his cock was pressed hard against her. "Are you wet for me, dolce cuore?"
"I am," she whispered. "Of course I am. How could I be anything else when you touch me, Stefano?"
"That's what you bring to me, Francesca. That's what you give to me. You. Your trust. Your body. I want to do all sorts of things to you. Things that scare the hell out of you, things you're still a little too innocent for, but you trust me and let me do them anyway. You give me that, and it's the greatest gift a man can get. When you go down on me, you enjoy it. You think about giving me pleasure, not what you're getting out of it. You think a man doesn't love that? Need it? To know that you love giving me that is everything. I have it all with you."
"Stefano, I hesitate to tell you this, because you might be just a teensy bit arrogant, but any woman would do that with you. How could they not?"
He shook his head. "I've had more women than I ever want to admit to you, but I didn't want to do jack to them. Just get off. That was it. I wanted to fuck their brains out and get them the hell away from me. I didn't feel anything but that rush, dolce cuore, that release. With you . . ." He broke off, shaking his head. "I think about you every minute of the fucking day. I wake up in a sweat, wanting you, my body so fucking hard it's painful. I jacked off thinking about you wearing my coat a hundred times. It's pathetic how obsessed I am with you."
Her heart pounded. So did her clit. Deep inside she felt a desperate spasm. Her hand dropped to his cock. "I think now would be a good time to lift me up and let me wrap my legs around your waist. I don't care if I'm a little late for work. Pietro won't fire me, will he?" She leaned into him, her teeth closing over his earlobe. "And just for the record, you said 'fuck' three times just now."
There was pure seduction in her sultry voice and in her stroking fingers. She was getting darned good at learning what he liked. She paid attention because he was right; his pleasure did matter to her. She wanted to see that pleasure on his face, feel it in his body, in the spill of his seed when he took her. She loved the expression he got when he was inside her, when her body gripped and milked his. Just that could get her off. That was how much she liked it.
"I'll get you off with my fingers, Francesca, but not my cock. You're sore and I'm not going to make it worse."
She blinked up at him, shocked. "You're turning me down?" She had never considered that he would, not for one moment. It hurt, even though intellectually, she knew how protective he was. He was as hard as a rock, but still, he'd turned her down the first time she'd initiated sex with him. That felt . . . horrible.
He swept her up into his arms, in that way he had, fast and irrevocably, decisively. Before she could protest, he dropped her on the bed, and was down on top of her, blanketing her body, his face buried between her legs, his cock poised over her mouth, an offering. Already his tongue and fingers were in play, working at her, driving her up so fast she couldn't quite catch her breath so she stroked his cock and then began to lick him as if he were an ice-cream cone.
Her mind had gone instantly into chaos, the roaring in her ears driving out everything but him. His body, so hot and hard, pinning her down. The way the head of his cock teased along the seam of her lips, so that she could taste the addicting little drops that made her hungry for more. His mouth bringing fire, his tongue stabbing deep, flattening against her clit while he stroked and made her burn.
She all but swallowed him down. She loved the shudder that ran through his body, the way his hips jerked involuntarily. She did that. Francesca Capello. The power was incredible. Knowing she pleased him, that she could bring him to the very edge of control, was a heady, wonderful feeling. It added to the pleasure his mouth and teeth and fingers brought her.
The more his cock swelled and surged, the more his tongue plunged and the fire leapt and burned. She drew him down, trying to take all of him--an impossible task, but one she worked on diligently, happily. She used her tongue and hollowed her cheeks, suckling strongly. Her hand slid over him easily, pumping, because she'd gotten him so wet with her mouth.
He lifted his head and growled. Growled. She loved that. "Harder, Francesca." It was a demand, nothing less.
She complied, clamping her mouth tight around him, gripping him with her fist tighter than she thought possible. He was like iron. Hot. Velvet soft. Perfect steel. She was close. So close. She wanted him with her because she knew when she exploded, she would have to stop and that would leave him frustrated.
His hips moved to a faster rhythm, driving deeper than she had ever previously taken him. She had nowhere to go. She thought she was in control, but realized he was. She was under him, his weight pinning her down, his hips suddenly in charge, not her hand. That only added to her excitement. She did trust him. She knew, even when he plunged deep and held himself there, she didn't panic when she couldn't breathe. Stefano would never, ever harm her.
