Page 22 of Broken Vows

“It’s not for drinking, angel. Not yet.”

Oh, God.

He twists and takes off the muselet, and when the cork doesn’t pop, puts the bottle to the side. “Now where were we?”

I blink. He’s trailing his gaze over my body, and I can just imagine what he sees. All my imperfections in this mess of a woman, red dress all over the white sofa cushions, legs spread in desperate invitation. I want to clam up again, scared he’ll see into me, see my darkest fears laid bare, but instead, he sinks to the floor, on his knees, and presses a tender kiss to my ankle.

“For a pain in the ass, you’re fucking beautiful, Gigi Trapani,” he murmurs as he makes his way to the fold of my knee. “So fucking beautiful.”

His words do something to me. I don’t know what, but my heart feels like it turns in my chest. I’m not traditionally pretty. Eyes set too wide apart, nose too hooked, lips too full for the rest of my face. No perfect proportions like I studied in art.

I close my eyes, turn my face into the cushion, and grab the backrest above my head to avoid reaching out for him again. I can’t let him see how desperate I am. For this. For those words from a man likehim.

He doesn’t rush. No, Stephano Scalera is taking his time to work his way up my inner thigh, to my sex, where my clit isalready begging for his tongue. He bites and nips, and my hips jerk of their own volition, wanting what only he can give.

When he breathes over my sex, the heat tingles and my pussy contracts. And then, he licks my slit, slow and intentional, sliding his tongue around my clit. I sink into a cloud of sensation as he eats me out as if I’m his last meal. Already, my need to orgasm rises from deep in my core. He doesn’t stop, but between the sounds he makes that only arouse me more, I hear the tearing of a wrapper.

I open my eyes and blink against the soft light. When I glance down at him, he hasn’t got his cock in hand, putting on the condom to fuck me into bliss.

As if he feels my gaze on him, he looks up and quirks his brow at me. He’s rolling the condom down the champagne bottle’s neck.

“I’ll be gentle,” he murmurs. “Unless you want it hard.”

Oh my God.He isn’t going to fuck me like I want him to. He’s going to keep to his resolve to make me come with his lips alone. For a cock, this is what I’m getting.

“Trust me, angel,” he says as he puts the condom-covered corked head by my entrance. “I’ll make it good.”

I have no reason not to trust him, as he’s never stepped out of line. He even tossed the whip back into the gift box without asking questions. The pressure is there, the nudge telling me to let him in.

I open wider, acquiescing, and he slides the bottle’s neck inside me. It’s hard and cold, but smooth, and the widening neck hits the spot. Where my orgasm was put on hold, it now seems to roar back with each thrust he times so well.

When Stephano balances over me, his free hand perched next to my face, he gazes at me with each thrust, reading my face. I stare back into his eyes, feeling like I’m drowning in him, in what he’s doing to me.

“Almost there, angel,” he whispers, then he dips his head, and his lips are on my breast again, his tongue riding my nipple as he ups the pace.

I break apart in seconds. I come, and as if he knows it, he holds the bottle still.

“Tighten your pussy for me,” he commands, and I obey, feeling each ripple of my orgasm as the cork finally pops. My pussy’s grip and the condom seem to stop the cork from going anywhere, holding it in place like a fist, but the whole sensation is too intense because I’m squirting.

God, no. Maybe. I don’t know. All I know is cold champagne foam pulses out of me. Stephano extracts the bottle and rips off the condom, letting the champagne froth and pour over my sex. The cold liquid is a rush of tingles spreading over my sensitive skin as bubbles pop and my body quivers.

He watches me for what feels like a very long minute, then raises the bottle to his lips. He takes a sip and lifts it in a toast with a naughty, wicked grin. “Welcome to the Stephano Scalera version of a golden shower.”

He takes another sip, and holy hell, I don’t know what he just did to me, besides making me come twice in a row, but I might be ruined for other men. He’s caught me off guard, going so far off the usual track that I feel disoriented.

I struggle up, sated and lazy with the rush of two orgasms. His eyes are still on me, studying me intently as I close my legs and hitch the dress’s shoulders back into place.

“You’re okay?” he asks when I’m decent.

“Yes. I—” I don’t know what to say. I’ve never been fucked like this before. But I know what’s expected from me and how to reciprocate. I reach out for him, for his cock where it still bulges in his pants.

“No.” He picks up a champagne flute, pours what’s left in the bottle into the glass, and holds it out to me. “Here.”

I take the glass from him, but this isn’t what I want. The night is still young, and I bet if I can make him succumb to me like I succumbed to him, he’ll touch me. “I still don’t want any champagne.”

“No?”

No. I wanthim.All of him.

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