Damiano flicks on the lights and his bedroom comes into focus. There’s a wide desk, a king-sized bed, a bar cart in one corner, and two upholstered armchairs placed by a small coffee table. Its sophisticated, tidy, and very male. Nothing is flashy, but it’s clear that every piece of furniture and every scrap of textile in here has been meticulously chosen by a professional.
I gravitate to the carved wooden desk. “This is gorgeous,” I say as I run my fingers along the glass surface that protects the designs.
Damiano pours two glasses of wine and hands one to me. His eyes drop to the desk. “It’s one of my favorite possessions. My sister got this made for me by an artisan outside of Napoli.” A rare softness creeps into his expression.
The image of little Damiano holding the toddler in his arms squeezes at my heart. “You’re close.”
“Yes,” he says.
I like that he’s fond of his sister. It’s a glimpse at a part of his life I haven’t seen before, and it makes me feel closer to him. If I told him how much I missed my sisters, I have a suspicion he’d understand.
He clears his throat as if to dispel any lingering thoughts and takes a sip of his wine. Everything about this man is attractive, down to the way his Adam’s apple moves as he swallows. Heat blankets my skin again. I down half of my glass in one go and cradle it with both of my palms.
The temperature rises further when he places his glass down on the desk and squares his body toward me. He lifts his hand to my face and traces my jaw with his thumb. “How’s the wine?”
“Very good,” I say.
“I know you’ll taste even better.” His voice drags over the place between my legs like a silk tie.
I have a serious weakness, I realize. After Lazaro’s disinterest, the idea of a powerful, gorgeous, sane man wanting me is like catnip. I want to believe so badly that Damiano is affected by me, but there’s a needy voice in the back of my head that craves more convincing.
“You hated me,” I whisper, thinking back to how he wouldn’t give me a single break in that first week following us meeting.
Damiano pries the glass out of my hands and places it beside his. “I never hated you.” He moves his palm to the back of my neck. “I doubted you. I thought your stubborn strength was an act, but it’s not. It’s real.” The tip of his nose traces my cheek bone. “You are magnificent.”
My God, if only he knew who I really was… He’s wrong about me being strong, yet he speaks with such conviction that I almost believe him. It’s like he can shape me into someone else by his willpower alone.
He moves closer, pressing the length of his body against mine and enveloping me in his heady scent. When his lips find mine, I moan into his mouth. Everything is languid and hot, like an erotic fever dream.
I’m not wearing a bra. His palms find my bare breasts under my shirt, and the sensation of his calloused thumbs dragging over my nipples turn them into hard points. He twists them lightly, then grunts when I start to buck against him, desperate to ease the pressure building between my legs.
He breaks the kiss, drops his hands to my shorts, and peels them quickly down my legs.
When he kneels in front of me, I press my palms against the desk. Anticipation of what’s about to come makes my breasts ache and my pussy quiver. He considers my thong for half a second before he fists one of the straps and tears it off me.
I yelp. “Damiano!”
His wicked gaze lands on my face. “Sit on the edge of the desk,” he commands, “and spread your legs.”
My heartbeat drums inside my ears. I’ve only had sex once. Once. This is already way more charged than anything that happened between Lazaro and I that one night. I swallow and feel blood rise to my cheeks. I get my butt up but I can’t seem to make my legs move.
Damiano notices my hesitation. One of his brows arches up. “Timid?”
“No,” I say immediately. He’s baiting me because he knows I’ll bite.
“Then show me that glistening pussy.”
I groan. My face feels like it’s sunburned.
He drags his big hands down my bare thighs. “You’re shy.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
A hint of a smile appears on his lips. “Then why the hesitation?”
“Give me a moment, okay?”
His eyes fill with a subtle tenderness that nearly unravels me. “You don’t need to be shy around me, Ale. There’s nothing you can do to make me think your body is anything less than perfect.”
He wraps a palm over each knee and starts to move them apart with gentle force. I shut my eyes and breathe. Deeply. I’m probably leaking all over his beautiful desk.
When he’s finished spreading me open, he makes a rough sound in his throat. “Fuck.”
He shrugs off his suit jacket, and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, looking like a man possessed. Slowly, he brings his face closer and closer, and then he draws his hot tongue over my seam.
That first lick is so divine that I fall back on my elbows and let out a desperate whine. He twists his tongue over my clit, then drags his teeth over the hood, playing me like a fucking instrument. How does he know how to do this? Do all normal men learn at some point?
When he lifts my thighs and places them over his shoulders, I collapse fully on the desk. Something hard digs into my back. “Ouch.”
He peeks up at me, his mouth still sucking on my clit.
“Not you,” I pant as I reach under my back and wrap my fingers around the offending object. It’s a thick, expensive pen.
He takes it from me.
“What are you doing?”
