“You undo me, Princess ...”
My body gives in, and I press a kiss against his neck, my body melting. I whisper in his ear. “I’ve seen you in Café Lazzo. Always with beautiful women.”
His lips brush my cheek, then trail down my neck. “I don’t recall their names. All I want is you, Francesca.” A hand tugs my blouse out of my skirt; then his fingers graze the lace of my bra. “Jesus,” he rasps as I arch into his hands. “Your tits are perfect.”
And bigger.
His hands cup my jaw tenderly. “Let me kiss you.”
My hands slip under his workout shirt as we lock gazes. My no-kissing rule is to protect myself from getting attached to the men I have sex with. The number of men I’ve kissed on the lips can be counted on one hand. “No.”
His lashes flutter. “Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes,” he murmurs as his lips kiss my collarbone.
I gasp as heat pools deep inside me, my core tightening and fluttering. He pulls my skirt up to my waist as I inch up his shirt, then tug it over his head.
My breath hitches. I’d forgotten what a work of art his body is—hard, chiseled muscles; the beautiful color of his skin; the pink nipples; the delicious V that dips down to his waistband. I lick his nipple, and he shivers.
“Princess, if you do that, we’re gonna fuck right here.” He pulls me up and sets me on the window ledge. His fingers dance over my panties, tracing down the center of my core.
“I haven’t been able to get you out of my head,” he murmurs, his gaze hooded. “You don’t show up for walks.”
My head falls back against the glass as his finger moves the fabric of my underwear and dips inside me. He comes back out to circle my clit.
“I want to know why we met. Why you drive me crazy ...” He slips another finger inside me, and I groan. “Yeah, that. I love the sounds you make, sweetheart. Let me tell you some secrets. I went to Notre Dame. My parents were a piece of work, and I couldn’t wait to get away from them. I majored in history, then got drafted to the Pythons.”
My hand reaches under the elastic of his pants. I take his cock and caress it with my palm, pumping him to the rhythm of his fingers. “I can find that out on the internet.”
“I have superugly feet. Downright scary.” He presses a kiss to the cream lace of my bra. His teeth bite one nipple, then the other. Shocks ricochet over my skin.
I gasp. “I’ve seen your feet. That’s an accurate assessment.”
He pulls down the cups of my bra, pushes my breasts together, and rubs his scruff over them.
“Cece gave me your cell,” he mumbles, the reverberation of his voice against my skin delicious. “I saw her in the lobby today. She said, ‘The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself.’ Is that odd behavior?”
My fingers tangle in his hair, and my voice is breathless. “Normal. So that was you earlier? Texting me?”
He grins against my skin as he glances up, and the genuineness of it takes my breath. I’ve only seen his real smile a few times. “Yep. And you can’t be mad at me. She offered it.”
“I’m going to kill her slowly.” I run my fingers over the sharp angles of his jawline. “Maybe you’re the real stalker ...”
My words trail off as his finger slides back inside of me. He pumps slow and steady, his thumb circling my nub. I bite my lip to hold in my groan.
“Does that feel good?”
I nod.
“You wanna come?”
“Yes.”
He strokes, exploring the dips and valleys as my breath quickens.
“So responsive ...” His eyes glitter down at me. “So wet.”