Page 74 of Mario
I am so tired. So tired of fighting this. Tired of fighting him. Tired of fighting myself.
He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me. His gaze is a physical touch, a caress that’s more intimate than any hand has ever been.
And then he reaches out.
His fingers brush a stray strand of hair away from my face.
It’s the lightest of touches. A whisper of skin against skin.
But it’s the most intimate thing anyone has ever done to me.
My breath catches in my throat.
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my chest, in my throat, in my fingertips.
His fingers linger on my cheek. His thumb traces the line of my jaw.
I lean into his touch.
I can’t help it.
It’s a reflex. A need. A desperate, hungry plea.
His eyes darken. The gold flecks burn like embers.
He takes another step closer.
There is no space left between us. His body is a solid wall of heat against mine. I can feel the muscles of his chest through my suit jacket. I can feel the hard length of his thighs against mine.
I can feel the evidence of his desire, hard and insistent, pressing against my stomach.
I am not imagining it.
This is real.
He wants me.
The knowledge is a shock, a jolt of pure electricity that arcs through me. It’s terrifying and exhilarating and utterly, completely intoxicating.
“Victoria,” he says. My name is a low growl, a primal sound that vibrates through my entire body.
His hands slide into my hair, displacing the careful pins as he gathers it in his fists. The slight sting on my scalp is delicious and deepens the pleasure and need building inside me.
He tilts my head back.
I am completely at his mercy.
I look up at him, my lips parted, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
His lips crash down on mine, hard and demanding.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth, tasting me, possessing me. He is not gentle. And he is definitely not asking.
He is taking.
And I give it to him so very willingly.
I give him everything. My body is no longer my own. It is a vessel for this feeling, this incredible, overwhelming pleasure.
