Racing the Sun(57)

“Are you . . . on . . . a pill?” he asks, pausing between biting my nipples.

I nod. “Yes.”

“I haven’t been with anyone since my wife,” he says huskily. “I am clean.”

I tell him I am, too, which is true—tested and clean—and I have no reason not to believe him. And then it hits me. Derio hasn’t had sex in a year. Suddenly, I feel a lot of pressure to make this memorable for him.

But from the way he’s touching me, kissing me, staring at me, I think I’m already halfway there. With his tongue on my breasts, he slips one hand between my legs, where I’m wet, and strokes me softly. I let out a breathless moan, overcome by his touch, and he slips my underwear to the side while he quickly unzips his fly. The sound of his zipper cuts through the room and it revs another part of me, turning me on and on and on.

Now his mouth is back on mine and my hands grip his waist as he guides his cock into me. I can’t help sneaking a glance and my eyes widen at the sight as he pushes his hard, thick length in one slow stroke. It’s a fucking hot sight and an even better feeling, even though I do experience the initial pinch as he slides inside of me. I take a deep breath.

“Are you all right?” he murmurs into my neck, sucking my soft skin. “I can take this slow.”

I wrap my legs around him tighter and press my nails into the small of his back. “Please don’t.”

He groans and looks at me through heavy lids. “You feel beautiful.” He places a slow, teasing kiss on my lips. “You are beautiful. Bellissima.”

We stare at each other for a moment in a long, lust-induced haze and he slowly pulls back. I can feel every inch of him as he slides out and I’m almost bereft at the absence. Then he pushes back in to the hilt and I gasp, stretching around him, feeling him so damn deep.

In and out. In and out. So wet, so slow. Maddening.

He’s looking at me now like a wild animal, his mouth parted almost in a sneer and his eyes, so dark and desirous, reach right into me. He begins to thrust in and out, harder, faster, as he holds me on the desk and I clutch him to me, keeping him as deep inside as possible. Sweat forms on his brow and drips between my breasts and everything about the moment, about us, about the air, is too damn hot. I’ve never felt so wanted, so thoroughly fucked before. Every time he sinks in farther it awakens another part of me.

I want to come so badly, my body is straining, begging for release, but my G-spot isn’t being hit at this angle. I slip my hand to my clit but he immediately pushes my fingers aside and places his own there. The pressure is so firm, so all-encompassing of my swollen flesh, that my body jerks into him further.

“My job,” he growls. “I’m the one who makes you come.”

He’s fucking hired.

It only takes one thick swipe of his fingers just as he thrusts into me to the hilt to send me over the edge. The tension unleashes like a dam and I go from wound-up as all fuck to flowing freely, lost in a million colors. My limbs spasm and my fingers dig into his back and the round thickness of his ass and I’m holding on while letting go and succumbing to a feeling of freedom I’ve never experienced before. It’s just me and it’s just him and he’s coming now, too, with ragged breath and a pained cry. I stare up at him, wanting to see that peace on his face. He closes his eyes tightly, his features contorted as he pours into me. Then he relaxes, catching his breath, and when he opens his eyes and gazes at me, I see total softness in him, like looking into a deep, cool pool, an oasis of calm.

I can’t help smiling lazily at him as I brush back a strand of thick hair from his forehead. “So, was that your way of convincing me to keep the job?”

He grins, biting his lip, and then kisses me softly. “Yes. Did it work?”

I nod, my heart still going a mile a minute against my ribs. “We can make this part of the benefits.”

“Health benefits,” he murmurs, nuzzling his lips into my neck. He groans. “Your taste is so sweet. Dolce. Just as I thought.” He licks a path up to under my ear and bites me there. He hasn’t even pulled out yet but it feels like he’s growing hard again. I guess all the stereotypes of Italian lovers are true. I can definitely work with that.

Meow.

What the hell? We both look over to see Nero, that damn black cat, slinking along a bookshelf.

“Basta!” Derio mutters and then slowly pulls out of me. It’s only then that I’m aware of how exposed we are, even in Derio’s office. The twins could have seen us easily from the patio; after all, Nero got in through the open French doors. That would traumatize them for life, even though Alfonso did wish for me to be Derio’s girlfriend.