The Italian

The sensation is too much.

He holds my legs open and kisses his way up to my sex.

I stare at the ceiling as I gasp for breath, my rib cage rising as my lungs search for air. Oh God.

He spreads me apart with his fingers and hisses in approval. Then his thick tongue swipes through my flesh with force.

Holy fucking fuck…

He begins to suck, his eyes closed, and I begin to shudder. Oh no.

Not this again.

He reaches up and kneads my breast. “Watch,” he commands.

I lean up onto my elbows and watch him suck and lick on my most private parts.

His eyes are dark, his tongue a perfect pink, and I watch the muscles in his jaw contract as he eats me.

I’ve died and gone to Italian Heaven.

I know now why the men I’ve been with over the last two years couldn’t get over the line with me. They were all shit—very poor substitutes for the real thing.

Nobody came close to giving me the high of Rici Ferrara. He’s a designer drug all of his own.

The best kind of high.

He bites my clitoris, and I buck off the bed as a freight train of an orgasm tears through me. I cry out in ecstasy and grab the back of his head.

Both his hands are splayed on my stomach as he holds me down, but his tongue doesn’t stop. He hasn’t finished. He wants to suck every last drop of the orgasm from my body.

My legs are quivering, and I try to close them. I’m too sensitive. “Rici,” I breathe. “Now. Give it to me… please.”

He stands, takes a condom from the drawer, and I watch as he rolls it on.

Thump, thump, thump, goes my heart as he climbs over me.

“Olivia. My beautiful Olivia.” His lips take mine and his tongue moves in a slow, erotic dance. I can taste my own arousal in his mouth.

My heart freefalls from my chest.

No. No. No.

This is wrong. This isn’t supposed to feel special. This is supposed to be brutal fucking. A getting him out of my system kind of fuck.

With his lips pressed tenderly against mine, he lifts my left leg and puts it around his waist.

“Open for me, baby.”

I do as I’m told, and in one strong movement, he pushes forward and slides in deep. My mouth falls open as his possession takes over. I exhale slowly.

“You all right?” his deep, hushed voice whispers.

“Yeah.” I close my eyes to try and deal with him—to block him out—because, hell, this man doesn’t just make love. He fucks my soul.

He pulls out slowly and then pushes back in. I wince at the size of him. What the hell kind of man is he?

He clenches his jaw. Dark eyes hold mine, and I know he’s clinging onto his control.