Chapter 47 RóISE

Miceli walks toward me with a gaze so intense, my core clenches. I've wanted him since I got on the back of that motorcycle. And right now, the only thing I can think of is having him.

When he reaches me, he yanks my tennis shoes off while I'm busy undoing my jeans. But he takes over and pulls those off too.

Goosebumps form along my thighs. From the climate controlled air? Or the desire crashing through me? Yeah, probably that.

Picking up my jacket, he creates a pillow for my head. "Lie back."

When he uses that tone, my insides turn to molten lava.

"No kiss even?" I tease though, not wanting to be too easy.

"I'm going to kiss you, dolce fiore . My mouth moving all over the delicious, plump lips on that hot pussy."

Hot is right. And wet. The crotch of my panties is soaked. Even I can smell how turned on I am. He's standing right there.

Of course, he smells it too.

Not that he seems to mind.

I lay back, my head tilted just enough I can see the absorbed expression on his face as he looks at me there. When I feel the smooth flat blade of his knife slide under the hem of my panties, more moisture gushes from my inner core.

Jayzuz, Mary and Joseph, why does this turn me on so much?

Smooth metal sliding across my skin and a whisper of sound before the fabric rends apart. That obsessive gaze unwavering, he drags the flat of his knife across my cotton covered mons to my other hip.

With a twist of his wrist, he does the same thing on that side of my panties .

Then he bunches up the front panel of cotton in his fist, and pulls upward, dragging it over my already swollen clit.

"If you're going to keep slicing up my panties, I'm going to run out." I croak.

"You think that's a deterrent? The thought of you walking around without panties makes my dick hard enough to drill rock." Hot air puffs over my excited flesh.

He's right there. His mouth is so close, and I want it.

When I'm with Miceli, I feel like the sexiest woman alive. This man, who has so much more experience than I do, wants me. His sweet flower. His good girl. Oh, man, do I love when he calls me that.

Not because of the contract. Not because of the alliance. The way his mouth devours my intimate flesh...that is 100%, pure desire.

I grab his hair and shove my hips upward wanting more of that mouth, more of that tongue. Every thought coalesces into one, the need to come.

Then he takes his mouth away and I cry out in dismay.

He looms over me, and his hand comes down in a sweeping arc, the blade of his knife pointed toward me.

I don't move. I know he will not hurt me. With a thunk, the knife is embedded in the wood above my head.

He guides my hand toward the hilt of the blade and wraps my fingers around it. "Take it. Hold it tight with both hands."

I do as he says, one hand wrapped around the other.

"Good girl."

The praise shivers through me.

"If you pull, it will come loose and if you aren't very careful, stopping your own momentum won't be an option before you cut me. So be a good girl and don't move."

"I could just let go."

"But you won't."

He's right. I won't. And if I forget and bring my hands down, that sharp knife could cut him. Because I lose my ability to think when he touches me.

This is more effective than any restraint he could put me in. I will never risk doing him harm.

How does he know that though?

Does he realize I'm falling in love with him?

Yes, I realize I'm already there. But self-delusion is still my friend.

His talented, hot mouth returns to the apex of my thighs and his tongue slides over my clitoris in one hard swipe. My thoughts scatter and I am once again a mass of nerve endings on the brink of bliss .

Big fingers invade my tight channel pushing, rubbing, and causing explosions of excitement along my nerve endings. While his mouth gives my labia and clit one filthy kiss after another, he drives my pleasure higher and higher.

Miceli slides his fingers in and out of me one slow glide at a time, my slick wetness squelching against his fingers.

The sound only adds to the intense sexual heat burning me from the inside out. He pulls his wet fingers out of my core, sliding his big middle finger down and pressing the tip against my tight sphincter.

Rubbing the natural lubricant of my own wetness around, he builds my nervous anticipation to a fever pitch before pressing his fingertip inside.

Ecstasy detonates with the power of an exploding rocket from the single, tiny invasion. I scream, my hands clutching the hilt of his knife so tightly it's going to leave imprints in my palms.

Miceli brings me down slowly but keeps me on the edge, never allowing my pleasure to dissipate completely. His fingertip wiggles and stretches my tight backdoor.

Then he stands, his lips and face covered in five o'clock shadow glistening with my essence. Only then do I realize he's still fully dressed except for his leather jacket.

A wave of arousal rolls through me. Because apparently I am that woman. The one who is turned on by knives sliding over my skin, being told what to do (during sex only, but that's pretty obvious, yeah?) and having my lover fully clothed while he pleasures my body.

Miceli licks my juices off his lips. "I want your ass my little love goddess."

Everything inside me goes taut. "You're too big."

"I'll get you ready."

