Page 29 of From Italy With Love

“Then take me again,” she whispered.

Something in my chest cracked open with those words. At the trust shining in her eyes, the raw desire written across her face, the willingness to give herself to me again, even though she had to be sore from our earlier passion, had to be exhausted from the intensity of what we shared. The vulnerability in her expression undid something fundamental inside me, something I had kept locked away for far too long.

I kissed her hard, possessively, rolling her onto her back with a growl, as she opened for me immediately, eagerly, without hesitation. My hands were everywhere: her breasts, her waist, her thighs as I mapped every curve, every soft plane of her body. She responded to every touch, arching into me like she couldn’t get close enough, making those breathy little sounds that drove me absolutely insane, that made me want to devour her whole. But this time, I wanted to taste her. Needed to taste her with an urgency that bordered on desperation.

I kissed my way down her body with deliberate slowness. Her neck, where I could feel her pulse racing beneath my lips, her delicate collarbone, between the valley of her breasts. I took my time with her nipples, lavishing attention on each one, sucking and biting gently until she was writhing beneath me, her fingers fisted in my hair, tugging almost painfully. Then lower, dragging my mouth over her ribs, her trembling stomach, and the sharp curve of her hipbone.

I settled between her thighs, spreading them wide, opening her completely to my gaze, then looked up at her. She was beautifully flushed and trembling, her chest rising and falling rapidly with anticipation. And when she realized exactly what I was about to do, I watched her eyes go wide with a mixture of surprise and desire.

“Salvatore, you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” I said, my voice rough and thick with need. “I need to taste you. I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

I lowered my head and ran my tongue along her slit. The taste of her, sweet and musky, mixed with my release from earlier, flooded my senses and made me groan. The combination was intoxicating, headier than any wine I had ever tasted. She gasped, and her hips jerked involuntarily as I gripped her thighs to hold her still. My fingers pressed into her soft skin with enough pressure to leave marks I knew I would admire later.

I licked her again, slowly, thoroughly, taking my time to learn every fold, every ridge, every sensitive spot that made her breath catch. She was wet and swollen and perfect, and I couldn’t get enough. The more I tasted, the more I craved. I circled her clit with my tongue, teasing it, feeling it pulse against me, then sucked it gently into my mouth as she cried out, her back arching sharply off the bed.

“Oh God,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “Salvatore, I can’t. It’s too much!”

But I didn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

I worked her with my tongue, my lips, occasionally my teeth, administering gentle scrapes that made her whimper and tremble beneath me. Her thighs shook as she tried to close them around my head, but I kept them spread, kept her open for me. I slid two fingers inside her while I sucked on her clit. She was still so tight, so hot, and her pussy gripped my fingers like a vise. I curled them inside her, searching for that spot that would make her fall apart, and when I found it, she nearly screamed.

Her hands were in my hair, pulling hard enough to sting, and I couldn’t tell if she was trying to push me away or pull me closer. Probably both. Her hips moved against my face, grinding desperately, seeking more friction, more pressure, more everything. And the sounds she made, breathy moans and gasps as she cried out my name like a prayer, was the most erotic thing I had ever heard. I could feel her pussy tighten around my fingers, her body coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap.

“Please,” she begged, though I didn’t know what she was begging for. “Please, I can’t. Oh, God!”

I curled my fingers inside her and found the spot that made her see stars. I increased the pressure on her clit with deliberate, focused strokes. Her thighs were trembling now, clamping around my head with increasing urgency. I could feel her getting closer, the way her body tensed beneath me, every muscle coiled tight, the way her breathing became ragged and desperate, punctuated by soft whimpers that went straight to my cock.

“Come for me,” I growled against her, my words vibrating against her sensitive flesh. “Let me taste you when you come. I want to feel it.”

She shattered with a cry, her body convulsing, her back arching off the bed as her inner walls clenched rhythmically around my fingers in waves of pleasure. I worked her through it, my fingers maintaining a steady pressure inside her while my tongue gentled on her clit as the waves gradually subsided, and when she finally went limp, boneless and spent, I kissed the inside of her thigh tenderly and looked up at her. She was flushed and trembling. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, her eyes glazed and unfocused. She looked absolutely wrecked.

Beautiful and wrecked and mine.

All mine.

I crawled back up her body slowly, kissing a path along her skin, and then kissed her deeply, letting her taste herself on my tongue. She moaned into my mouth as her hands came up to grip my shoulders weakly, her fingers digging in. I could feel my cock, hard again, aching, begging and throbbing as it pressed insistently against her thigh.

“I need to be inside you again,” I said against her lips, my voice rough with need. “Can you take me again? Tell me you can.”

“Yes,” she breathed, her voice shaky but certain. “Yes, please. I need you.”

I positioned myself at her entrance. The head of my cock slid through her folds, through her wetness, as I pushed inside with one hard, claiming thrust. She cried out. Her nails dug into my back hard enough to leave marks, and I groaned at the sensation overwhelming my senses. She was even tighter now, swollen and sensitive from her orgasm. The friction was almost too much, bordering on overwhelming as her body gripped my dick like a vise.

I set a harder pace this time—not rough, but more intense, more desperate. My control slipped with every thrust, every breathless sound she made beneath me. I couldn’t be gentle. Couldn’t be slow. Couldn’t hold back the raw need that coursed through my veins. I needed her too badly, needed to feel her wrapped around me, needed to lose myself in her completely, needed to forget everything else that existed outside this moment, this room, this connection between us.

“You feel so fucking good,” I groaned, my hips snapping forward with increasing urgency, every nerve ending in my body on fire. “So tight. So perfect. Christ, baby, your pussy is destroying me.” My words came out strained, almost broken, because it was the truth. She was unraveling me completely, stripping away every defense I had ever built.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped as her nails dug into my shoulders and her legs wrapped tightly around my waist to pull me closer, deeper. “Please don’t stop.”

I didn’t.

I couldn’t have even if I’d wanted to. I fucked her hard and deep, driven by pure instinct and overwhelming desire, possibly insanity, as the headboard slammed rhythmically against the wall with each powerful thrust. She met me stroke for stroke, her hips lifting eagerly to take my dick deeper, to take everything I had to give. The sounds of our lust filled the room. Skin slapping against skin, our ragged breaths, her moans and my groans—they were obscene and perfect and beautiful in their rawness.

I could feel the pressure building steadily in my spine, in my balls, that familiar tightening that signaled I was close, but I wasn’t ready for this to end. Not yet. Not when she felt this incredible. I reached between our sweat-slicked bodies, found her clit, and circled it roughly with my fingers, applying just the right amount of pressure, making her scream. Her entire body convulsed violently around me as another orgasm tore through her with devastating force. The sensation of her cunt clenching around my dick so tightly, the way she cried my name like a prayer or a curse, the pure ecstasy written across her beautiful face—it pushed me over the edge.