The Italian

His strong, thick tongue sweeps through my sex, and my legs open wider instinctively.

Fuck. A Rici Ferrara wake up call.

I put my hand on the top of his head and look down at him. His eyes are closed as he licks me up. He lifts my legs over his shoulders.

“Good morning, Rici,” I whisper.

He smiles against me. “Hmm,” he hums. “It is a good morning.”

He pulls back and, with his eyes locked on mine, his pale pink tongue licks me slow and deep.

My insides clench. He is so fucking hot, I can’t deal.

He loves this. He loves my taste. He loves the act. He loves to give me pleasure.

And, dear God, does he ever.

With his eyes locked on mine, he begins to flick his tongue in a way only he knows how, and I lose my mind. His big red lips are glistening with my arousal.

I’ve never seen a more gorgeous man.

My man.

He begins to really eat me as I writhe beneath him. He goes up onto his knees, puts his hand down to his cock, and he begins to stroke it.

I can see the pre-ejaculate beading. His strokes get harder, as does his tongue, and I can’t hold it.

I love this about him, I love that he has to touch himself when he touches me.

It’s the ultimate turn on.

“Get up here,” I whisper.

He smiles into me, and I grab a handful of his hair to drag him up to me. He brings my legs with him, still over his shoulders.

He slides in deep, and we both moan as we fall still.

Hearts are banging hard in our chests against each other. Our eyes are locked. He’s so broad that he stretches me to the max, every damn time.

The burn is so fucking good.

“Oh, bella,” he whispers by my ear. “You fuck me so well, baby.”

I smile as he slowly slides out.

“I can feel every muscle inside this beautiful cunt.” He pushes back in hard, and I convulse with a deep shudder. As soon as he starts talking dirty, it’s all over.

His lips take mine aggressively, and I can taste my arousal.

“Fuck me,” he growls. “Fuck me hard.”

Oh God.

Nobody fucks like Rici Ferrara.

Nobody.

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