His eyes darken as he starts fucking me with his tongue. I feel the cold surface of the pen brush against that other hole, and I start to squirm. “Damiano—”
He pushes the end of the pen, wet with my juices, inside just an inch, and I gasp in shock. My thighs shake, it’s like my entire body is a live wire, vibrating with electricity. He’s still watching me, tracking every reaction he sees on my face, and I’m sure that in this moment, he knows what I’m experiencing better than I do. I’m so overwhelmed with new sensations, I can’t think. He replaces his tongue with his thick fingers and does that come hither motion from earlier. It’s enough to push me over the edge. I dig my fingers into the carved edge of the desk. Everything dims except for the powerful shocks of pleasure that radiate from my core.
He holds me steady while I ride out the waves, and once they pass, he takes the end of the pen out of me, stands, and presses his body over mine. I’m still panting, my breaths fanning over his wet lips as he says, “You taste so fucking good, Ale.”
“Do I?” I’ve never thought about my taste before.
“Lick it off my lips.”
He wants me to taste myself? I’m not sure how I feel about it, but I know I’ll do anything he tells me to at the moment. His dark gaze holds me in its grip as I dart out my tongue and drag it over his full bottom lip. Hmm. It’s not unpleasant. Earthy and a little salty. I lick him again, and this time he moans and presses his mouth over mine.
I tangle my hands in his hair and wrap my legs around his waist as he devours me. I can feel the desire he has for me, and not just because of the hardness in his pants, but because of the desperate vigor behind his kiss.
This man wants me. If I hadn’t run, I would have lived my entire life without experiencing this once.
That realization sets off something inside of me. To my utter horror, I begin to cry. Tears trail paths down my cheeks, and I don’t want him to see them, so I break the kiss and press my nose into his chest. I want to inhale his skin, to imprint its memory somewhere deep inside my head.
But he’s not stupid. Far from it. It takes him only moments to realize something is wrong.
He places his hands on the desk and pushes himself up to put some distance between us. When he sees my face, his expression becomes perplexed. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” I say with a watery voice. “I’m okay.”
He helps me sit up. “You’re crying.”
“Unfortunately.”
“I don’t understand. Talk to me.”
God, why does he have to sound so worried? It makes me cry more.
He runs his hand over the back of his head and swears. “This is really not the reaction I was going for.” He produces a tissue from somewhere and hands it to me. “Here.”
I swipe at my drippy nose and eyes and at last manage to compose myself. “You didn’t do anything. It’s just…” I glance away. “I’m overwhelmed. You see…I haven’t had that done to me before.”
His amazement is underscored with a sharp intake of breath. “You haven’t had a man go down on you?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“I was the first.”
“Yes.”
He swipes his bottom lip with his thumb and studies me for a long moment. “You don’t have much experience with this, do you?”
Embarrassment prickles over my cheeks. “No.”
I don’t know what I expect him to do, but it sure isn’t to sigh and pull me into his chest. “I assumed things. Again.”
“It’s fine. I—” I clear my throat. “I’m ready to keep going.”
“We’re done for tonight.”
“What? I thought you had other plans.”
He rubs his cheek against my temple. “The things I said to you… What did they make you feel?”
“The dirty things?”
“Yes.”
“I liked them.”
“Did you?”
“God, yes.”
He makes a noise of satisfaction. “Good. I have so many more things I want to tell you. To do to you. But not tonight.”
He lifts me up by my thighs, making me curl my bare legs around his waist, and carries me to the enormous bed. He’s still hard, I can feel him right between my legs, but when I try to grind against him, he moves me so that I can’t reach him anymore.
My emotions are all over the place. I’m embarrassed and vulnerable. I really screwed this up, and I don’t understand why I couldn’t hold my emotions in. It’s like my mind isn’t working the way it should—the way it did before everything happened with Lazaro.
Damiano pulls the duvet back and places me on the silky sheets.
“I’m a mess,” I mumble.
He climbs in beside me and wraps his arms around my waist. The empathy he’s displaying at the moment is so unexpected that I start to question my entire perception of him. Who is the real Damiano?
“Get some sleep,” he tells me, holding me close to him.
He caresses my back with light strokes until he drifts off. When his breathing slows, I tilt my head up and analyze his face. He looks at peace.
Unfortunately, I can’t relate. I won’t be able to catch a wink here with him. My heart is bouncing around my chest, and my thoughts race like a herd of wild horses. I think back to him kneeling between my legs, and I can’t believe that that is what sex can be. Of course, I was aware that what Lazaro and I did could hardly constitute real lovemaking, but even in my most optimistic fantasies, I could never have come close. The way he looked at me the entire time, the way he saw me, the pleasure that he made me feel…
I squeeze my eyes shut. For Damiano, this was just one of many hookups. For me, a revelation. This asymmetry is not in my favor, and I can’t risk giving him any more power over me.
When I’m confident he’s in deep sleep, I climb out of the bed, tug my clothes on, and get off the yacht. As I flag a taxi to take me back to the hostel, I’m sure of one thing and one thing only.
This can’t happen again.
