Page 95 of Pietro
"You." The admission breaks from me, raw and honest. "I need you and your dick."
He kisses me again, softer this time but no less intense. His hands cradle my face like I'm something precious, even as his body presses me into the mattress with delicious weight.
"You have me," he murmurs against my lips, and for a moment, I believe him. "Tonight, you have all of me."
When he pulls my shirt off completely, I feel powerful at the way his breath catches.
"Bellissima," he breathes, his hands skimming up my sides with reverent touches that make me shiver. "So fucking perfect."
I reach for his shirt, needing to feel skin against skin, to ground myself in something real and present. He helps me, yanking it over his head in one fluid motion, and oh God, he's beautiful. All hard planes and angles. With tattoos that show me a piece of him.
I press my lips to the ink, feeling him tense above me.
"Nora." My name comes out strangled, wounded.
"I see you too," I whisper against his skin. "The real you. The broken parts."
He pulls me up for a kiss that's different from the others—desperate and raw and full of something neither of us can name. When he lays me back down, when his hands and mouth map every inch of available skin, it feels like worship and destruction all at once.
"Need to taste you," he growls, moving lower. "Need to make you come apart."
When his mouth finds me, I cry out, my hands tangling in his hair. He's relentless, devoted, playing my body like he's studied it for years instead of days.
Every stroke of his tongue, every careful touch, drives me higher until I'm babbling his name, begging for something I can't articulate.
"That's it,baby," he murmurs against sensitive flesh.
PIETRO
I pull back from her pussy, my mouth swollen from her taste.She arches off the bed, a whimper escaping those perfect lips.
Her hands grip my hair, trying to shove my face back between her thighs. “Don’t stop.”
“Look at me,” I command, my voice rougher than sandpaper.
Her eyes, those deep green pools filled with shattered trust, snap open. They’re wild, desperate.
I lick a path up her trembling stomach, over the swell of her breast. Her heart hammers against my tongue. I find her nipple, suckling hard until she cries out. My name. Always my name.
She thrashes beneath me. “Pietro… please.”
“What do you need, bella?” I bite down gently on the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, tasting salt and Nora. “Say it.”
“You. All of you. Now.” Her fingers scramble down my back, nails digging into the muscle.
Possessive. Hungry. Gone is the careful secretary, the woman building walls. This is the fire I knew lived inside her. The real Nora.
I kiss her then, deep, forcing her mouth open. She meets me with equal hunger, her tongue tangling with mine.
She moans into my mouth, her hips lifting, grinding against the hard ridge of my cock. The friction is exquisite torture. I break the kiss, panting. “Lick me,” I rasp, pushing myself up onto my knees, looming over her.
She doesn’t hesitate. Her tongue flicks out, tracing the thick vein pulsing along the underside of my cock.
A shudder rips through me. “Fuck.”
Her mouth closes over the head, suckling. Tight. Wet silk.
I groan, my head falling back, fingers threading through her hair. She takes me deeper, her tongue swirling.
