He guides me across the deck, his hand placed firmly on the small of my back. “Never.”
By the time we get to the door of what must be his room, I’ve managed to get some of my bearings back. I can still walk away before this escalates any further. “I don’t think we should do this,” I say, even though there is zero conviction behind my words. Excitement buzzes under my skin at the thought of what he might do to me in that bedroom.
He unlocks the door with a swipe of a card and holds it open for me with his palm. His gaze melts me from the inside out.
“Get inside, Ale.”
This is it. The moment of truth. Once that door closes behind me, I know I won’t leave.
His eyes are trained on my face. Warm hazel orbs made nearly black by his enlarged irises. Inside of all that darkness is a spark. A bright candle flame that burns for me.
I latch on to that imagery and convince myself that I’m the one in control here.
And then I step across the threshold.
VALENTINA
Damiano flicks on the lights and his bedroom comes into focus. There’s a wide desk, a king-sized bed, a bar cart in one corner, and two upholstered armchairs placed by a small coffee table. Its sophisticated, tidy, and very male. Nothing is flashy, but it’s clear that every piece of furniture and every scrap of textile in here has been meticulously chosen by a professional.
I gravitate to the carved wooden desk. “This is gorgeous,” I say as I run my fingers along the glass surface that protects the designs.
Damiano pours two glasses of wine and hands one to me. His eyes drop to the desk. “It’s one of my favorite possessions. My sister got this made for me by an artisan outside of Napoli.” A rare softness creeps into his expression.
The image of little Damiano holding the toddler in his arms squeezes at my heart. “You’re close.”
“Yes,” he says.
I like that he’s fond of his sister. It’s a glimpse at a part of his life I haven’t seen before, and it makes me feel closer to him. If I told him how much I missed my sisters, I have a suspicion he’d understand.
He clears his throat as if to dispel any lingering thoughts and takes a sip of his wine. Everything about this man is attractive, down to the way his Adam’s apple moves as he swallows. Heat blankets my skin again. I down half of my glass in one go and cradle it with both of my palms.
The temperature rises further when he places his glass down on the desk and squares his body toward me. He lifts his hand to my face and traces my jaw with his thumb. “How’s the wine?”
“Very good,” I say.
“I know you’ll taste even better.” His voice drags over the place between my legs like a silk tie.
I have a serious weakness, I realize. After Lazaro’s disinterest, the idea of a powerful, gorgeous, sane man wanting me is like catnip. I want to believe so badly that Damiano is affected by me, but there’s a needy voice in the back of my head that craves more convincing.
“You hated me,” I whisper, thinking back to how he wouldn’t give me a single break in that first week following us meeting.
Damiano pries the glass out of my hands and places it beside his. “I never hated you.” He moves his palm to the back of my neck. “I doubted you. I thought your stubborn strength was an act, but it’s not. It’s real.” The tip of his nose traces my cheek bone. “You are magnificent.”
My God, if only he knew who I really was… He’s wrong about me being strong, yet he speaks with such conviction that I almost believe him. It’s like he can shape me into someone else by his willpower alone.
He moves closer, pressing the length of his body against mine and enveloping me in his heady scent. When his lips find mine, I moan into his mouth. Everything is languid and hot, like an erotic fever dream.
I’m not wearing a bra. His palms find my bare breasts under my shirt, and the sensation of his calloused thumbs dragging over my nipples turn them into hard points. He twists them lightly, then grunts when I start to buck against him, desperate to ease the pressure building between my legs.
He breaks the kiss, drops his hands to my shorts, and peels them quickly down my legs.
When he kneels in front of me, I press my palms against the desk. Anticipation of what’s about to come makes my breasts ache and my pussy quiver. He considers my thong for half a second before he fists one of the straps and tears it off me.
I yelp. “Damiano!”
His wicked gaze lands on my face. “Sit on the edge of the desk,” he commands, “and spread your legs.”
My heartbeat drums inside my ears. I’ve only had sex once. Once. This is already way more charged than anything that happened between Lazaro and I that one night. I swallow and feel blood rise to my cheeks. I get my butt up but I can’t seem to make my legs move.
Damiano notices my hesitation. One of his brows arches up. “Timid?”
“No,” I say immediately. He’s baiting me because he knows I’ll bite.
“Then show me that glistening pussy.”
I groan. My face feels like it’s sunburned.
He drags his big hands down my bare thighs. “You’re shy.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
A hint of a smile appears on his lips. “Then why the hesitation?”
“Give me a moment, okay?”
His eyes fill with a subtle tenderness that nearly unravels me. “You don’t need to be shy around me, Ale. There’s nothing you can do to make me think your body is anything less than perfect.”
He wraps a palm over each knee and starts to move them apart with gentle force. I shut my eyes and breathe. Deeply. I’m probably leaking all over his beautiful desk.
When he’s finished spreading me open, he makes a rough sound in his throat. “Fuck.”
He shrugs off his suit jacket, and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, looking like a man possessed. Slowly, he brings his face closer and closer, and then he draws his hot tongue over my seam.
That first lick is so divine that I fall back on my elbows and let out a desperate whine. He twists his tongue over my clit, then drags his teeth over the hood, playing me like a fucking instrument. How does he know how to do this? Do all normal men learn at some point?
When he lifts my thighs and places them over his shoulders, I collapse fully on the desk. Something hard digs into my back. “Ouch.”
He peeks up at me, his mouth still sucking on my clit.
“Not you,” I pant as I reach under my back and wrap my fingers around the offending object. It’s a thick, expensive pen.
He takes it from me.
“What are you doing?”
His eyes darken as he starts fucking me with his tongue. I feel the cold surface of the pen brush against that other hole, and I start to squirm. “Damiano-”
He pushes the end of the pen, wet with my juices, inside just an inch, and I gasp in shock. My thighs shake, it’s like my entire body is a live wire, vibrating with electricity. He’s still watching me, tracking every reaction he sees on my face, and I’m sure that in this moment, he knows what I’m experiencing better than I do. I’m so overwhelmed with new sensations, I can’t think. He replaces his tongue with his thick fingers and does that come hither motion from earlier. It’s enough to push me over the edge. I dig my fingers into the carved edge of the desk. Everything dims except for the powerful shocks of pleasure that radiate from my core.