Page 174 of Salvatore

“Please,” I beg with a rock of my hips that callously reminds me of my injuries.

I wince. Sigh. Try not to lose my high to frustration.

“Let me do the work.” His voice is guttural. “I just want you to sit there.”

“Like I’m riding the bus?”

“No, like you’remi reina sobre su trono.”

Like you’re my queen upon her throne.

My heart does a little pitta-pat. One that grows harder. Faster.

I love when he speaks Spanish. Like he’s trying to connect to a part of my heritage. To welcome me, despite our cultural differences. But I left my family for a reason.

“Say it in Italian,” I whisper.

He inches his thumbs a little deeper, gently coaxing them in and out. “La mia regina sul suo trono.”

I moan—at his penetration, at his accent, at his intelligence.

“La battaglia è persa. Mi hai conquistato.” His voice is dreamy and smooth. “Signore, aiutaci ora.”

I struggle not to goddamn swoon, but then his thumbs are sliding out of me, slowly, confidently, as if he’s treasuring the feel of me wrapped around him right until the very last second when I’m left hollow and aching for more.

“I’ve been dying for another taste of you.” He raises a hand, painting my pleasure along the outer edge of my bottom lip, my scent filling my lungs as his gaze follows the slow, scorching trail. “You’re a delicacy I can’t quit craving.”

I whimper, my nipples beading painfully.

“I’m going to fucking enjoy this.” He leans in, his mouth dancing over mine, his tongue and lips whispering across the hedonistic moisture he’s painted, teasing and torturous as he licks at the taste of me with a groan. “Divino.”

Damn, he’s got game. Too much of it as he palms my breast, tweaking my nipple with the perfect amount of pressure while he kisses me into oblivion.

He’s a god among men.

No. The antichrist.

A devil. A demon. And dear Lord, hell makes ’em better than they should.

I close my eyes. Arch my back. Moan. “I want you inside me.”

“Not tonight.”

I straighten, reclaiming his gaze with confoundment.

“We can’t fuck with your injuries.” His jaw ticks. “But I can keep doing this until I make you come.”

“That’s quite the defeatist attitude.” I palm the hard length of his shaft through his pants. “Are you sure we can’t work out something more mutually beneficial?”

He stiffens, his nostrils flaring. “No.”

“I applaud the chivalry.” I unclasp his belt. “Really, I do. But you’ve done the research—you know I’m nothing but a ball of pesky pregnancy hormones. I’m afraid your talented fingers won’t be enough.”

“Ivy,” he growls.

“Just a little bit.” I smile coyly and slowly lower his zipper. “I only need the tip.”

His lips quirk. “You’re such a fucking minx.”

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