She almost cried out when his cock withdrew. Remembering at the last moment to take a breath, she suckled hard, drawing him back, reveling in his possession. Then fire was streaking through her. It happened so fast, so hard, it took her off guard. At the same time his cock swelled, heated, pumped into her, down her throat, forcing her to swallow. That triggered an even bigger quake, her entire body rippling and shuddering with pleasure.
He lifted his face from between her legs, but kept his softening cock inside her mouth. "Gently, dolce cuore, but take care of me."
She loved when he did that, too, those little instructions on what his preferences were, what he enjoyed. She detested feeling as if she wasn't seeing to his every need or desire. He saw to hers and she wanted to do the same for him so when he told her exactly what he wanted or needed, it gave her even more confidence. For Francesca, knowing she gave him that was as necessary to her as breathing. She took her time, mindful of how sensitive he was, feeling every reaction, the way his breath hissed out of his lungs, the shudder of his body, the involuntary buck his hips gave.
"Dio, Francesca, you're incredible. I could spend the day with my cock in your mouth and never get enough."
She laughed softly as he withdrew. "I might like that. Now I need to brush my teeth and get ready for work. That was spectacular."
He rolled off of her, every line in his face stamped with a sensual dark passion as he watched her walk naked into the master bath. He'd just given her an amazing, powerful climax, but knowing he was watching made her hot all over again. He was turning her into a sex fiend.
"Word of our engagement is out," he announced, casually. Too casually.
She paused in the act of spreading toothpaste on her brush, turning to look through the doorway at him. "It is? How do you know?"
"Francesca. Seriously? You're mine. I want the entire world to know. I had our publicity person put out a press release."
She smiled at him, shaking her head. "You don't do anything the slow way, do you?" She turned back to brush her teeth.
"Not when it comes to you. The point I'm making is that anything a Ferraro does is news. It's a huge thing to have one of us engaged. When I say 'huge,' I mean it will be reported, not only in this country, but in other countries as well. Our bank is international and one of the largest."
Francesca's heart dropped. Somersaulted. Beat too fast. She took her time, finishing her teeth and then rinsing her mouth multiple times before she turned back to him. "What exactly does that mean?"
"It means, bambina, reporters are going to be crawling all over this hotel. No member of our neighborhood would ever give you up, so you should be safe at work, but don't walk the streets where you could be spotted. I'll take you down the private elevator to an entrance that only my family uses and no one has knowledge of. Emilio and Enzo will be waiting with a car. You do whatever they say when they say it."
She walked barefoot over to the closet. Somehow her clothes had been transferred to the master bedroom sometime while she was at the club. S
he hadn't asked him about that, and now it seemed silly to do so. It had been presumptuous of him, but she was finding that Stefano was a very decisive and confident man. She liked having his eyes on her when she drew the sexy little boy shorts up her legs and settled them over her butt.
"Come here."
Francesca shivered at the command in his voice. Low. Sexy. So arrogant. She loved that, too. Holding her bra in her hand, she crossed the room to stand in front of him. He wiggled his finger in a little circle and obediently she turned her back to him.
His hands slid over the curves of her butt. "I left my mark on your ass. I can see it right through the lace. That's so fucking sexy, Francesca, I want to take another bite out of you." His hands stroked caresses over her bottom and then he touched several spots on her buttocks with his fingertips. When he pressed she knew exactly where each mark was. "I like my brand on you far too much, bella."
She shivered, her nipples peaking as she slid the satin-soft bra around to cup her breasts. The lace caressed her skin. She loved his brand on her far too much as well, but telling him that would only encourage him. "I think you're a little primitive."
"I'm okay with that." He caught her hand as she turned to get her clothes. "Where the hell is your engagement ring?"
"I can't wear it to work." She was horrified. "It's worth a car or something."
He was up in an instant, flowing out of the bed, every muscle coiled and ready to strike. He looked dangerous. Intimidating. He towered over her, and the very air pulsed around her with his anger. "Get. That. Ring. On. Now."
Okay, bad move taking off the ring. She didn't even pretend to hesitate. She knew he would never strike her, but she also knew when he had that much anger over something, it meant a lot to him. She took the ring out of her drawer and shoved it back on her finger.
"Don't you ever fucking take that off again. You got me, Francesca? Are we clear on that? You tell me we're clear. I want to hear the words."
"We're clear, Stefano."
She heard the tremor in her voice and was instantly angry with herself. She didn't want him to ever think she was a pushover and wouldn't stand up to him. She put the ring on because it meant enough to him to be angry over it, not because she was afraid of him. Well. Not much. Well. Okay, maybe she was a little, or a lot, but in her defense, he could be very scary.