Page 112 of Rosetti Family New York
“Let me get the key for you right away.”
I try not to shiver as the chill from the street settles back into my skin. I try not to gasp as his breath, warm, flares against the side of my neck. It’s a small sound, but he hears it and pulls me tighter.
The elevator doors close on us. The lobby vanishes, then the second floor, then the third. I’m done with teasing. I pull his face to mine. I want more. He gives me more, lifting me against him, tasting me, tasting the side of my neck, right where he knows he’ll make me crazy. My legs wrap around him, tight. His hands tangle in my hair. I’m losing my mind.
I imagine the suite will be nice, but the elevator is nicer. It’s my favorite place we’ve ever been. I press against him and think I might die. I’ve wanted this forever, and I’m finally going to have it. He has no idea what he’s done, how dangerous I am. The rules have changed. He can’t touch me like this and expect to keep his clothes.
I slide a hand between us and unbutton his jacket, then push it over his shoulders and onto the elevator floor. His shirt is next, but not patiently. I’ve wanted to put my lips on his chest every night we’ve been sharing a bed—platonically, by mutual agreement, which just seems fucking ridiculous now—and I’m not about to wait a moment longer. I pop the buttons with my fingers and teeth, ripping it open and pressing my mouth, open and hot, against his skin.
“Besiana,” he says, rough, hoarse. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him like that.
The elevator dings, and he pulls back, only for a second. He shrugs the ruined shirt from his shoulders and grins in a way that would scare anyone else. But I’m not anyone else. I love it, and he knows I love it, and I’m sick of trying to hide myself. Finally, it feels like I’ve found someone I don’t need to hide from.
I’m so absorbed in his body, that I almost miss the whole penthouse thing as we spill into it.
Dom’s bare chest, all lean muscle and skin, is as perfect as I’ve always imagined. Every time I’ve thought of it has been exactly like this. His ruined shirt is puddled on the floor, white and crisp and tailored and torn, and I can’t believe I did that, except I can, because it’s how I feel right now. It’s how I’ve felt ever since he pushed me to my knees to punish me with his cock in my mouth.
He traps me against the nearest wall, his eyes as fierce and hard as his cock. His mouth is soft, wet, everywhere, then he’s trailing kisses along my collarbone, then he’s at my thighs. My wicked, sharp heels fall off my feet and onto the floor. He slideshis hands up my legs, pushing my skirt up, up, up. He kisses a line up my leg, a deliberate line of fire, and my head falls back against the wall. My eyes shut, and I lose track of everything.
“Dom,” I say, arching, the wall hard and cool against my shoulders. “Dom.”
He doesn’t answer. His face is level with my core. The fabric of my panties shifts aside, and his fingers slide inside me, working me until I can’t stand it. Until I can’t stand. I clutch at his hair, pulling it in great handfuls, pulling him in tighter. His other hand presses against my hip, bruising, insistent. He wants me still. But I’m shaking, wild. I never thought it could be like this. I’ve never let it be like this with anyone before, so wild and reckless.
“More,” I say because I am weak and greedy and can’t think of any reason not to ask.
His fingers thrust inside me, harder and faster, until my whole world tilts and spins. I’m breathless and helpless, clinging to him and catching around him, and I’m so close to shattering I’m scared he might stop. But he doesn't stop. He pushes me further, my body so tight around his fingers, bringing me higher, closer, my mind a wild, dizzy blur.
Then he’s pulling his fingers out of me. Pulling out slowly enough to drive me insane, slowly enough that I think I might die from it.
And then he’s standing, tall and broad and perfect, his eyes fierce as they meet mine. He holds my gaze, unreadable, then brings his fingers to my lips.
I part them, wet and wanting, taking him in, tasting myself. He watches me, intense but silent, as I wrap my tongue around his skin.
Then his mouth is on mine again, his tongue slipping against the tips of his own fingers, a wicked, delicious tangle that leaves me breathless.
“Down you go, husband,” I tell him, exerting gentle pressure on his shoulders and, to my surprise, he obeys.
In a moment, he’s on his knees again, right where I need him. His mouth is where his fingers were, a slow stroke of fire that consumes me. He licks my clit, toys with it, not giving me enough pressure until my hands bury themselves in his hair and push. There. His fingers join his tongue, vibrating against me. My back arches and lifts from the wall. And I’m burning and lost and alive. He flicks his tongue, rough and precise, and my world is him.
He’s greedy for me, I can tell by his moans, greedy for the way I shudder and come undone, for the way I can’t help but call his name. I shatter again and again and again, and he loves it, I love it, and I love that I love it.
It’s almost too much, the way he works me. The way he wins. The way I let him. He pulls away and looks at me, shaking and raw. There’s no distance, not now. Not anymore. He’s under my skin, and he knows it, and he’s so damn pleased I almost want to cry. Keeping my distance from him has been like fighting to breathe. I’ve never been allowed to be this way—reckless and wanting and loved. But now, with him, I am. I’m free.
He's up on his feet in a flash, pulling me into his arms and nuzzling my neck with that stubble of his. His lips trail fire along my skin, and I whimper a little, still sensitive from my climax. He chuckles, low and intimate.
"Can you handle more?" he whispers against my earlobe. I shudder.
His hands go to the small of my back, sliding the zipper of my dress down ever so slowly, letting it pool around my feet. Now I'm bare to him except for my lace panties. The tension is deliciously unbearable; every second that goes by makes me want him even more. And he knows it; he's taking his sweet time on purpose.
His fingers trace the curve of my hips before he hooks a thumb into the waistband and tugs them down.
"Beautiful," he murmurs against my lips, his body a hard wall of muscle against mine.
I unclasp his pants, pushing them down along with his briefs, all in one hurried motion. His hardness springs free, and I gasp at the sight of him, standing tall and proud before me. He’s beautiful in a way that’s almost sinful.
Finally, he stands before me completely naked. His body is a sculpture of lean muscle, every inch hard and smooth under my gaze. But it’s the way he looks at me that really undoes me.
His hands fall to his sides as he looks at me, eyes dark and heavy with desire. He's silent, just drinking me in, and a rush of adrenaline surges through my veins like a hit of the strongest drug. I revel in it, in him, in the power I hold over this man who dominates every room he enters.
