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I didn’t even care that he watched me like I was the newest blockbuster. His fingers guided me expertly through my release until they stilled and so did I. I stared up at the ceiling, stunned by the force of my orgasm.

“I told you you’d scream my name one day. And as an added bonus, you even called me God,” he said with a chuckle as he kissed my lips before hovering over me. His fingers were still between my legs and the look on his face was a mix between insufferable smugness and breathtaking ownership.

The heat in my cheeks intensified. “I did not call you God.” But I was mortified that I’d uttered the word while in the throes of passion. That was an abuse of the word if there ever was one.

“You uttered my name and God without pause, that’s as close as it can get if you ask me.” There was a subtle growl to his voice, an undercurrent of possessiveness, that was almost enough to make me ask for another round. I didn’t know this wanton thing could be inside of me.

His hand slid out from between my legs, making me shiver. Then he took my hand and pushed it between my legs. I tensed, unsure of his motive and acutely aware of the fact that I was dripping. I’d never been this wet. Savio guided my fingers along my folds, and I was sure I’d pass out from embarrassment any moment, but still I couldn’t avert my eyes from his. He lifted my hand from between my legs and to his face. My skin was coated with my juices. I tried to pull away, not able to believe what he was going to do, that he wanted to taste me.

“Relax, Gem,” he murmured.

I forced myself to do as he said. He was a big boy, he’d know if he wanted to do this.

Then he proceeded to grip each of my fingers and licked them clean, not once taking his eyes off me and letting out a low hum. My core throbbed with every stroke of his tongue, completely mesmerized, mortified and aroused. Just imagining how that tongue and mouth would feel between my legs almost sent me over the edge again. He pushed my hand between my legs again.

“Gather your juices,” he ordered.

My eyes widened at the command in his voice, but I allowed him to guide my fingers. Then he brought my hand up again. This time he held it before my face. I gave him a questioning look. “Taste yourself, believe me, you’re fucking delicious.”

I parted my lips and let Savio push my index finger into my mouth. It was the first time I tasted myself. It was a heady, slightly sweet flavor.

Savio’s eyes seemed to darken as he watched me. My skin burnt fiercely. This wasn’t something I’d ever considered doing, definitely nothing my strict catholic upbringing would condone.

“We’re going to hell for this,” I whispered thickly when Savio had pulled out my finger again.

“Trust me, if this already gets you a ticket to hell, heaven isn’t a place you want to spend eternity in.”

I laughed. Trust Savio to say something sacrilegious and make me feel good with it.

His mouth pulled into a smile, for once neither arrogant nor teasing before he pressed a kiss to my mouth, moving even closer until his front was molded to my side and I could feel the very apparent proof of his desire for me against my hipbone. His tip slid over my skin, spreading the hint of moisture there that stunned me.

My brows snapped together. Had he come watching me?

“What?” he asked in a low voice.

I darted my eyes down, despite my shyness, and indeed his tip was glistening. “Did you…?”

His own brows pulled together, obviously not following my train of thoughts.

A subtle pulse throbbed in my temple as the words tumbled out of me. “You are wet. Did you…” I lowered my voice. “…come?”

Savio blinked and then his head fell forward, his nose burying in my throat. “Oh Gem. You’re killing me.” And he laughed.

He laughed at me.

Mortification washed away the hazy after-orgasm glow and I jerked away from him, trying to get out of bed. Savio wouldn’t have it.

His arm snuck around my waist, pulling me against him once more and holding on tight. I didn’t look at his face, instead I focused on the way the muscles in his shoulders flexed. Our naked skin touched in several places—his strong thigh against mine, his erection against my waist, his muscled arm against my belly—and it was impossibly wonderful. Even in my mortification, that fact didn’t go unnoticed.

His finger nudged my head up so I’d look at him. I glared.

“I keep forgetting how little you know.”

Was that supposed to make me feel better? It didn’t. Toni had talked me through most of the important things, but obviously she’d left out equally important information.


Tags: Cora Reilly The Camorra Chronicles Romance