Page 72 of Bitter Poetry
He lifts his head briefly, pinning me with a hot look, leaving me throbbing, hanging onto the last threads of my sanity. “Just so we’re clear, you didn’t tell me to stop. And unless you tell me to stop, I don’t.”
His head lowers before I can formulate a reply. It feels like the air is punched from my lung as he closes his lips over my pulsing clit and sucks. I tighten my fingers over the covers. Explosions go off behind my tightly clenched eyes. I can’t look at him, yet the image of his dark head between my spread thighs as he sucks lightly upon me remains starkly clear.
Sweat breaks out across the surface of my skin. I’m on fire for him, for what he does, the pleasure and tension cranking ever higher, my muscles locking tight as the quivering sensation manifests inside. Tighter and higher, the breath trapped in my lungs as my heart pounds.
“God, yes. Don’t stop. Please don’t.”
My climax slams into me, and stuttered sobs escape my lips as my body pitches into climactic waves, his arm tightens over my waist, pinning me still when I start to twitch and thrash. A gush of release escapes me. He groans against me, his lips leaving my throbbing clit and poking into me right next to his fingers.
The hot waves keep coming, my body shuddering until oversensitivity takes the edge off the bliss.
He lifts his head and sucks his fingers clean, eyes closed like he is savoring the taste, and God help me, the vision sets off another mini spasm in my womb.
He opens his eyes slowly. “He was right.”
He?“What?”
“My brother. You do taste sweet.”
CHAPTER 23
CHRISTIAN
ONE YEAR LATER…
Le Petit Café. Thank fuck Tony serves good coffee and pastries here otherwise I might have long since lost my mind to boredom.
Carmela likes it.
It’s Friday morning again and we're here for her normality fix, as she refers to it.
“Morning, Christian,” Tony calls.
“Morning, Tony,” I reply.
“Usual?”
“Yeah, please, and one of those pastries.” Some shit has kicked off, and we have another soldier with us today, sitting in the car outside. Roman’s alright. His girl is expecting their second child, and that’s all he talks about. “And get your barista to take one and a coffee out to Roman, would you. He’ll bleat like a bitch if he misses out.”
Tony grins. Lifting the dome on the cake stand, he uses a set of tongs to put a pastry on a plate before sliding it across the counter to me. He gets a brown paper bag for a second one.
I bite in.
Fucking amazing.
I take it all back. She can come here every day if she wants to. I’m all in. Tony’s assistant drops her usual cappuccino off at her table. He doesn’t linger or offer more than a polite smile. He’s young, probably the same age as me, and attending the local college. He’d bang her in a heartbeat given a chance.
But he doesn’t talk to her, not after that first time when I took him aside and had words.
I take my job seriously. Don Ettore would not be happy with some college kid hitting on his woman.
That’s not why I did it.
I can’t even claim it’s because of my brother anymore,not only.
Obsession.
I was obsessed with her before I tasted her. Now it’s a twisted devotion bordering on insanity. We’re like two weather fronts colliding into the perfect cataclysmic storm.
