Page 27 of King Of Order

I raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of my lips. ‘Dangerous enough to keep you away?’

‘No,’ Rio rasped, almost to himself. ‘Not dangerous enough.’

Still, as his hand brushed mine on the table, I had a wild tear—maybe losing control wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Before I thought better of it, I tilted in to meet him.

I moved closer, my lips grazing over his.

The kiss was initially soft and hesitant, but it soon heated up as our mouths melded, and a jolt, like lightning, ran through my veins.

I’d surprised him—I tagged it in the slight pause, how his body stiffened for just a second.

But then he responded, his lips moving on mine in a slow, deliberate, passionate, intimate rhythm.

It felt right in a way that scared me.

I moaned, and then he growled into my mouth.

He began to give me the kiss of my life.

The passion kicked in.

Lips hard, tongue wet, suckling deep, driving me delirious.

His hands, too, explored; one slid to my front, hand delving, diving, finding my left tit and plumping it.

The thumb worked my freaking tingling nipples through the lace of my bra and silk of my blouse.

His other hand stroked and glided up and down my spine.

The booth hid us and our wild petting with perfection in a darkened corner.

We melted into each other as his tipped wetness worked and thrust inside my mouth, and his fingers pinched my tits.

Never had I experienced such a wild sensation.

Hell, he tasted so divine.

The tingling began in my clit, heating scorching a line up to my nipples and my mouth, and then, with a gasp, I exploded.

Panicking while my body rocked through the wildest furor, I pushed my limbs together. Keeping my lips on his, my hands sunk in his hair, trying to cover up my bliss.

But it was impossible, and when he tore his mouth from me, he stared down at me as my chest heaved.

I panted, eyes tightly shut, thighs trembling as the waves of my orgasm engulfed me before finally ebbing away.

When I opened my eyes, he tilted his head in a question, the air thick with unspoken words.

Those pale eyes searched mine as heat crept into my cheeks.

I groaned, leaning back, exposed, vulnerable, and utterly embarrassed.

‘Fotto!’ I muttered, running a hand through my hair. ‘You now think of me as somesfacciata.’

To his credit, he didn’t lean into my self-deprecation.

Instead, his gaze narrowed, brow arched. ‘Wouldn’t quite go as far as calling you a floozy,’ he drawled, eyes flicking on the movement of my fists through my untamed tresses. ‘You are wild though, Chiara Tirone.’

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