Page 38 of Thorns of Death
“I want more of your screams,dolcezza.” He got them. Screams and so much more.
It was obvious this man was used to getting whatever and whoever he wanted.
* * *
An hour later, we were both breathing heavily, panting and grunting. Our bodies were slick with sweat.
Enrico had finished inside me several times and I’d lost count of my own orgasms. The sweet exhaustion overtook my body, and all I knew was I needed sleep.
“One more time,” he rasped against my ear, his body like a weighted blanket on me.
I watched him through sleepy eyelids. “It’s impossible for you to be hard again.”
He chuckled, thrusting his hips and sliding his hard cock inside me. I gasped in shock, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Not impossible. See what you do to me?” He took my bottom lip between his teeth and nipped it. He pulled out, only to slam back inside. I moaned. The familiar throbbing started, but I couldn’t move.
I wrapped my hands around his neck, gripping his hair. A smarter woman would have pushed him off, but my body was already responding to him. Needing him to finish what he’d started even if it killed me.
“Are all Italians like you?”
He thrust inside me roughly.
“You don’t worry about any other Italians,” he warned darkly, his accent heavy. “Only me.”
I attempted to laugh at his jealousy, but instead a moan slipped through my lips. So he slammed inside me again.
The ringing of a phone cut through the air, and we both stilled.
Rrrring. Rrrring.
“Ignore it,” I rasped, clutching his shoulders. I wasn’t ready for this to be over.
Rrrring. Rrrring. Rrrring
He kissed the tip of my nose. “It might be important.”
He pulled out of me, and I moaned my protest as he walked out of the room. I fell back on the mattress, my breasts bouncing. Here I was, panting, and this man was already breathing normally, despite the sweat glistening over his sculpted body.
I rolled over to lie on my stomach—naked as the day I was born—watching him down the hallway as he answered the phone.
“Pronto?” His eyes remained on me, his tall, strong frame looking even bigger in our small hallway.
“Quando?” I thought it meant “when” in Italian, but I wasn’t certain. Silence swept through the apartment, the tension in his shoulders visible as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the line. “I’ll be there in two hours.”
He hung up, and disappointment flooded me. He was leaving.
In five long strides, he was back in my bedroom and standing in front of me. He pulled on his pants and finished getting dressed. When he slipped his suit jacket on, he came to kneel in front of me.
“You keep kneeling down, Enrico,” I teased, “and I’m going to get ideas.”
He didn’t seem scared at all. He cupped my face, then kissed me. “I have to go.”
“I figured.” He watched me with a peculiar expression on his face, but I couldn’t decipher it. “Everything okay?”
He ran a thumb across my cheek.
“It will be.” The hard edge to his voice told me he’d ensure it. Although, it was hard to stop the disappointment from washing over me when I realized he didn’t plan on sharing what was driving his sudden departure.
