Page 97 of Ricardo

Her eyes open slowly. The emerald green of them, usually so sure and clear, is now blurred and dark with desire.

“If we keep going, I will want more.”

Her fingers tighten in my hair. “I know.”

“I need you to understand what I’m saying.” I force myself to be clear. "I want it all. I want to fuck you until you can't think straight. I want to hear you scream my name."

Her breath catches on a moan. I feel it all the way down to my cock. "Okay," she says.

That startles a laugh out of me.

"That's all you have to say? Okay?"

"Yeah," she says. "And: what the hell are you waiting for?"

Oh my God. She is glorious. Absolutely, without a doubt, glorious.

And I am lost.

There is no more room in my head for caution. No more room for Mario. No more room for Dante or her age or anything else I've been using to convince myself to stay away.

There is only this woman, this fire, this storm.

There is only Julia.

I take her mouth in a dirty, possessive kiss as my other hand finds the straps of her dress and yanks them down.

I break our kiss and look down.

Black lace.

She chose black lace for work today.

The image that flashes through my mind—Julia, in her bedroom, choosing this particular bra, having no idea where this day would lead—nearly makes me come undone right here.

I wonder if her panties match.

I lower my head and take one nipple in my mouth, right through the lace.

She cries out, her back arching, her hands fisting in my hair as I lick and suck and tease the already hardened peak. I use my teeth and her whole body shudders against me.

I move to the other breast, giving it the same attention, as I reach behind her to unhook her bra. It comes away with a quiet snap, and I toss it aside.

Her breasts are perfect.

Pale and full, tipped with tight, rosy nipples that pucker in the firelight.

Just like the rest of her, they're dotted with freckles. A light dusting of them across her chest. I want to taste every single one.

I lower my head slowly, eyes holding hers.

And then I do exactly what I want.

I start in the valley between her breasts, tracing the path of freckles with the tip of my tongue. Her breathing hitches. Her hands move from my hair to my shoulders, her nails digging in just enough to send a fresh jolt of desire through me.

I take my time, mapping the delectable dots all over, like that number game, but with my tongue.

I am thorough.