He doesn't say anything else. Just waits for me. For my answer. His gaze challenges me and asks a question.

One I have to answer once and for all, or how do I walk down the aisle toward this man in September, or any time?

Do I trust him?

With my body? Absolutely.

With my heart? Absolutely not.

But he's not asking for my heart right now. He's wants my body in a very specific way. A way I would never have expected to desire too.

But I do. A lot. "Yes, okay, I want this."

Without hesitation, his finger pushes in past the first knuckle. The sensation is different. There's a stinging where my sensitive skin stretches around that finger. But it feels good too. More than good .

Amazing.

It's like that first time in Portland, but different. This time he knows I have never had sex like this before. Something in his expression says that matters to him. I don't know why. Not sure the why is important.

I want him in every physical way. I want his heart, but if I can never have that, I want to own every bit of his physical pleasure. Every memory he has of a sexual position. Of any kind of ecstasy.

I want that memory to be dominated by our times together.

Yes, I am possessive.

I guess I have more of my father's blood in me than even I realized. Because the thought of killing any woman stupid enough to touch this man doesn't sicken me. It fills me with satisfaction.

He shoves my shirt up over my torso and past my bra, exposing the cotton cups. Yes, I am wearing cotton. I didn't expect to see him tonight, did I?

I smile at him, taunting. "You can't cut it off like you did my underwear. I've got your knife."

His deep, rich laugh washes over me as suddenly another knife appears in his hand.

"I'm a mafia underboss, mi dolce fiore . The day I carry only one knife is the day I'm ready to die."

"There's that morbid streak again." The words come out in a half-breath as I pant with excitement.

He destroys my bra just like he did my underwear and all I am is turned on.

I lose track of time as he touches me everywhere. Playing with my nipples and then sucking on them before nipping at my breasts. Barely touching my clitoris, sliding his fingers over my vulva, but never giving me enough stimulation to draw another climax out of me.

I exist on the precipice of ultimate pleasure, but never go over.

He draws his finger out and wets it with more of my juices running like a river down my crack from my over stimulated lady bits. This time when he puts his finger inside me it's thicker. Bigger.

No, it's two fingers. He scissors them. Shards of pleasure mix with twinges of pain. But the pain only makes the pleasure bigger. I writhe against his hand, craving more.

I want this so much.

How does this feel so good?

What is he doing to me?

His eyes burn into me, his gaze possessive and predatory.

Oh…oh fuck … It's so tight. It's so much.

Now it's three fingers. Oh…I…oh...I cry out, the sound animalistic.

Miceli kisses me, shoving his tongue inside my mouth.

I suck on it, wanting more of him no matter how I get it. All of the pleasure. Those tiny sparks of pain morphing into something so big I don't know how I'm going to hold it inside of me.

It's too much.

It's not enough!

I can't get enough air. I don't care. I need more, but my body is trapped.

And then it all stops. His fingers pull out of me and he steps back.

I scream my frustration. "I was so close!" I yell.

"Not without me," he says darkly. "When you come this time, I will be inside your tight, virgin ass."

"Then put your dick in!" I don't want to talk about it.

I want to do it.

"Can't do that with my clothes on." He's laughing at me.

I glare back. "Unzip and pull him out."

But he doesn't. He starts with his shirt, undoing one button at a time.

Screw this! Planning to help him get out of his clothes, I let go of the knife. I mean to let go of the knife , but my fingers refuse to let go.

His admonishment to be his good girl and hold on rings through my fevered brain.

He sees my inner war and the smile he gives me sends atavistic chills down my spine. "Good girl."

"Say it in Italian," I order. Why? I don't know.

"Mi brava ragazza."

That's why. It sounds so much more intimate, like only I have ever been his good girl.

My thighs spread obscenely wide, I undulate my hips in invitation.

Eyes nearly black with lust, Miceli rips the rest of his clothes off.

He bends down but not to touch me. I hear a cabinet door opening. Then something else. My thoughts splinter as he rubs something smooth and viscous around my sphincter.

What is that? Over the scent of our combined arousal, I smell it. Linseed oil. He's coating me with it, rubbing it into my tender, stretched flesh.

Jayzuz, Mary, and Joseph! What is this man doing to me?

His fingers slide in and out of me with no impediment. My back channel is slick with the oil. Those three fingers stretch me again and I know his sex is going to stretch me even further.

And I want it .

Now. Now. Now.

But he's drawing it out, pushing my pleasure to a fever pitch. Again!

My head turns side to side on my makeshift pillow and my hands grip that freaking knife so tight.

Then he's there, the big, blunt tip pressing against my entrance. "You ready?"

"Yes!" I scream. "Please, fuck me now!"