He moved backward, going up on his knees, grabbing my legs, pressing them together, pushing them against my chest, making me feel him even deeper, a little pinch that shouldn't have felt good, but somehow did.
His hand moved out, grabbing my hand, slipping it between my thighs, using his thumb on top of mine over my clit, helping drive me upward harder, faster, until my chest started to feel tight, until my muscles started to seize up.
His free hand moved upward, grabbing my neck, putting pressure on the side.
"Come," he demanded as my head started to get a little light, as he fucked me harder, as he pressed his thumb roughly against my clit.
And just like that, I did, a deep pulsation that started in my core then exploded outward, stealing my breath, stealing my voice, my back arching, my hand slapping down onto Lorenzo's arm, holding on as he fucked me through it, dragged it out, until the final wave crashed. He slammed deep, body jolting, voice hissing out my name as he came.
I felt in pieces afterward, completely out of control of my body that was suddenly racked with aftershocks—a phenomenon I had started to believe was some lie men told each other to stroke their egos.
Nope.
They existed.
Apparently, you just needed a man like Lorenzo Costa to bring them out of you.
He sat back on his heels for a long moment, head angled back, eyes closed, trying to even out his breathing.
Around the time my aftershocks subsided, he seemed to get control over himself as well, slipping out of me, hopping off the bed, walking back to the bathroom, half-closing the door.
Just as function came back to my body, sense came back to my head, making me knife up in the bed, my heart flying upward, the reality settling in on me.
I'd just slept with him.
What the hell kind of Stockholm bullshit was that?
My stomach twisted in knots as I climbed off the bed.
I didn't stop to think about it, just rushed bare-ass naked across the room, into the hall, across it and into my own, closing and locking the door, dropping down on the edge of the bed, hands covering my face.
"Oh my God," I whispered as my thoughts swirled, all of them slamming into each other, falling down in mid-stride.
It wasn't long before I heard Lorenzo's voice calling my name, a curious sound that got more confused as he called again, making his way into the hallway. I heard him move out into the main area before he came back, stopping outside my door.
He tried the door, finding it locked in his hand.
"Giana," he called, voice low.
Biting into my bottom lip, I refused to answer, knowing I wasn't in any condition for rational thinking—let alone an actual conversation—right then. "Get back out here," he demanded, but his voice was softer than usual, coaxing.
There was no reason to go out there, though.
That happened.
But it changed nothing.
He was still a man with my life in his hands.
And I was a prisoner.
Talking about it wouldn't change the facts.
Better to put the distance between us now.
Because we could never freaking do that again.
As if we realized this at the same exact time, his hand slid the external lock.
It was over.
It wasn't going to happen again.Chapter NineLorenzoI barely saw her for the next few days.
I tried to tell myself it was for the best.
Fucking her had been a bad move. It complicated shit. And I liked my sex—and life—decidedly uncomplicated.
That said, I would admit that it felt strange having her in my place, but a ghost. I unlocked the door first thing in the mornings, but she didn't come out until after I left. She must have had amazing hearing, always hearing the swish of the elevator as it came up, because I never caught her in the common area.
A part of me wanted to charge in, demand to hash shit out. But I had just enough self-preservation to keep me from doing it. Which was just as well. The woman deserved a little privacy if she wanted it. Her life had been turned upside down and shaken. She should be allowed to hold onto whatever she could to feel steady.
So I let her have things her way, though I installed some solid locks on the window to the fire escape as well as my closet just in case.
It was better this way.
After the next meeting with her father, I hoped she would be able to go back to her life, likely cleaning up her father's messes, but free.
And I would be back to my business. Which, I had to admit, was suffering since she arrived, since I started making excuses to be home, since I'd had to chase her around the tri-state area.
It would be good to get back to what was important.