I can’t help but feel offended at his accusation. “Just tonight. You had guests recently in your house—”
“I’m kidding,” he says and quirks a grin. “Relax,Tesorina.”
The prospect of him joking about anything feels foreign.
“Right,” I say and gulp the amber liquid. It’s sweet and tastes perfect. And for the briefest of moments, I allow myself to relax and unwind while I pour a second glass for myself.
I grab a seat beside him on the sofa with my second glass. I swear I’m already buzzing, but it’s probably his proximity and scent that has me reeling. Or maybe it’s because I’ve been cooped up in his house and I’m growing even more sexually frustrated every passing day.
Some days, I hate Antonio, and other days, I want to rip off his clothes and fuck him.
I toss my head back and down the liquid faster than I can pour it.
“Slow down there,Tesorina.”
“Don’t want to,” I say and stand, sauntering toward the liquor cabinet to grab a third drink. My lips tingle, and I sway my hips just slightly when I feel Antonio’s gaze on my ass.
Maybe I imagine it, his desire for me.
I brush past him with my drink in hand when he grabs me by the wrist and pulls me onto his lap.
“What are you—”
“You’ve had enough to drink. I’m cutting you off.”
“Why?” I whine and bring the glass to my lips before he can take it from me. “It’s not like I have to drive upstairs.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not sure you can walk up to the third floor,” he says, sounding more amused than upset about the situation.
I shift on his lap, and my hips gyrate as I try to reach behind him for the liquor cabinet, but there’s no use while I’m seated. And Antonio isn’t about to let me get up.
His hands are firmly planted on my hips.
“How much have you had to drink?” I ask. He’s been seated in here long before I came in, but was he nursing his first glass of scotch, or was that several in when I found him?
“Enough,” he whispers, staring into my gaze. I can feel the bump between us, his cock growing from my hip movements.
And I should stop. Get up. Move onto the other side of the couch.
But I don’t.
I press my lips together, my gaze locked on his as I straddle his hips and grind into his cock.
“Quit doing that unless you want me to fuck you on the sofa,” he grunts.
It’s like I went from a minor threat, a teasing gesture, and he just had to up the ante. Do I want him to fuck me? God, yes. I want to feel his cock buried deep inside of me.
What’s stopping me?
I can’t remember.
I don’t care.
My mouth crushes his hard and fast. My fingers pull at his crisp white shirt, ripping the buttons, tugging it from his trousers.
The only sounds I hear are his moans and my heart pounding wildly, the sound deafening in my ears.
His tongue pushes its way into my mouth, hungrily taking control as he flips me onto my back on the sofa.
“Is this what you want?” he whispers, staring down at me.
“Yes,” I answer eagerly, giving him permission.
Fuck the rules.
Fuck every one of them.
Rules were made to be broken.