Page 126 of Freed
“Yes.”
“Look at me and say it.”
I do. “I want you.”
His eyes close for one brutal second. Then he kisses me again, slower this time somehow making it even worse. He leans me back against the sheets like he’s trying to keep from crushing me with the force of his wanting, and I drag him down with me because if he leaves even an inch between us I might lose my mind.
I can feel how badly he wants me. It’s in every rough breath, every restrained touch, every pause where he seems to fight himself before giving me one little bit more.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“Then die quietly,” I whisper back, and he laughs once, like I’ve struck him somewhere tender.
The mattress shifts as he braces himself over me.
The city glows beyond the windows. The room smells like clean sheets, my shampoo, and him. My body is one bright, aching nerve ending as he undresses. And when he finally gives me what I asked for, it is with my name in his mouth like a curse and a prayer all at once.
“Oh, god, Lorenzo,” I moan as he slides into me.
“Easy,cara,” he murmurs. “Let me do all of the work.”
His pace is brutally slow, which makes me feel each inch of him even more.
“Please,” I beg. “Fill me. Give me what I need.”
My nipples ache. My pussy aches. Most of all, my heart aches.
His head lowers and he captures a nipple between his lips. When he sucks, I moan.
“Your body is changing,cara,” he says, his hand spreading over me with devastating care. “You were beautiful before, but like this…” His gaze drifts over me, dark and reverent all at once. “Like this, you take my breath away.”
The softness in his eyes nearly destroys me. For one reckless second, I almost tell him everything.
But then his mouth curves, and he says, “Russo is a lucky man.”
Something sharp slices through the haze. “Don’t talk about him.”
His expression darkens, and the heat between us turns possessive.
“Why?” he murmurs. “Because right now, you can’t think about anyone but me and how you’re dripping all over my dick?”
I should answer him with something clever. Something cutting.
But he moves again, and the words scatter. Pleasure climbsso high, so fast, it leaves me breathless, arching, clutching at him as if he’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
“Oh God,” I pant. “I’m so close.”
His forehead dips to mine. His breath is rough. Controlled, but only barely.
Then, just when I’m trembling on the edge, he stills. The abrupt pause tears a sound from me.
“Lorenzo—”
“There’s something I’ve wanted to say,” he whispers, his voice so low it feels dangerous. “Something I should keep to myself.”
My heart stumbles. “What?”
His gaze drops between us to the curve of my stomach, then lifts back to mine.
