Page 74 of Captured Fantasy

“What’s what?”

I touched her nose. “You look like you need another solid fucking.”

“I just like thinking about you like that. All sweaty, working on motorcycles and cars,” she admitted.

“Let’s go inside,” I murmured. “I’m sure we can find a way to work up a sweat.”

She nodded and I led her across the garage to the door at the far end. I punched in the code and the door swung open. She hesitated so I put my hand on her lower back and guided her inside.

She turned in a slow circle. I knew she was mentally comparing my space with her own as she padded through the kitchen in her bare feet. I followed her into the living room, watching her cross to the window.

Everything was modern and sleek, the walls pristine white and the furnishings made of dark wood. There were decorations I’d brought back from Egypt, including several graven plates on the walls and a collection of vases on floating shelves. She stepped across the Turkish rug made of brown and black fibers and pulled back the curtain. Below the condo, the river glittered in the moonlight.

I let out a low whistle and she turned.

“You look fucking good in my living room, Mrs. Russo,” I said.

She smiled and blushed.

“Take your clothes off, Enza,” I said quietly.

I crossed my arms over my chest. She hesitated, her fingers hovering over her blouse. There was a long moment of silence and I lifted a brow in warning.

“Just strip down to your underwear, baby. I want to see you like that in my living room,” I said.

She nodded and bent, shimmying her shorts down her legs. My blood moved faster and my cock hardened in my pants. She was wearing lingerie, I could see the little strip of black lace. That fucking scrap of nothing over her pussy. I caught my breath as she lifted her shirt and pulled it over her head.

Fuck me.

She wore a black thong and a cupless bra. Her pink-brown nipples were hard and so fucking naked. She shook back her hair, straightening her shoulders. Her violet eyes burned as she watched me drag my gaze over her body. Taking in the sight of her surrounded by my things, right where she belonged.

“Fuck, Enza, you’re going to be the death of me,” I murmured. “Come here.”

She obeyed and I took her hand, leading her down the hall to my bedroom. It was a spacious area with a large bed with white linens and a bedside table with a stack of books on it. There was a bar cart in the far corner with a row of unopened glasses of liquor across it and a set of pristine, crystal glasses. On the wall opposite the bed was a painting of a fully nude woman with a motorcycle between her thighs. She stared at it for a long moment and turned to me, raising an eyebrow.

“Really?” she said.

“It was a gift and apparently it’s worth a lot of money, painted by a celebrity or something,” I said. “Amadeo gave it to me as joke for my nineteenth birthday.”

“How much is it worth?”

“Half a million dollars maybe.” I shrugged.

“Oh, is that all?” She laughed.

I slid my hand around the back of her neck and brushed my lips over hers. “That picture I took of your pussy after I fucked it deserves that spot on the wall more than any million dollar painting.”

“Cosimo, no,” she hissed. “That picture stays on your phone.”

“Of course, but if you wanted to give me a picture you felt comfortable having painted, I’d like to replace this one with it,” I said.

She bit her lip hard and reached in my pocket, taking my phone out and putting it in my hand. Eyes on me, she sat on the end of the bed and slid back. Arcing her spine, spreading her thighs. Letting her head fall back so her hair fell like a waterfall across my bedspread.

“Take a picture of my breasts. And my body,” she said. “Don’t go further up than my shoulders.”

She didn’t have to tell me twice. I bent over her and took the picture. My God, she looked good. I tossed aside the phone, slipping off my boots and moving atop her body.

“You’re the most fucking gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen,” I breathed.

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