Page 47 of Giovanni the Savage

There is Luna bent over my desk doing God knows what. She’s wearing her usual pencil skirt, which has ridden up and is exposing her thighs. Her round ass is on display behind a zipper, my fingers are itching to pull. Her long dark hair is brushing the top of her ass, and my eyes trace her sinful body to the heels she has on.

Fuck! She’ll be the end of me.

She probably doesn’t hear the door open because she’s humming a tune and still busy. I adjust my pants and clear my throat loudly.

She jerks up, and her eyes widen when she sees me.

“Good day, sir,” she greets.

I pin her with a heated gaze and stride towards her. She faces me squarely while leaning on my desk. Her eyes run down my frame; only an expert will tell it has darkened.

“Giovanni,” I mutter, coming to a halt two steps away from her.

She breaks her gaze from my frame and looks at me questioningly.

“Giovanni,” I repeat. “Call me Giovanni.Stop with the sir.”

The first time she said my name was when she was in that elevator with me. Her lips parted and produced the faintest whisper of my name; since then, I’ve been itching to hear it again.

“I’m sorry.” She breathes out a laugh. “You’re my boss, and I can’t do that. It’s disrespectful.”

I smirk and drop my laptop bag before stepping even closer to her. She takes a breath and tries to step back, but there’s no room.

“I think it’s safe to say, I was your friend before I became your boss, right?” I ask.

“Yeah, but that’s before I knew who you were,” she answers.

I raise a brow. “Who am I?”

She huffs out a laugh and hums.

“Let’s start with the fact that you’re one of the richest men in this city and also one of the most powerful,” she praises. “Also, you’re my boss.”

“What has that got to do with anything?” I ask slowly, taking in her features.

Her eyes are wide and shiny, I can see a dust of freckles underneath her light makeup from this proximity. Her full lips are light pink and parted.

“Everything,” she responds. “What will people say if they hear me calling you by name?”

“You’ve called me by my name before,” I remind her.

I smirk because I can tell her memory has been transported back to that day, and I see her chest heave.

“We were alone,” she reasons.

My fingers go to her face and tuck loose tendrils of her soft hair behind her ears. She shivers and chews on her bottom lip.

My thumb traces the side of her face down to her chin. It rests right below her lip and I use it to pull the lip free from her teeth’s grip.

Her eyes lock with mine at the action. She looks shocked, but so am I. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m following my instincts, leading me to devour her lips.

My tongue traces her bottom lip slightly, like the whisper of a feather, and her eyes flutter closed briefly.

I bring my head down to her ear and whisper, “Then let’s just pretend like we’re alone every time.”

Her eyes open, and her pupils are flooded with desire. The desire that I can satisfy, if she lets me.

I move my head from her ear but stop an inch from her face.

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