“You want this, Georgina? Tell me.”
“I want you to fuck me,” I said. “Fuck me until you forget every woman but me.”
“I can’t understand you,” he said, his tongue sliding from one breast to another. He started to suck me harder, until I was drenched in want. “I’ll fucking figure it out.”
“Sì,”I breathed out.Figure me out.
His mouth moved down my body, his lips and tongue alternately working with his hands. He was exploring every inch of my skin. Even my toes were curling from the pleasure. His five o’clock shadow was rough, and when his tongue started to lick my thighs, I pulled his hair, begging for more.
“Ah,” he said, his breath drifting against me. “No words necessary.”
His mouth closed over the sensitive nub of nerves, his tongue licking like a starved man, and I lost all sense of time and place. I was wild with want, and it didn’t matter what I did or said, or how I shamelessly moved my hips in time with his strokes. I burned for the moment my orgasm ripped through me.
I didn’t have to fake it, and there were no tears. When it came, it came with a beautiful viciousness that tore me wide open but left no scars.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful when you come,” he said, and then he devoured my mouth.
He tasted like me and beer, and we kissed, rolling around on the bed, tangling our bodies and our tongues, until it felt like if he didn’t fuck me, I would go insane. Somewhere in the madness, I’d removed his shirt, and it was only his body and mine—skin against skin.
“Fuck me,” I said. “Use me to feel alive.”
The words fell from my lips without consent. I realized in that moment how dangerous it was to be around him. He made me set down my weapons and become unguarded. My wounds and scars were exposed, even if he couldn’t see them or recognize them for what they were.
He stopped moving, and when I went to touch him, he pinned my wrists to the sides of my head. His eyes studied mine. After I moved my face, he released one of his holds and turned my face back toward him. He wiped a tear I hadn’t realized had formed from the corner of my eye.
“You deserve better,” he whispered. “This was never part of the deal.”
My heart beat in panic, worrying that he was going to leave me. That he was going to see through my deceit to keep him and walk out of my life. I would never see him again.
Those words that I’d said to him—Use to me feel alive.Those words weremytruth.
He made me feel alive. He made me feel…safe, too.
Shaking his head, he released me all together, then sat on the edge of the bed. “You have pajamas around here?”
“Sì,” I said, my voice cracking. I pointed to where they were.
He nodded and pulled on his boxers, then went to the dresser and found a long nightshirt for me to wear. He handed it to me, and I slipped it on, sitting up.
He stood by the bed, watching me, maybe trying to figure out what to say. This was not the scene I was used to. It was usually my back going for the door—or the edge of a yacht—that ended the date.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair, like he was going to leave.
“Stay,” I said, and pulled back the covers. “It will look more real if you do, ah?”
“Yeah,” he said after a second.
Even though the night did not go as planned, something about his intentions touched me deeper than he had.
“Mind if I take a shower?”
I pointed in the direction of the bathroom. “Be my guest.”