She shifts and climbs on top of me, straddling my hips and rubbing her bare core over my cock.
I groan.
Her lips curve into a sultry smile as her hand comes down and grasps the base of my length, and she lifts her hips, ready to impale herself on it.
“Condom,” I manage to choke.
She pauses. “I’m on the pill. And I’m clean. I got checked after—”
“I’m clean,” I interrupt, not wanting her to remember her fuck of a cheating ex.
“Good.” She angles the head of my cock at her entrance and takes me in, her opening already slick and ready. Was she dreaming about me? The thought makes me thrust up, hard.
Her breath catches.
“Just because you’re on top, doesn’t mean you’re in charge,” I growl. Not that I don’t like to see the confident, seductive side of my lover, I just want to see the effect of my words on her. It feels incredible to be inside her unsheathed, her wet heat squeezing my cock like a glove.
As expected, her eyes glaze, and she increases the rhythm of her thrusts. Her breasts bounce with the movement, the dusky rose tips stiff.
I grip her ass, yanking her over my cock.
She moans, breath turning ragged.
“Who do you belong to?”
She blinks. “You.” Her voice sounds hoarse and throaty, so fucking sexy.
I’m ready to come already—she’s so glorious. I bring my thumb to her clit and rub.
She shrieks and arches, her head falling back, so her long hair sweeps over my thighs, and her tits point to the ceiling. Her internal muscles spasm around my cock, and I spear her, driving up as I yank her hips down. I buck, cum shooting into her. A shudder and another long release, and she collapses on top of me, panting, her silky hair falling in a curtain across my face.
I roll out of bed and scoop her up. She weighs so little, it’s easy to carry her, and I love the way it makes me feel. Like she belongs to me. Like I’m in charge of her. Like she trusts me to be her man.
I carry her to the shower, where I wash every centimeter of her lithe body. Yeah, I could definitely get used to having Summer LaTorre staying in my place.
After we dress, I make her a veggie omelet and slide it in front of her. She brought her espresso machine over to my house, and she makes us both lattes.
“I don’t usually eat breakfast.” I don’t like the way she squares her shoulders, as if preparing for a fight.
I watched this battle between her and her mother those first few months when I lived with them. They argued over food—over how much she ate, what she ate. Over their differing opinions on nutrition. Summer doesn’t like carbs or fat although she can go to town on dessert when she loses her resolve.
“I’m not going to get into it with you over eating, bambi. I’ll just tell you this—I love your body, and I would like it even better if there was just a little more to fill my hands. So make me happy and eat what I cook for you. It’s high protein, low fat. No cheese. Mangia.”
Her cheeks tinge with pink, and her lips part, but she doesn’t say anything. Why the blush? She drops her head and takes a bite. “It’s delicious, Carlo, thank you.” Sweet as candy. I could definitely get used to it.
I sit across from her and fork my own omelet. “Speaking of getting into it, I want to talk to you about something.”
She stiffens. “What is it?”
“What’s the deal with school?”
“What do you mean?”
I shrug. “How’s it going? You seem stressed but unfocused.”
She stabs her egg and shoves a huge bite in her mouth, chewing slowly.
I wait.
“I hate it.”
Not surprised.
“I’m probably going to get put on academic probation if I don’t pull my grades up.”
Conflict flits on her face—misery combined with defiance. She’s always been a straight-A student, graduating at the top of her class in high school. “I don’t belong in the business school.”
“So quit.”
Tension climbs in her shoulders. “It’s not that simple, Carlo.”
“It is.”
She pushes her chair back and surges to her feet, fleeing me and this conversation.
“No, bambi. Come back, please.” I catch her around the waist and haul her back against my body. My lips find her neck. “I don’t mean to upset you.” Plopping down in her seat, I pull her to sit on my lap. “But we’re talking about this.”
She blinks back tears. “This isn’t any of your business.”
“I’m your keeper, so everything about you is my business.”
“I want out.”
Ah. Her safe words. Stubborn little vixen. “No, you don’t.”
The defiance wavers once again, marred by a tear. She draws in a breath and exhales. “Why are you so interfering?”
I pull her face down into my neck and stroke the back of her head. “You know why, principessa. Because I care.”