Page 34 of Corrupting Lily

“Have you missed me?” He looks at me so intensely that I cannot hold his gaze.

I fold my arms over my chest, unable to keep the anger from bubbling up. “As much as you missed me, it appears. I’m not attending thisevent tonight. You can take someone else. Maybe whoever has been keeping you company these last few nights.”

There, I have said it. I turn around and storm off, but only make it three steps before a muscular arm cages my upper body, pulling me against a chest of steel. Before I can even yelp, a hand wraps around my neck, the pressure gentle but firm, just as I like it. What is also evident is the deliciously long, hard object digging into my lower back.

"Can you feel how much I missed you, little flower?" As if I am not already fully aware, he grinds into me, his hard length feeling exactly like it did in my dreams. Last night. And the night before. And the night before that. Lust, built up from all of these fevered fantasies, crashes through me, and I moan, pushing back against him shamelessly as I circle my hips.

"And this," he whispers, applying pressure with the hand around my neck, "is the only company I have had the last few nights."

He growls, and then suddenly spins me around, his hands cupping my ass to pull me up, forcing me to straddle his waist. That face. Fuck, he is to die for. I get lost in stormy, dark eyes that look into my soul, seeing me like no other ever has. Seeing through my words for the lies they are.

"You are a jealous brat.Myjealous brat. But I will tell you this only once, Lily. My cock has only seen the palm of my hand the last three days and only to visions of you sliding up and down it."

He sweeps the contents off the large boardroom table before placing me on it. Then, he leans over me, his hand around my neck as he applies a little pressure. Only then do I notice his knuckles are bruised and scabbed, and there is a scratch on his face above his eyebrow, covered by the hair falling over it.

I raise my hand, gently running the pad of my finger over it.

“You’re hurt.” The thought of him being injured makes my voicecrack, a shiver of fear creeping up my spine. He's a dangerous man, often finding himself in perilous situations, probably more than I realize. Has he ever been shot at before? Probably. Maybe he has even been near death. That thought creates a monster of a feeling inside me that substantiates what I have long suspected: I am falling in love with him.

“L'unica persona che può farmi del male sei tu.”His voice is husky, and before I can ask what that means, his lips capture mine, demanding everything I can give. And willingly, I do. He tastes like I remember: whiskey, cigars, and sin; his mouth strokes into me, sending a rush of moisture to join the mess already in my panties. His hand delves into my hair, angling my head as he deepens the kiss, stealing my soul with every lick of his tongue.

This is where I belong. This is home. Caged in this dangerous man's arms.

My hands travel up his back and delve into his hair, the feel of him above me satisfying a craving I cannot even explain. At some point, I became addicted to him. And now, there is no turning back. There is no rehab for what I have. No cure for falling in love with the devil. He has corrupted me, and I will be scorched alive before I even know what hit me.

He breaks the kiss, a growl reverberating through him as he dips his head into my neck, running his nose along my face before inhaling deeply.

“I’ve missed your scent," he groans, his mouth trailing down my neck, through the valley of my breasts, over my abdomen, before burying himself between my thighs. I buck into him when I realize which scent he is referring to. He bunches up the material of my dress and when he hooks two fingers into my waistband, I eagerly lift my ass, aiding the torturously slow descent of my panties. I push myself upon my elbows, my gaze meeting his as he smirks. His position between my legs, while I lie sprawled out on a table that just minutes ago had twenty mafia men sitting around it, is downright erotic. It evokes a sense of power in me.

His breath lightly brushes against my sensitive and fully exposed area as he places one leg and then the other over his shoulders.

"You are soaked already,il mio fiorellino." He slides a finger through my slit, holding it up to show me before that finger disappears into his mouth. Even if I wanted to deny it, there is no time. I jolt in surprise when I feel his tongue flatten out against my core, the slow, languid stroke from bottom to top, sending my eyes in the same direction as they roll back in my head.

This is my first time experiencing this. I have always been expected to give pleasure, but have never received it. The irritation at having this feeling stolen from me is fleeting as Dominico's tongue pushes into me, drawing a long moan from me. He takes his time, licking me, tasting me, laying the foundation for an orgasm that I have never experienced before. One created slowly and intimately. It is when his tongue circles my clit that the entirely slow progression of my orgasm, skitters forward, coiling with a readiness to strike that is surprising.

"You taste like heaven, Lily. A fucking delicatessen that I could indulge in daily." His eyes lock with mine as his mouth once again attaches to my pussy, his skillful tongue nudging my orgasm front and center. I didn't even know it was possible to come from this.

"I'm close," I whisper as the tingling sensation in my core intensifies. I can feel him smirk against me, and when he inserts two thick fingers while his mouth latches onto my clit, stroking circles with his tongue, I explode, his name echoing off the walls of this boardroom, which is anything but bored. I spasm, I twitch. I fall apart on a table in a mafia mansion, with the head of that organization between my legs, lickingup every last drop like a man going through a drought.

Once he finishes, he stands up, his thumb gliding along his lip to catch any residue before popping it into his mouth. His eyes fixate on my still-spread legs, embarrassment crashing over me as I fumble with my dress. He allows me to, but he squints, his gaze locking with mine.

"Your pussy is a masterpiece and should be worshipped. I am that devoted servant. Eventually, you will feel like the goddess you are, and that embarrassment will be wiped away by my praise. Your reaction means I will need to attend this shrine more often.”

My eyes widen, and once again, I wonder how he arranges words in such an expressive way with such ease. I've never been spoken to so poetically.

Before the moment can become awkward, he scoops me up, cradling me like precious cargo. Even though he has given me the most amazing orgasm of my life, the feelings that brought me to this room initially bubble up.

“Why haven’t you been home? Why didn’t you come and see me?” I sound insecure and jealous…vulnerable.

If he wanted to, he could use it against me. If he wanted to, he could destroy me.

“I had some issues with suppliers I needed to sort out. I didn’t think it would take long, but some unforeseeable complications needed resolving.” My gaze travels to his face, his physical appearance now becoming more apparent. There are shadows under his eyes, indicating a lack of sleep, and the fine lines around his lids are more prominent, stress etched into the creases.

“Where did you think I was? With another woman?” I look away, embarrassed now by my thoughts.

“Yes. I thought you were with another woman. I thought you didn’t want to see me. I thought our two-month period was overbefore it began.” I meet his gaze as I vocalize my fears and my jealousy.

“There is no other woman in my life but you. I wanted to see you, but couldn’t. There is no way our two-month period is over so soon,il mio fiorellino. Definitely not now after tasting that paradise between your legs.”

---