Page 183 of Caterina
I slump over her, my body trembling with the force of my release.
For a moment, we stay like that, a tangle of limbs and sweat and satisfaction.
Then I pull out, and I can't help but admire the sight of her. Bent over her desk, her trousers and panties still around her knees, her body limp and boneless, my cum dripping out of her.
It is a beautiful sight.
I help her up, and she stumbles, her legs like jelly.
I wrap an arm around her waist and hold her close.
She rests her head on my chest, her breathing ragged.
"You okay?" I ask, my lips brushing her forehead.
She nods.
I kiss her again, a soft kiss that is a stark contrast to the raw, hungry sex we just had.
"Okay," I say. "Now, as promised, you'll behave tonight."
She looks up at me, her eyes dark and dazed, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across her face. "I will," she says. "I promise to be a really good girl tonight." She winks. "And if I'm not, you're just going to have to punish me, I guess."
A low growl rumbles in my chest. I press my forehead against hers. "You're going to kill me, woman."
She laughs, a soft, breathy sound. "What a way to go."
My hands linger on her skin, my body already wanting her again. It is an addiction. A sickness.
And I have no desire for a cure.
Chapter Twenty Eight
Caterina
It is just dinner.
I tell myself that while I stand in front of my bathroom mirror with a makeup brush in one hand and my hair clipped back from my face.
Just dinner.
Dinner at my house, with my siblings, their spouses, and their children. No Papà. No uncles. No huge family turning theevening into something larger than I want it to be. No voices from every corner of the Conti family weighing in, hovering, managing, worrying, watching.
Just us.
Or as close to just us as anything can be now, given the guards outside, the secured perimeter, the restricted guest list, the staggered arrival windows, and Adrian’s general attitude toward flowers, windows, dinner, breathing, and anything else that might possibly be used as a threat vector.
Still.
Just dinner.
I lean closer to the mirror and sweep shadow over my eyelid with more care than the evening technically requires.
I know that.
It is not a gala. It is not a casino event. It is not a board dinner. It is not some formal public occasion where I need to be Caterina Conti in the way people expect.
It is dinner with my siblings in my own house.
