Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“This much.”
I don’t think. I just move.
Propped up on my toes, I squash my lips to his mouth. My kiss starts slowly, but it turns blinding when Matteo’s lips part at the request of my lashing tongue.
After inching us back until the heavenly soft bedding cuddles my back and his knee wedges between my legs, he deepens our kiss. He kisses me furiously, dampening my panties to the point I can’t blame the shadowing on sweat from hours on the dance floor.
The whiskey he sampled throughout the night lingers on his lips, and the vanilla oak traces meld well with the lemon juice in my cocktails.
The tension shifts from teasing into something warm and wanting, but then his hand comes up, firm and steady, to pin me to the mattress.
“Fuck…” With the hand not curled around my throat, he adjusts his crotch. “We can’t. We have to stop.”
I blink, my breaths uneven. “Why?”
He exhales slowly, as if his internal fight is the fiercest battle he’s faced to date. “Because you’ve had too much to drink.” He strays his eyes to the door. “Dante would take my fucking nuts, and Vanni…” A shiver rolls down his spine as he returns his eyes front and center. “And me… I’d be no better than the men I punish if I didn’t stop this now.”
I go to interject, but he shakes his head once before he slips off the bed and takes a giant step back.
“I’m not taking advantage of you,” he says. “Not tonight.” His following words are whispers. “Not ever.” He scrubs a hand along his bristled jaw. “If I claim you, it won’t be while you’re drunk.”
He’s holding himself back for me, but I’m too horny to realize I’ve been seeking this type of chivalry for years. “But I’m really horny.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, micina, you can’t say shit like that to me.”
“Why? It’s the truth.”
With him stumped for a reply, I slide my hand between my legs. Somehow, it makes my pulse race even more. It isn’t the dampness of my panties against my fingers making me careless; it is the way Matteo’s nostrils flare and how the width and length of the rod in his pants instantly augment.
“Azra…” A groan gobbles up his reply when I insert my index finger between the wet lines of my pussy, taking my panties with me.
“My fingers are tiny and dainty. Even if I finger-fuck myself on a regular schedule, I’ll still pass the purity test.”
“Fuck.” That’s all I get. A curse and a manic throb in both his jaw and groin.
As my shoulder blades meet, I slide my hand underneath the moist fabric of my underwear. “Can you take advantage of yourself?”
“No.” I don’t recognize Matteo’s voice. It’s deep and penetrating. “You can’t.”
“Good.”
We moan in sync when I stimulate my clit with my thumb before leisurely dragging my index finger through my drenched slit. I circle the nervy bud like Matteo did with his tongue, and moan just as loud as when he brought me to climax.
I haven’t done anything like this in months, since before I arrived in Sicily to marry Antonio. I haven’t felt the urge. It’s hard to find beauty in ruins. But now, with Matteo’s attention fixed on me, I can see it becoming a regular occurrence.
The more aroused Matteo’s expression becomes watching me, the braver I become. No longer worried about the rules, I push a finger inside myself, groaning when my soft, plush inside graces my fingertip.
“Tell me what you feel like,” Matteo demands, kneading himself through his pants.
I spread my thighs wider and double the swirls of my thumb. “I feel soft.”
Matteo groans.
“And wet.”
He shudders.
“And tight.”
His response this time is more of a growl than a moan. “How tight?”
Closing my eyes, I push my finger all the way inside, reveling in how good it feels for the walls of my vagina to have something to cling to as the tingles running rampant through my core double.
“Tight enough to know that is going to destroy me.” I open my eyes and lock them on his fat cock.
I’m no longer worried about masturbating in front of an audience when Matteo removes his cock from his pants and gives it a long stroke. It’s a fight to keep quiet when a trickle of pre-cum pools at the top of his impressive manhood.
The veins in his hands throb as his speed picks up. Over and over again, he slides his hand down the base before he returns it to the tip. I flick my clit just as often and pump my finger in rhythm to the speed of his strokes.
With my lower lip between my teeth, I pretend my finger is his cock, and my thumb is his fantastic V muscle. The sensation is amazing. My body relishes every tingle, grateful that the years of tension it’s been begging me to let go of are finally relenting.