Page 162 of Punishing His Runaway Bride
"No right," he said, voice low. "But I wanna know."
"You wanna know a lot," I said. "What do you give? You said start over, then what? Thought about Leo? Why I pushed you? Or you think saying it fixes everything?"
I'd held this in since the garden, and the champagne loosened it all.
He stared, gray eyes burning. We'd drifted to the hall's edge, away from the crowd, partners thinning, lights dimming to hazy yellow from a wall sconce.
"Ezio, we—"
He stopped abrupt, didn't let go, pulled me through a half-open door. Corridor darker, cold white light overhead. He spun me against the wall, dipped his head, kissed me hard.
Not gentle, not polite, crushing my words back.
My hands braced his chest, pushed—once. His arm circled my waist, drew me in, firm enough to say he wasn't letting go.
My fingers clenched his shirt.
Didn't push away.
His lips left mine, brushed my ear, voice hoarse. "What do you want from me?"
That buried hurt hit me, twisted my chest.
"You say that," he went on, breath hot on my neck, "like it's just my problem, like you feel nothing." He paused. "But you do. I know you do."
I shut my eyes, shoved down the chaos.
This time was different. Not dominating—each move waited, like asking. His hands light, questioning. He dipped, lips on mine, drawing my breath slowly.
His kiss deepened, tongue sweeping in, tasting of champagne and heat. My knees buckled, legs turning to jelly under me. I felt the warmth pooling between my thighs, slick and insistent. Without thinking, I squeezed my legs together, trying to ease the ache.
Ezio noticed. He pulled back just enough, eyes darkening as they flicked down. A smirk tugged his lips. "Already?"
His mouth trailed down my neck, nipping at the sensitive skin, sending shivers racing through me. Lower, lower, until he dropped to his knees in front of me, hands sliding up my thighs, pushing my skirt higher. The sight of him there—Ezio Visconti, all power and pride, kneeling—stole my breath.
He hooked his fingers under the edge of my panties, but didn't pull them off yet. Instead, he leaned in, tongue pressing flat against the fabric, right over my clit. The wet heat through the thin barrier made me gasp, a sharp cry escaping before I could stop it.
My hands flew to his hair, fingers digging in, pressing down instinctively. I didn't even realize I'd done it until it was too late to pull back.
He paused, looked up at me. Those green eyes burned with raw desire, a wicked glint of invitation, like he was daring me to take more. It was pure temptation, pulling me in deeper.
Encouraged, he yanked my panties down, exposing me to the cool air. Then his mouth was on me, no barriers, tongue lashing andcircling my clit with fierce intensity. He sucked, licked, devoured like a man starved, his hands gripping my thighs to hold me open. The sensations built fast, electric, making my hips buck against his face.
God, I hadn't expected this. Ezio, with his status, his unbreakable dignity, on his knees for me. And he was so attentive, adjusting to every gasp, every tremble, like my pleasure was his only goal. It softened something in me, melted the walls I'd built. My heart twisted with a mix of shock and tenderness.
The pressure coiled tight, my body teetering on the edge. I was so close, breaths coming in ragged pants, when footsteps echoed down the corridor. "Olivia?" Sebastian's voice, searching.
I froze, body locking up. But the thrill of it—the risk—pushed me over. I came hard, waves crashing through me, clenching around nothing as his tongue kept working.
Ezio didn't stop. His fingers slid up, rubbing my swollen folds, circling my entrance to drag out the aftershocks, making my orgasm stretch and pulse. At the same time, he rose just enough to tug my dress down from my shoulders, exposing my breasts. His mouth latched onto one nipple, sucking hard, teeth grazing. "Not gonna answer him?" he murmured around the flesh, voice muffled and teasing.
I was still floating, mind hazy, lost in the haze. He bit down lightly, and I moaned, snapping back. Under his watchful eyes, I clamped a hand over my mouth, shook my head frantically.
He chuckled low, the sound vibrating against my skin. Standing fully now, he shoved his pants down, his cock springing free—hard, thick, veins pulsing. He gripped it, dragged the head along my slick entrance, teasing, grinding just at the edge without entering. The friction was torture, making me squirm and ache for more.
"You want it?" he growled. "Beg me."
I whimpered, leaned into his ear, voice small and desperate. "Please, Ezio... fuck me."
