Page 33 of I Would Beg For You

Releasing my hand, she takes ginger steps to the wide pane. The silvery glow engulfs her, and as she stands there in front of the glass, she’s a sensual study in light and shadow. The dress, though lit throughout with silvery thread, cuts a dark figure, her radiant skin glowing where it’s exposed in the short, low-cut dress. Her fair golden hair tumbles down her back like a river of spun filaments.

She’s exquisite, a true beauty like the night.

During the day, she is Naomi Smith, daughter of politician Joel Smith. But here, now, like this, she is just Naomi.

She is mine.

When she leans into the pane as if trying to make out the interior of the room across the yards, it’s as if my blood starts to boil. Her hands are spread on the glass, legs parted, bottom pushing out slightly. I have a vision of her standing in front of another window this way, except I can see her from the front in my mind’s eye, sexy lingerie crisscrossing her lithe body, breasts pushed up by the demi-cups, the mound of her pussy covered by a scrap of lace that became two thin straps on either side of her puffy lower lips.

Right here, now, I can see what it looks like from the back. She’s wearing a dress and not the teddy, but that can easily be remedied. I can have her naked within a minute.

Thinking of her naked, exposed to me, grabs hold of any remaining reason and urges me forward. My legs are moving swiftly. I clasp her upper body with both my hands flat on her ribcage. Before she can utter a sound, my hands are running up, grabbing her arms and splaying them wide across the window. With one bent knee, I spread her legs wide open. She loses her balance, which forces her to arch her back, to make her delicious ass jut out even more.

It takes one rip to tear the dress into two and expose her delicate back to me. She isn’t wearing a bra, and fragile lace barely covers her backside. It won’t be hard to rip that off, too.

When she whimpers, I groan. Merda. She’s going to be the death of me.

Heat radiates from her body, and I plaster my front to her back, pushing her even more into the cold glass of the pane. She’s got small heels on and is thus the perfect height for my cock to press into her ass.

Another moan, and I seize back control, rocking my hard-on against her panty-clad butt. My hands, which were on hers, splaying her out, travel back the way they came, caressing past her ribcage this time and sneaking in front, over her taut belly and down to the triangle of lace covering her sex. One hand sneaks under the fabric, encountering her bare, velvety mound before dipping over her swollen clit and between soaked folds.

“So wet,” I mutter in her ear, then run my tongue over the shell and part of her jawbone. I crouch a bit and rock my cock against her drenched underwear. “Is this how you want me to fuck you, Naomi?”

Chapter 12 Naomi

He seriously expects meto answer right now? My breath catches in my throat.

His fullness is rocking against my ass, and goodness,he is big. I can’t wait to check out his cock, to feel it in my hands, in my pussy. Will I be able to open my mouth wide enough to take him in, all of him?

A moan whimpers out of me when he moves again. I can imagine the swollen tip of his erection rubbing in between my lower lips, stroking me, parting me, diving into me as the thrust pushes me forward. The hardened nipples on my breasts graze the cold glass, and a shock runs through my whole body.

“Tell me, Naomi,” he urges, right before his lips place a kiss on my right shoulder. He’s suckling my skin, and when he closes his teeth gently on the flesh of my upper arm, my legs threaten to give out under me.

Valentino laughs softly as he flattens one hand onto my belly and presses me back into his body.

“I think we’re going to need the bed for our first time,” he murmurs.

His body dips behind me, his hand that was teasing my clit leaving me as he slips that arm under my knees and topples me into his arms to carry me to the bed.

So erotic… If I’d known having sex was like this… Then again, this is sex with Valentino Andretti. No other man could give me this particular experience.

As he deposits me on the bed, I stay propped up and reach a hand up to clasp the nape of his neck. I pull him to me for a kiss, and when he takes over, plundering my mouth once again, I let go and fall back on the plush covers, taking his body with me.

His weight sinks into me, heavy and delicious, his body warm and taut. He’s wearing a soft cotton shirt, but my sensitive nipples feel the graze as if it were the coarsest of fabric abrading them. I moan at this, a sound he drinks in as he slants his mouth over mine even more, his tongue probing, stroking.

I want to feel more, so much more, and I flutter my legs to try and rub against his body.

Valentino tears himself from the kiss and pushes my legs down with a hand.

I blink at him. His face is swathed by shadows from this angle, the moonlight bathing his back. “Don’t you want me to touch you?”

“Gattina,” he growls. “I won’t last long if you do that.”

“Oh.” I remember what this feels like—my one time with a guy? He didn’t last long, and that was no fun. Actually, it had been a big letdown, but I needed to do it, a rite of passage to lose my virginity and know what sex felt like.

It would have been different with Valentino, wouldn’t it?

“You drive me crazy with lust, Naomi.”

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