Page 46 of Triplet Babies for the CEO

My lips stop at the apex of her thigh, millimeters away from her luscious, dripping pussy. My tongue drags along the crease, back and forth, setting her body on edge as her back arches, a perfect bow over the horizon of the bed.

“Please, keep going,” she sighs.

“Who said I was going to stop?” I ask, my hand falling between her legs, gently peeling between her lower lips and landing on her small clit. I rub against it, slowly at first, and then faster, watching as her chest rises and falls with each swift movement.

Tasha rises up, taking me into a passionate kiss before she falls back to my waist and takes my dick into her mouth. I feel myself bump the back of her throat, my hands fall to the back of her head in a swift, smooth motion.

I flip her on her back, laying on top of her, pushing myself between her legs. Tasha sighs, our lips meeting again in a languorous kiss, our tongues caressing over one another.

Her soft hands run over my chest before she runs them through my hair. I shift her hips forward as I press into her, a deep groan leaving my lips as her pussy invites me in.

She feels so good inside, juicy and tight, throbbing with each stroke I deliver. I pound myself against her, and I feel her nails digging into my back as she comes on me again and again, soaking the both of us and the bed.

We don’t stop, though, and we continue, over and over, not a care for anyone hearing or coming across us.

In this moment, there is only us.

Tasha climbs on top of me, her soft tits bouncing in my face while she leans down and starts kissing me, her lips smothering me with an intoxicating presence that I crave.

I kiss her back, allowing my lips to say what my words can’t, and I feel as if I’m the luckiest man alive at this moment. Tasha sighs, her body shivering down upon me, her shaking hands wrapped around my shoulder caps as I pump my cock faster inside of her.

Just let me make you feel better.

Her hands grip me as I give her everything I have.

Chapter Seventeen

Tasha

I can’t help but feel a bit out of my depth agreeing to this family dinner.

But I couldn’t exactly say no when Gemma offered to lend me an outfit, her face lighting up as she dug through her closet.

The dress she picked for me, a deep wine-colored sheath that hugs my figure in a way I’m not used to, is gorgeous. The fabric is soft and rich, like liquid velvet against my skin, and when I slipped it on, it fit as if it were made for me.

Looking in the mirror, I barely recognize myself. My caramel hair falls in loose waves around my shoulders, and Gemma even insisted on a touch of makeup, which makes my eyes seem brighter and more defined.

It’s as if I’m stepping into a version of myself I’ve only dreamed about.

On the drive over to the restaurant, the city lights twinkle against the deepening night, casting a warm glow over everything.

Brody sneaks longing glances at me from time to time, his gaze lingering.

“You look amazing,” he says softly, his voice filled with admiration that sends a flush of warmth up my cheeks.

Even though I feel completely out of place, his words settle me, and I manage a smile in return, feeling a little more confident with him beside me. Still, the confidence vanishes the moment we step intoRistorante Fioritura.

The restaurant is like something out of a magazine. The walls are painted in muted, earthy hues that remind me of an old Tuscan villa, with deep burgundy and olive tones, and there’s a faint scent of rosemary and garlic drifting through the air, mingling with the aromas of freshly baked bread.

Soft, golden light filters through hand-blown glass chandeliers that dangle from an intricately carved ceiling, casting a warm glow that makes everything feel intimate and luxurious.

As we walk deeper inside, I notice the shelves along the walls, stacked with wine bottles that bear labels with names on them that I can’t pronounce. Each shelf is woven with greenery, delicate ivy and lavender spilling down like a natural tapestry.

The tables are dressed in crisp white linens, each place setting adorned with a sprig of fresh rosemary tucked beside the polished silverware. It’s beautiful, almost intimidatingly so.

I glance down at the menu, the elegant Italian script looping and swirling in ways that make my head spin.

Dishes likerisotto al tartufo biancoandosso buco alla Fiorentinaleap off the page, sounding luxurious and completely foreign.

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