Page 54 of My Dark Fairy Tale
I waited obediently, instinctually, and had the gratification of his wide smile, white teeth and pointed canines almost lupine and entirely too gorgeous.
“Molto bene,” he praised before stepping in close between my thighs so my dress rode up almost all the way to my hips. One hand rose to grip my chin, tilting it slightly so that when his mouth descended on mine, we fit perfectly.
At first it was closed lips, just the trace of his tongue against my lower lip and then pushing beyond to touch my teeth. Then he was slipping inside, drinking the wine from my mouth. When it was gone, he languidly sucked the taste from my tongue until I moaned around a full body shiver.
“Mmm,” he hummed, pulling back an inch to stare at my wine-stained lips. “Perhapslovelyisnotthe word for either.È ambrosia. Divino. Come una droga.”
It is ambrosia. Divine. Like a drug.
Unwittingly, I squeezed Raffa’s lean hips between my thighs, trying to relieve the ache he’d placed at their center. His answering expression was low lidded, one corner of his full bottom lip depressed by a sharp tooth.
“Do you agree,cerbiatta?” he asked me in a husky drawl.
“Well,” I said, my voice choked off with desire. “I can’t say for sure after only one taste.”
“Ah, fair,” he declared softly, and I realized we had both been speaking quietly as if in a confessional, making the miles-long cellar feel close and intimate, a space just for us. “Shall we try again?”
I nodded too enthusiastically, and his smile only flared wider in response, as if he found me endearing. I had no defenses against a man like this, and I knew it had little to do with my lack of experience and more to do with the fact that he was as near perfection as any man I’d ever known.
Devilishly handsome, powerful, kind, and complicated enough to keep my mind busy like a Rubik’s Cube, with endless combinations of enticement.
When he raised the glass this time, it was to his own lips, and I watched as his strong, tanned throat worked, Adam’s apple bobbing. Why was that so wildly attractive?
After taking his own sip, he sank a hand into the back of my hair to cup my skull and tilted me back slightly so my weight rested in his hand. It was a habit he had, I realized, of wanting me to trust him to balance me.
When his lips sealed over mine, slowly releasing the rich wine into my mouth, I drank it down greedily so I could taste the remnants on his tongue and teeth. A dribble of wine leaked down my chin, but Raffa’s tongue was there before I could do anything, tracing the spill up my neck, jaw, and chin and back behind my teeth.
I was so wet that a draft of the cool cellar air teased my bared pussy like a feather. It made me realize Raffa still didn’t know I’d taken off my underwear.
He kissed the edge of the smile I hadn’t realized I’d been wearing. “Well?”
“Divino,” I said back at him, feeling emboldened by the press of the thick erection I felt against my thigh. “Almost as delicious as me.”
I was close enough to see the way his sunlit-whiskey irises thinned to frame blown-wide pupils, black holes of desire I wanted to throw myself into.
“Not quite,” he protested. “But we just began our experiment ...”
He trailed off to grab the bottle of wine, forgoing the glass entirely to hover it over my chest.
“Raffa,” I warned. “This dress cost you hundreds of euros!”
He shrugged, gaze intent on my breasts. “I have wondered all day if I could see your nipples through this dress if it was wet, and I intend to find out.”
I didn’t have a good argument for that, and my wetness was seeping down my pussy to the fabric beneath my bottom, so I figured the dress was beyond redemption already.
In response, I leaned back on my hands to expose my chest entirely, hair shifting down my back, breasts raised.
His gaze flickered up to mine, warm with pride. “Do you know how delicious it is to watch you be brave and bold like this? It makes me want to worship you on my knees.”
My mouth went bone dry at the thought of his dark head feasting between my thighs, big hands pinning me open for his hungry mouth.
Cool wine broke my flesh into goose bumps as Raffa splashed some at the base of my neck to watch it pool against my collarbones and trickle down my skin into the white linen, saturating it until the fabric was a wet pink press against my breasts.
“Che bella,” he murmured almost to himself before ducking his head to sip the wine from my neck, licking down my chest until he hit fabric and then blowing cool air on my wet-wrapped breasts. My nipples furled so tightly they ached.
Raffa made an appreciative noise in the back of his throat and then thumbed one peak, tweaking it in a way that felt like pure electricity. His mouth followed, a welcome heat after the cold and the pain, his tongue curling around my nipple and his mouth pulling hard. The suction and abrasion of the rough linen made my pleasure arch down my belly to my shamelessly wet sex.
“Ambrosia,” he said against the curve of my breast before sinking his teeth into the roundness to test its bounce.
