“You’re going to have to tell me that story sometime,” he says, then flips me back over and slips off the bed to kneel on the floor, pulling me toward him, spreading my legs, his thick arms beneath my knees, hands gripping my thighs as he roughly brings me to his face.
“What are you—”
I gasp, my hands fisting the sheets as his mouth closes around my pussy and his hot, wet tongue licks me, tastes me, draws back to look at me, then meets my eyes and takes my swollen clit into his mouth and sucks and that sound, those sighs, that moaning, it’s coming from me.
He grins, and I close my eyes. Giovanni pulls me tighter to him, devouring me, the scruff on his jaw a rough contrast to the softness of his lips, his tongue, and it feels so good. Too fucking good.
My eyes fly open, and I try to pull myself free, but he tightens his grip.
Fuck, I’m going to come, and he knows it. He can hear it, hear my whimpers, my moans, and when he next takes my clit between his lips and sucks, I do. I cry out, and it takes me moments to come. Fuck, I come so hard I’m bucking against his face, and I hate him and I’m lost and it feels so fucking good that I can’t do anything but feel, feel it, feel him, let myself go. Let myself come.
When I open my eyes again, he’s releasing me, rising to stand. His eyes, so dark now, are locked on mine. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and he’s looming over me, and I just lie there, limp. Hollowed out, like he carved out a piece of me.
Planting his hands on either side of me, he leans over and brings his face to mine, inhaling, almost like an animal, like a predator scenting his prey. I swallow, and when he touches his lips to mine, I open for him. But he doesn’t kiss me, and he doesn’t close his eyes. Instead, he takes my lower lip between his teeth and bites, not hard, not hard enough to break skin.
I feel him against me, his hardness at my sex, and I want him again. I want him inside me. I want to come with him inside me.
And I know from the look on his face when he pulls back that he knows it too.
“Your pussy’s greedy, Emilia.”
He straightens. My legs are half hanging off the bed, and he’s standing between them.
I look at him, confused.
“You don’t get to come twice, though. Not after how you behaved tonight.” He slaps my hip before he turns and heads toward the door, but stops just before he gets there, and I sit up.
He retraces his steps and, reaching into his pocket, he takes out a stack of bills. He sets them on the nightstand, then reaches for me and grips my jaw, his fingers digging into me as he tilts my face upward.
He’s firm when he speaks. Like he’s just remembered his annoyance with me. “You don’t pay for dinner when I take you out. You eat, and you say thank-you. And you definitely don’t walk out. Understand?”
“And then what? I spread my legs?” My heart is racing. I shouldn’t challenge this man. I know better.
But he’s ready for my comment. I think he likes it from the narrowing of his eyes, the grin on his face.
“That’s ideal. Although like I said at dinner, I didn’t expect to sleep with you. Dinner wasn’t about me buying your pussy. Because that’d make you a whore, wouldn’t it? And I don’t think you’re a whore, are you, Emilia?”
Before I can answer, he releases me. I’m not even up on my useless, shaky legs before he’s gone. Out of the bedroom and out of the apartment. I hear the door open and close. Hear the lock turn.
The bastard has a key.4GiovanniI swear I can still taste her on my tongue, and fuck if I don’t want to go back to her apartment and fuck her raw because my hand just isn’t going to do the trick tonight. Coming against the shower wall won’t give me the release fucking her tight little cunt will. I want to be inside her. I want to feel her wet pussy squeeze my dick. I want to empty inside her and watch her face as I fill her up. Watch her face when she comes.
But I meant what I said. She doesn’t get to come twice when she acts like an idiot.
This girl is a complete mystery. When I first sought her out, I did it because she was my best bet on finding Alessandro Estrella. Her resemblance to the skeleton in my closet caught me unprepared, but that’s not what this is about. There’s something beneath the surface, that sadness I sensed last night at dinner, that well of darkness inside her. I can’t resist it. I don’t even want to. For having a big mouth, she has a vulnerability, a quiet courage. Although courage can often lead to stupidity, and I have a feeling she might just be self-destructive enough to go that route.