Page 140 of The Italian Obsession

He stands tall, his hands in the pockets of his expensive navy suit; he seems so in control and powerful. An enigma, all of his own.

I can’t believe this night, I can’t believe he wants me. Is this real?

As if he’s been waiting all night to get me alone, he steps forward and kisses me, his tongue sweeping through my open lips, and he grabs the back of my head to guide me where he wants me.

I know this kiss.

I crave this kiss.

He closes the door, flicks the lock, and then turns toward me.

“Voglio la mia donna, nel mio letto intorno al mio cazzo,” he purrs.

Hearing his whispered Italian voice does things to my insides. “Translate for me?” I whisper.

“I want my woman in my bed… around my cock.” He kisses me hard. “Right fucking now.” Our teeth clash as he pulls me toward him with urgency. “Get it off. Get your fucking clothes off.” In one swift movement, he lifts my dress over my head.

I stand before him in a black, lacy G-string and matching bra. His eyes darken as they drop down my body. He puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me down to my knees in front of him. Desperate to please him, I wait for his instruction as I try to control my erratic heartbeat.

There are two men in my life. One is carefree and gentle. Rici, the man who makes beautiful love to me. The other one is the man who fucks me like he hates me. My body is his. He takes what he wants, how he wants, and it’s so fucking hot, I can’t stand it.

Enrico Ferrara is here in all his glory tonight, and anticipation is thumping hard through my body.

He takes his suit jacket off and throws it to the side. He loosens his tie with a sharp snap, and he tears it off. With his eyes locked on mine, he unzips his suit pants and takes his cock out. He gives it a slow stroke, and my insides clench hard.

“Apri la bocca,” he says.

My legs open wider, knees scratching on the carpet.

“Sto per scoparti la bocca.”

He kicks off his shoes and drops his pants. I’m blessed with this sight of his huge cock at eye level. Thick veins course down its engorged length as it hangs heavily between his legs. Pre-ejaculate drips from its end as it searches for swollen wet flesh.

My eyes close, and I hold my breath. He walks around me, sizing me up. Working out how he wants to fuck me.

“Succhia il mio cazzo.”

“Translate,” I whisper. “I don’t understand you.”

He grabs a handful of my hair and tugs my head back sharply so our eyes meet. “Then learn, because I only fuck in Italian.”

“Yes,” I pant up at him as the grip on my hair becomes painful.

His dark eyes hold mine, and he aggressively jerks my head again. “I said… suck my fucking cock.”

My insides melt and my body screams to be dominated.

God, I love him like this.

I lean forward and take him deep down my throat. He hisses in approval and tenderly pushes the hair back from my forehead as he watches me. I gag, struggling to take him.

“All of it,” he commands. “Take me whole.”

He pushes himself deeper, and I instantly gag again. He smiles darkly. The bastard is loving watching me struggle with his size.

I close my eyes to calm myself, and we get into a rhythm. He grabs my hair in his hands and begins to ride my mouth, and I watch him begin to come undone. With every pump, there’s something a little more animal in his eyes.

He’s turning me inside out.