Page 471 of Rosetti Family New York
I can't help but obey, my hips moving against his mouth as he claims me with his fingers and tongue. The pleasure builds and builds until I'm teetering on the edge, desperate for release.
"Come for me," he commands, sucking my clit hard. "Come on my tongue like a good girl."
The orgasm rips through me, my body convulsing as I cry out his name. He works me through it, his tongue gentling as the waves of pleasure slowly subside. When I finally come back to myself, he's standing in front of me again, his lips glistening with my arousal.
"We're not done," he says, his voice rough with need. He lifts me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to the couch. Instead of laying me down gently, he turns me around and bends me over the back of it, my hands bracing against the leather cushions.
The position leaves me completely exposed to him, my dress bunched around my waist and my ass in the air. I hear the sound of his zipper, then feel the thick head of him pressing against my entrance.
"You sure about this?" he asks, his hands gripping my hips. But there's a dark edge to his voice that tells me he's barely holding back.
"Yes," I breathe, pushing back against him. "Please, Van. I need you inside me."
He enters me in one hard thrust, filling me completely. I cry out at the sudden stretch, struggling to accommodate his size. He's bigger than I expected, thick and long and perfectly designed to wreck me.
"Fuck, you're tight," he groans, holding still to let me adjust. "Your little cunt is gripping me so hard."
I've never been spoken to like that. The dirty words make me clench around him, and he hisses in response. When he starts to move, it's with slow, deep strokes that have me gasping with each thrust. The angle lets him hit places inside me I didn't even know existed.
"Harder," I demand, pushing back against him. "I can take it."
Something changes in him then, like my permission unleashed the animal he's been keeping leashed. His grip on my hips tightens as he starts fucking me with rough, powerful strokes that have the couch sliding across the floor.
"Is this what you wanted?" he growls, one hand fisting in my hair and pulling my head back. "To be bent over and fucked like the dirty girl you really are?"
"Yes," I gasp, the slight pain in my scalp mixing with the pleasure of his shaft stretching me. "God, yes."
"I knew you were different the first time I saw you," he continues, his voice dark and possessive. "Knew you needed someone to show you what you really are. You don't want some gentle boy who'll treat you like glass. You want a man who'll fuck you hard and make you his."
His words send me spiraling toward another orgasm. The idea that he saw through my sheltered exterior to something deeper, something I didn't even know existed, makes me feel exposed in the best possible way.
"I want to be yours," I admit, the words torn from somewhere deep inside me. "I want you to make me yours."
"Already are," he growls, his pace becoming almost punishing. "This pussy belongs to me now. No one else gets to touch you, to see you like this."
The possessive claim pushes me over the edge. I come with a scream, my entire body shaking as the orgasm tears through me. He follows seconds later, burying himself deep as he fills me with his release, my name falling from his lips like a prayer.
For long moments, we stay joined, both breathing hard. Then he's gentle again, carefully withdrawing from me and helping me stand on shaking legs. He smooths my dress back down over my thighs, the gesture surprisingly protective.
"Can you walk?" His gray eyes search my face with concern mixed with something softer.
"I think so." But when I take a step, my legs shake, and he immediately sweeps me into his arms.
"Bedroom," he says simply, carrying me through his sparse apartment like I weigh nothing.
In his bedroom, he sets me on the bed carefully. The grumpy surgeon who barks orders at everyone has disappeared, replaced by someone tender in a way that confuses me. He disappears into the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth.
"This might be tender," he warns, his touch careful as he cleans between my legs. The intimacy of it makes my cheeks burn, but I don't protest.
I watch him work, seeing the contrast between the man who just fucked me senseless and this gentle caretaker. Everything's different now. I'm different. And I don't know if that excites me or terrifies me.
"Van?" I catch his wrist as he starts to pull away. "What happens now?"
Something flickers in his expression, surprise, maybe, that I'm not running. He tosses the washcloth aside and settles beside me on the bed, but there's something calculating in his eyes now.
"Now you sleep," he says, pulling the covers over me. But instead of settling in beside me like I expect, he sits on the edge of the bed, fully dressed except for his discarded jacket and tie. "Tomorrow, we establish some ground rules."
The change in his tone sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with cold. "Ground rules?"
