Page 43 of Temptation

“Fuck. Sienna,” Fabrizio groans into my mouth as I wrap my legs around his waist, matching the rhythm of his powerful thrusts. Our tongues entwine, and we both moan into the kiss, the intensity of our connection amplifying the pleasure. Each thrust is more forceful and deeper than the last, driving me closer to the brink. I tug on the tie securing my hands above my head, desperate to touch him, to run my fingers through his dark hair.

“Oh. Ah,” I cry into his mouth, the warmth inside me spreading lower, growing more intense with every movement.

The world around me blurs as I push against Fabrizio’s hold, reaching a shattering climax on his cock. The intensity of my orgasm leaves me gasping for breath, but Fabrizio doesn’t pause. He fucks me faster and harder, chasing his own release. A low growl escapes his lips as he shudders, his cock twitching inside me before he fills me with his hot cum. He draws in heavy breaths, his eyes still dark with desire as he gazes into my face, the connection between us palpable and electrifying. As soon as he slips out of me, a warm sensation follows as his cum spills out, slickening the skin between my legs.

Fabrizio gently rolls off me, his movements slow and deliberate, before pulling me closer into his embrace. His hot, ragged breath grazes my face, a tangible reminder of our recent passion. Lazily, he drags his fingers across my flat stomach, each touch igniting sparks beneath my skin. A contented sigh escapes my lips as he continues to caress my body with soft, tingly strokes, lingering in the aftermath of our intimacy.

He reaches above me, his movements confident and efficient, undoing my bounds with three swift moves. As soon as my hands are free from the headboard, he pulls me into a tight, reassuring embrace. His lips press tenderly to the top of my head, and I nuzzle my face into his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him. Though the sex was mind-blowing, lying here in his arms feels even more extraordinary, a moment of pure connection and peace. Our naked bodies entwined, skin against skin, I realize there is nowhere else I would rather be.

I tilt my head back, pressing my lips to his jaw, my eyes searching his face for any hint of what he might be thinking. His eyes meet mine, a lazy smile playing on his lips.

“What?” he asks, his voice soft and curious.

“Nothing. I’m just feeling spent.” I let out a sigh, closing my eyes for a moment to savor the sensation of being held so securely.

“Hmm,” he hums, the left side of his mouth curling up in a smirk. He tilts his head, pressing his mouth to mine in a kiss that is both tender and electrifying. As I let my eyes roam his face once again, I notice a transformation. His otherwise hard features have softened, a rare glimpse of vulnerability shining through, much like the way he looks when he’s with his children. The thought sends butterflies fluttering in my stomach. For a second, I question the thought; maybe I just imagined it. Maybe it is just wishful thinking. But as I look into his eyes, I can’t shake the feeling that tonight, the wall he built around himself has finally crumbled away, revealing the man inside. It feels as though, for the first time, he’s allowed me a glimpse of who he really is, and the intimacy of that moment is more powerful than anything we’ve shared before.

Twenty-Four

Fabrizio

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.

The incessant buzzing of my phone jolts me awake from the nightstand, slicing through the peaceful ambiance that had wrapped around the room. Each vibration feels like an impatient tap on my shoulder, dragging me further away from the serene cocoon I had woven with Sienna.

The screen lights up, throwing a harsh glare that clashes starkly with the soft, ambient glow of the room. Text message after text message demands my attention, pulling me away from Sienna’s embrace. I sense the delicate balance of our evening tilting, knowing our intimate moment is on the brink of being shattered.

A wave of disappointment crashes over me, and I long to linger just a bit longer in our blissful bubble, where the only things that mattered were the warmth of our bodies and the sincerity of my earlier words. I press a gentle kiss to Sienna’s head, deeplyinhaling her scent, trying to etch this fleeting moment into my memory forever.

