Page 131 of Ache for You (Slow Burn 3)
“No panties,” he breathes, staring down at me with avid eyes. He slips a thumb into my wetness and strokes it up and down as I moan and rock my hips, my nipples tingling.
Looking at me spread open, his fingers between my legs, he grips his erection in his other hand and squeezes it through his trousers.
Wowzers. I almost faint from desire.
He draws his zipper down and pulls his hard cock out of his boxer briefs, fisting it at the base. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, watching me with hooded eyes as I flex my hips in time to the movement of his thumb. “God, you turn me on.”
“Right back atcha, hot stuff. I need to touch you.”
I strain against the belt, tugging my wrists, but he’s got me tightly bound. Why that should be so hot, I don’t know, but I can’t remember ever feeling this wound up. The air against my skin is excruciating. The sheets under my body are a bed of hot coals.
His hands work both of us until I’m panting and sweating, about to break. “Please. Oh God, please.”
“What do you want, sweetheart?”
“Please make me come.”
“How? Mouth or cock?”
I let out a low guttural moan, rolling my head on the pillow, and he chuckles.
“Certo. Both.”
He lowers his head between my thighs and replaces his thumb with his tongue.
I suck in a breath through my teeth, exhaling hard when he slides a finger inside me. “Ohh . . .”
He grunts into me. It’s dirty and hot, and I love it. I love it so much I open my legs wider and rock my hips against his tongue, moaning like a porn star when he reaches up to tweak my hard nipple.
Leather cuts into my wrists. Matteo’s rough cheeks scrape against my bare thighs. I’m trembling and panting and desperate for him, for him to fill me, fuck me, tell me how he feels about me as he spills himself inside my body and claims me for his own.
I arch hard against the bed, pulling at my restraints, the ache between my legs gathering into burning hot pins and needles. Almost—almost—
As I’m about to go over the edge, his mouth vanishes. Then he slaps me lightly between my legs where his tongue just was, right on my throbbing clit.
I come, screaming.
He grips one of my knees and opens my legs wider, and slaps me again. And again.
And again.
I cry out, the pleasure so intense it’s almost pain.
He speaks to me in Italian as I writhe, his tone low and urgent, the words spilling out in a rush that becomes a musical hum in my ears. I’m helpless, lost, jerking and wailing, begging him not to stop in a voice that doesn’t sound like my own.
“Beautiful. Beautiful,” he whispers raggedly, and slaps me again.
When the last convulsion passes and I’m drenched and limp on the sheets, every part of me aching, I burst into tears.
“Sweetheart, oh sweetheart, oh God, did I hurt you? What’s the matter?”
Matteo is frantic, ripping the belt off my wrists and gathering me into his arms. I sob against his chest, clinging to him, until I catch my breath and my tears slow.
He takes my face in his hands. “I’m so sorry! I thought you liked it, I thought it felt good for you, I should have asked—”
“Don’t be sorry. That was the most incredible orgasm of my life.”
He stills. His eyes search my face. “Really?”
