Page 36 of I Would Beg For You

But Valentino chuckles, which reassures me somewhat. I wasn’t being a needy damsel now asking for a marriage agreement because this man had had his way with me. Good thing he doesn’t seem to have thought either.

“Now? Give me a moment to recover.”

He rises up to walk to the bathroom and when he promptly returns, I can tell he must have discarded the condom.

He joins me back on the bed, faces me with one arm under his head, the other hand reaches over to caress my neck. When he traces a lazy hand between my breasts and around my nipples, then over my stomach and down to my smooth mound, I panta bit more heavily as pleasure from his touch starts to rise up inside me.

“Remember the other day, in your bedroom?”

How can I forget? My skin flushes hot all of a sudden.

“I was interrupted. Now, I plan to take my sweet time eating you out.”

Something completely absurd strikes me. “We didn’t have dessert.”

“Exactly, gattina.” His finger sinks inside my wet folds. “Exactly.”

Chapter 13 Naomi

Valentino fucked me threemore times during the night. I don’t know when I fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

When I wake up, I’m alone in the big bed, my body languorous and spent. I imagine taking a fresh watercolor canvas, carelessly brushing it with water at the top, and then watching all the colors bleed down into a liquified mass at the bottom. That puddle? That’s me today.

I wince when I stretch. I’m sore all over, and none less between my thighs. Will I even be able to set one foot in front of the other? I test this out as I sit up then throw my legs to the side with a groan. It’s hard to stand up, and I have to step gingerly not to flare up the soft pain at the apex of my thighs.

The room is bathed in pale, rheumy light. Looks like the January sun has barely started its ascent in the morning sky. It looks chilly outside, but inside, it’s warm, though I can’t go traipsing around naked. I glimpse Valentino’s shirt on a sofa in the corner and edge towards it while cursing softly. It’s an exercise in contortion to put the shirt on—I’m so sore—but Imanage to button it up and roll the sleeves up since my hands barely make it past the cuffs.

The house is quiet. I didn’t reflect upon it last night, but it appears Valentino and I are alone in here. I don’t think I’m going to run into anyone if I go down, and I have no other choice. I didn’t bring my phone with me yesterday—no place to tuck it into that dress, and I was so excited, I forgot to take a purse—so I have no way of contacting Valentino and asking him to come up. Plus, I don’t have his number, either.

I should get it. The way he spoke last night, this is just the start of something between us. What, I have no idea, but I’m pretty sure it involves falling into his bed regularly.

I giggle as I think of this and how thoroughly I was fucked last night. So that’s what sex is really all about. I was missing out, but I know it’s only because it’s Valentino that I’m feeling this way. Someone like Thad… Urgh, I refuse to think of intercourse with such a robot. No way can I settle for any other man in my bed now.

I exit the bedroom and take the stairs down to the first floor. Eerie quiet here, too. The layout of the house is not the same as ours next door, so it takes me some investigating to find out which room is where, and that’s how I stumble upon Valentino’s study.

He hasn’t seen me yet, his dark head lowered slightly forward as he peruses a sheaf of papers in his left hand, his right hand holding a tiny cup of espresso that he sips from as I watch. He swallows, his throat rippling, and I gulp watching the movement of his throat. Even that’s sexy.

I must’ve made a sound, because he looks up then, and a slow smile graces his beautiful mouth. It’s impossible not to smile back, though I stay rooted in the doorway, suddenly wary of entering what’s obviously his domain.

He puts the papers and cup down, then stands up, moving away from the massive mahogany desk. His stride is languid, lithe, like a relaxed panther taking a leisurely stroll in the savanna. It’s the first time I’m seeing him dressed so casually. Worn jeans that look eminently soft, a white cotton crew neck T-shirt, and that’s all. He’s barefoot, and this more than anything softens something inside me. Something about a man with bare feet in his house… It speaks of being at home, at peace, of belonging.

“Morning,” he says as he pulls me close, dropping a soft kiss on my temple.

This also makes me pause. I expected a kiss on the lips, his hands on me in a lascivious way. He was insatiable last night, and I thought this would extend during the day. A kiss to the temple and his arms slipping around my waist to clasp me gently to him? It throws me, harkening to that sense of domestic bliss his bare feet just elicited in me.

“Did you sleep well?” he voice softly rumbles, as he releases me.

I laugh under my breath and collapse against him in exaggerated exhaustion. “What do you think?”

His turn to chuckle. “Ah, forgive me, gattina. But I cannot resist you, you know that.”

Warmth threads into me, different strands that meet and weave a tapestry inside. One of belonging, and oddly, safety.

“You were up early,” I say, trying to shake off this weird sense of being in a liminal space where I can’t really find myself.

“Early bird gets the worm.”

I grimace—squiggly, slimy worms are not a welcome sight in my imagination.

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