Page 56 of Arranged

I initiated it.

I didn’t beg and he didn’t beg.

I’m kissing him because I wholeheartedlyneedto. I need to feel his desire like my own and give him something I can’t put into words just yet.

I kiss Santino like I’ll never get another chance, and he gives me everything I already know he feels for me in return. He lets me feel his desire, his need, and his obsession, and I return it with just as much fevered passion.

Santino wraps his arms around my back and his jacket slips from my shoulders and pools at my feet. I run my fingers up the back of his head and mess up his perfect hair the way I envisioned during dinner. I grip thick chunks in my fists and he groans into my mouth. The vibrations travel through me and stoke the fire already blazing through my veins, turning me into a completely savage being who can only think of one thing –more. More of everything.

I scratch at his scalp and he grunts, sliding his hands down to grip my ass. I groan, and he uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into my mouth and taste me fully.

I press myself as close as I can to him, but it’s not enough. I need to be closer.

His cock is hard against my stomach, so I try to move against him to tell him I need more, and he grips my ass tighter, making me moan into his mouth and bite down on his lip.

“Farfalla,” he growls.

Santino slides his hands below my ass and lifts me up and spins me around in a swift motion that has me dizzy. He plops me down on the kitchen island and growls in frustration when he can’t easily spread my legs to step between them because of my dress.

“This dress is so damn tight,” he chastises, and the animalistic roughness to his voice makes my insides pool between my thighs.

“I didn’t think you’d complain about that,” I say breathlessly.

“It’s keeping me from my heaven, baby. Come here.” Santino tosses me over his shoulder like a rag doll and grips the hem ofmy dress below my knees and lifts it above my ass in a single motion before sitting me back down on the counter.

Holy shit, that was hot.

He spreads my legs apart and steps between them, pulling me forward until my core meets his hard length. “That’s better,” he praises, and my head falls back with a moan. “Fuck,” he grunts. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Mia. My dream come true.”

Santino’s lips travel the length of my neck up to my jaw, and he kisses his way over to my lips.

“Santino,” I sigh, slicing my fingers through his hair.

“Where do you want my attention most, Mia? Here?” He kisses my lips and glides his hot tongue across my bottom lip. I nod yes, but then shake my head no. “Here?” His hands slide up my waist and he cups my breasts through my dress, squeezing my aching mounds. And while it feels incredible, I shake my head no again. “No? Then where, my bride? Where do you need me most?” His hands slide back down my sides, down the length of my outer thighs, and then back to my waist. “Here?” He rolls his hips so I feel his hard length hit me right where I need him most, and moan, nodding my head frantically.

“Yes,” I breathe, my vision blurry with desire as I look into his dark eyes that are like two bottomless pools of dark chocolate I’d love to dive right into and drink from like a savage.

“You want my fingers or my mouth there,farfalla?”

I shake my head and his eyes turn even darker, if that’s possible. “There’s only one other option, Mia.”

He uses my given name when he’s serious, so I blink to clear my vision, wanting him to see my clear choice.

“Yes, I know.” I drop my hands to the tops of his shoulders and around to the buttons on his shirt, undoing one. “I want to see you, Santino. I want to see my husband.” His chest rises and falls with heavier labored breaths, and I can feel his heartpounding as I undo another button. “It’s only fair since you’ve seen all of me. Don’t you think?”

Apparently, I’ve rendered him speechless, because he only manages to nod his head.

“And the deep ache I feel inside me won’t be reached by your fingers or your tongue, Santino.”

“Mia,” he chokes out, my name a desperate plea.

“Just show me my husband first. Let me see what’s mine.”

“I’m yours,” he says fiercely as I undo another button, like he didn’t believe the statement until I said it. “And if you want to see what’s yours, baby, I’ll happily oblige.”

I continue to unbutton his shirt as he kicks off his shoes, undoes his pants, and steps out of them. I get to the last button and then boldly place my hands inside the parted fabric, flat against his chest. My breath hitches on contact while he hisses.

“Fuck, Mia, just your hands on me like that feels so good.”

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