Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 163540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 818(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 818(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
My mouth does drop open this time.
“This is my wardrobe?”
“Yes.” He puts the suitcase down.
“I only have one suitcase, Rico.”
“That will be changing.” He kisses me and pulls me out of the wardrobe and into the bedroom. “I haven’t spent much time at this house yet. Decorate it as you wish. Get an interior decorator or whatever you want, bella.”
I stare at him. I have no words. None.
Slow down.
He leads me through another set of doors just off the bedroom—a mirrored version of my wardrobe—only this one is already filled with his things.
“Your things are already here?” I ask him.
“I come here on weekends.”
“You don’t live here full-time?”
“I haven’t yet.” He puts his hands into the pockets of his expensive suit pants. “I didn’t want to move in permanently until I started a family.”
I stare at him. Okay, how many times can a man steal my words in one night?
“You want a family?” I gasp.
“No, just you.” He kisses me softly as he squeezes my behind. “For now.”
He pulls me out of his wardrobe and into the bathroom. The floors and walls are white marble. There is a huge round stone bath sitting in the middle of the room, and behind it is a large walk-in triple shower with a bench seat. The taps and fixtures are gold, and the entire back wall is mirrored.
“Holy fuck.” I put my hands over my mouth.
“I like this bathroom. This bathroom can stay,” he says casually.
I look over to him. “Can you hear yourself, right now?”
“What?” He takes me into his arms and bends to kiss me.
“You sound like a rich snob,” I mumble against his lips.
He chuckles. “Maybe I am.” He pulls me again back into the room. “I hope you’ll be happy here.”
My eyes fall to him. “You are the only thing I care about in here, Rici. The rest is just…” I stop myself from saying something derogatory. “If you lived in a shack, I would love it just as much.”
He stands tall, his hands in the pockets of his expensive navy suit, he seems so in control and powerful. An enigma, all of his own.
I can’t believe this night, I can’t believe he wants me.
Is this real?
As if he’s been waiting all night to get me alone, he steps forward and kisses me, his tongue sweeping through my open lips, and he grabs the back of my head to guide me where he wants me.
I know this kiss.
I crave this kiss.
He closes the door, flicks the lock, and then turns toward me.
“Voglio la mia donna, nel mio letto intorno al mio cazzo,” he purrs.
Hearing his whispered Italian voice does things to my insides. “Translate for me?” I whisper.
“I want my woman in my bed… around my cock.” He kisses me hard. “Right fucking now.” Our teeth clash as he pulls me toward him with urgency. “Get it off. Get your fucking clothes off.” In one swift movement, he lifts my dress over my head.
I stand before him in a black, lacy G-string and matching bra. His eyes darken as they drop down my body. He puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me down to my knees in front of him. Desperate to please him, I wait for his instruction as I try to control my erratic heartbeat.
There are two men in my life. One is carefree and gentle. Rici, the man who makes beautiful love to me. The other one is the man who fucks me like he hates me. My body is his. He takes what he wants, how he wants, and it’s so fucking hot, I can’t stand it.
Enrico Ferrara is here in all his glory tonight, and anticipation is thumping hard through my body.
He takes his suit jacket off and throws it to the side. He loosens his tie with a sharp snap, and he tears it off. With his eyes locked on mine, he unzips his suit pants and takes his cock out. He gives it a slow stroke, and my insides clench hard.
“Apri la bocca,” he says.
My legs open wider, knees scratching on the carpet.
“Sto per scoparti la bocca.”
He kicks off his shoes and drops his pants. I’m blessed with this sight of his huge cock at eye level. Thick veins course down its engorged length as it hangs heavily between his legs. Pre-ejaculate drips from its end as it searches for swollen wet flesh.
My eyes close, and I hold my breath. He walks around me, sizing me up. Working out how he wants to fuck me.
“Succhia il mio cazzo.”
“Translate,” I whisper. “I don’t understand you.”
He grabs a handful of my hair and tugs my head back sharply so our eyes meet. “Then learn, because I only fuck in Italian.”
“Yes,” I pant up at him as the grip on my hair becomes painful.