Page 240 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

I can feel his smirk against my jaw as he slowly lines the tip of his cock up against my entrance and then sinks inside, one inch at a time. When he reaches a point where I can’t stretch, he pulls out a little and pushes back inside. He’s not as forceful as I expected him to be. It surprises me. Everything about this man surprises me.

“Fuck, you feel good, tesoruccia,” he whispers as he begins to move faster.

Oh God, that burns. But then he lifts my legs and places my feet on his shoulders, and the angle changes everything. He’s deeper but he’s hitting me in a spot no man has ever touched. I feel my orgasm building.

“Don’t stop, please. Right there!” I cry out as I grip his shoulders.

He moves faster, a punishing pace that will definitely leave me sore tomorrow, but I don’t care. I need more of this.

He grinds his pelvis against my clit as he thrusts rapidly in and out of me and I fall over that edge into complete bliss as I cry out his name. I sink into the mattress, but he doesn’t slow down. Instead, he reaches between us, flicking my clit with his forefinger. It’s too much. I’m too sensitive. I squirm beneath him.

“Come for me again, baby,” he urges.

“I can’t,” I whisper as I feel myself tense a little. I’ve never been a woman who could do that.

He leans his forehead against mine and kisses me gently. “You can and you will, tesoruccia,” he says. “Just relax. Let me make you feel good. Close your eyes.”

I do as I’m told. He slows and circles my clit with his finger. He takes his time, running his finger town to where we’re connected and scooping up more wetness as he continues to make circles around me. Then he pulls all the way out and slams into me and I feel myself building again. I raise my hips to meet him and then we’re frantic. Both of us chasing releases.

I begin to tremble, and he moves his finger faster. My body goes rigid as I cry out into the dimly lit room. He follows me with a grunt, slamming into me one last time and holding himself deep inside me.

I breathe in deep, trying to get air. He rolls off me and disposes of the condom in a trash can next to the bed. Then he pulls me against him.

We lie there for a few minutes. Neither of us speaking.

“What does tesoruccia mean?” I ask as I press my hand against his chest and lift my head.

He smiles down at me; his finger tracing lines on my shoulder. “Little treasure,” he says.

“Oh,” I reply, smiling shyly as I lay my head back on his chest.

“Go to sleep. You’ll feel better tomorrow,” he says, kissing the top of my head.

“I don’t think I could feel any better than I do right now,” I say on a yawn.

He chuckles. “Where did you come from?” he asks.

“Twenty-Second Street,” I tease.

He pinches my arm and I giggle.

“Goodnight, Lena,” he says.

“’Night, Rocco,” I reply as I let my eyes close. Just before I fall asleep, I hear him whisper, “I won’t let you go now that I’ve had you.”

I’m left to drift into sleep, wondering if he says that to all the women he sleeps with. Why would I be any different?

* * *

I stir awake to the sound of a cell phone vibrating. I’m curled into a ball. Rocco is wrapped around me, his right arm holding me tightly against him as if he’s afraid I’ll get away.

“Your phone,” I mumble as I realize mine is somewhere in his bathroom still nestled in a pocket of my dress. My coat is…did I get my coat? Images of last night flutter to the surface of my brain and I sit up with a start.

“Lie back down. It’s early, tesoruccia,” he whispers in my ear as he pulls me back against him.

“I should go. I have work,” I protest.

His arm doesn’t budge.

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