Page 42 of Crazed

"Well, don't keep me in suspense," I tease, but I can't deny my excitement. I love shoes.

He leads me up the stairs and slides the key into my front door. Instead of opening it, he spins into me. "Hey."

"What?"

He holds my face, and the vulnerable expression that makes my insides turn to jelly appears. "I love you." He kisses me, and the love he has for me becomes a sheath, consuming the inner depths of my soul.

It's all too much right now—his sacrifice of moving out of his mansion so he can be with me, the way he endlessly spoils me, and his protective manner that I want to pretend will never end but know it's impossible to keep.

I breathlessly pull away, forcing a smile. "I love you, too. I better get ready."

I push past him and go to the bedroom then freeze.

He chuckles. "I thought you'd be surprised."

A pair of Jimmy Choo gold stilettos are sitting on my bed. Massimo caught me staring at them through a window one day when we waited for the coffee shop to open. He tried to drag me into the store to try them on, but I pulled him away, not wanting him to spend any more money on me.

"This is too much," I cry out, picking them up. The smooth leather feels like butter. A four-inch gold heel has a sharp appearance. I wonder if I could poke Leo's eye out if given the opportunity. I almost laugh at the thought but catch myself when Massimo circles his arm around my body, holding out a La Perla shopping bag.

"Don't think I forgot about later tonight," he warns.

I stick my hand in the bag and pull out a delicate purple-and-black lace bra and thong. I run my finger over the soft material. "Wow."

"Don't move," Massimo orders.

I stay still, missing the heat from his body, and wait.

A few moments pass, and he returns with a tumbler of scotch. He takes a seat in the armchair. A smug expression lights up his face. He takes a mouthful of his drink, sits back, and commands, "Strip, dolce. I've been waiting all day to see that little number on you."

I don't take my eyes off his, slowly removing my clothes, loving every minute of how he stares at me. When I'm naked, I state, "Sorry, sexy. I'm showering first."

He curls a finger at me.

I strut over to him, standing between his legs. "What can I do for you, sir?"

His lips twitch. He grabs my hips, leans forward, then deeply inhales. Blowing the air on my pussy, he meets my gaze. "You don't smell dirty to me."

"Oh, but I am," I insist.

"If you're going to shower, I won't get my appetizer before we go out."

I pretend to pout, running my hand through his hair. "Aw, poor baby. You'll be so hungry."

He takes his scotch, swirls a finger in it, then glides it over my clit. "Oops. I guess I need to lick that off."

My pulse races. I try to contain my smile, teasing, "You don't want me to just wash it off?"

His tongue flicks against me, and my knees wobble. I grasp his hair tighter.

In one move, he slides his ass on the floor, tugs my knees on the seat, and holds my body tight to his face.

I reach for the back of the chair, gripping it as he shows me no mercy.

Heat courses through my blood, causing hot pellets of sweat to break out on my skin. I try not to move, begging him to let me grind against him.

"No," he warns, his lips against my pussy. Then he flicks his tongue faster.

"Please, sir! Oh God! Please!" I cry out.

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