With a reluctant sigh, I begin to disentangle myself from her. My hand reaches for the phone, fingers brushing against its cold surface, a stark contrast to the warmth of Sienna’s skin. As I read the messages from my brother, my body tenses, and my jaw clenches with a mix of frustration and concern.

I can feel Sienna’s eyes on me, her gaze burning into my back as I rise from the bed. The loss of her touch leaves me feeling exposed and cold, the comforting warmth of her body now replaced by an unsettling emptiness.

With three purposeful strides, I step into the closet, the dim glow from the lamp on my nightstand casting elongated shadows across the room. The soft light barely illuminates my surroundings, but it’s enough for me to quickly pick out some clothes. As I slip the black suit jacket over my shoulders, I feel an immediate transformation; the relaxation and carefreeness that had filled my being evaporate, replaced by a steely resolve.

I walk back to the bed, feeling the weight of Sienna’s gaze fixed on me, her eyes following my every move until I sit down beside her. Our proximity feels charged, the night’s intimacy now overshadowed by the gravity of what I’m about to say. “I need to leave for a few days,” I announce, my voice steady but the words hanging in the air like a heavy curtain, slicing through the fragile silence.

“Why?” she asks, her voice a soft plea, barely masking the disappointment that’s etched across her delicate features. Her eyes search mine for answers I’m hesitant to give.

I lift my hand, my fingers brushing gently against her cheek, the contact both comforting and bittersweet. “I thought I told you not to ask questions you won’t want to know the answer to,” I murmur, my thumb tracing a tender path along her skin, feeling the warmth and softness against my touch.

The room plunges into a tense silence, the air thick with unspoken emotions and the weight of my departure. My hand moves to the back of her neck, my fingers closing around it with a gentle yet firm grip, pulling her closer until our foreheads touch. The closeness is a bittersweet reminder of what I’m leaving behind, our breaths mingling as we share this fleeting moment of connection before the inevitable separation.

The intensity of her gaze pierces through me. Her breath mingles with mine, creating a shared warmth that simultaneously ignites my desire and soothes my soul. Our lips collide in a fierce kiss, a tumultuous blend of passion and anger that leaves us both gasping for air. Her tiny whimper as I pull away echoes in my ears, a sound that tugs at my heartstrings with a painful sweetness. The lingering tingle of her lips on mine makes me ache for more, but I force myself to rise from the bed, each step a struggle against the magnetic pull of the beautiful woman lying naked beneath the sheets.

The room suddenly feels colder, emptier, as I resist the primal urge to rip off the clothes I just put on and ravage her until she begs me to stop. This battle within me, between the raw, animalistic desire to consume her entirely and the tender yearning to crawl back beneath the sheets and lose myself in her embrace, her scent, her warmth, is almost unbearable. Yet, I know I can’t give in. Not now. Not when I might finally have a lead on who is after my children. Not when every day the person responsible remains at large, posing a constant threat to their safety. And Sienna’s.

With a heavy heart, I reach for my phone on the nightstand and reopen my brother’s message. The weight of the situation crashes over me like a tidal wave, threatening to drown me in its relentless surge. “One more thing,” I say, my voice steady but urgent. “I need to ask you something.” She takes the phone from my extended hand, her fingers trembling. The sheets slip down,revealing her flawless body, her full breasts rising and falling with each breath, a sight that only deepens my internal conflict.

“Can you tell if that’s the man who attacked you at the school?” I ask, my eyes locked onto her face, searching for any hint of recognition.

She studies the picture, her brows knitting together in concentration. “I-I don’t know,” she stammers. “It could be, but I told you, I didn’t really see much of his face. Why are you asking?”

Instead of answering, I press on, my urgency mounting. “Does the name Michael Brenton mean anything to you?”

Her face drains of color, her eyes widening in shock as she grips the phone so tightly that her knuckles turn white. That reaction is as good as an answer.

“Who is he to you?” I demand, unable to mask the intensity in my voice. She shakes her head, disbelief etched across her features.

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