Page 96 of Valentino

"Look at me."

My eyes find his. Dark. Focused. The same expression he wears most of the time, except now the only threat is how much he wants this and how carefully he's trying to control it.

"More," I whisper.

He gives me another inch. Slow. Controlled. The muscles in his abdomen flex with the effort of not just taking.

The stretch deepens. My body resists, then yields, then pulls at him in a way that makes us both groan. His hand slides from my hip to the small of my back, fingers splayed wide, drawing me closer to the edge of the washer so the angle changes and he sinks another inch.

My head drops back.

"Fuck," he breathes.

I am so full of him there's no room left for anything else.

I hook my heels behind his thighs and pull. He slides the rest of the way home, and I scream.

He fills me completely. My inner walls clench around him involuntarily, and his forehead drops to mine, something unintelligible passing between his lips.

His thumb finds my clit again, and he presses down.

My entire body jolts.

"Good?" he asks, but it sounds more like a growl.

"If you stop I will never forgive you."

One corner of his mouth lifts.

He pulls back and then pushes forward in a single, measured stroke that bottoms out and punches a gasp from my chest.

Again.

And again.

His rhythm is unhurried. Each thrust made to hit the spot that makes my vision blur and my fingers tremble where they're still holding me open for him.

"Harder," I say.

His hand tightens on my back. His next thrust has weight behind.

"Like that?" His mouth grazes my ear. Low. Rough. A voice made for confessionals and sin in equal measure.

"Exactly like that."

He gives it to me again. And again. Each stroke landing deeper, faster.

My hands finally leave my thighs. I grab his shoulders, and I hold on. His cock is hitting a spot inside me that feels like the answer to a question I've been asking my whole life.

My orgasm hits like a power surge through a faulty wire.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Valentino

Her breathing slows against my chest.

The sheet is pulled to her waist, one arm draped across my ribs, her fingers resting over the tattoo on my left pectoral.