Chapter 3

3

Olivia

Oh, my god, he hasn't even fucked me, and I can already imagine the shape of his rigid length between my legs. Feel his taste in my mouth, smell his scent in the air as I follow him up the stairs to the room he has for the night. Good thing he has it, too, because, no way was I going to go to his home, nor was I going to bring him to my place. I've had one-night stands before, but something about this man tells me this encounter is going to be different. And it's not only due to the hum of electricity that sizzles between us every time our eyes meet. Doesn't mean this encounter is going to be anything but strictly transactional. I am going to make sure it's purely transactional. Exchange of bodily fluids, and some old-fashioned banging meant to let off steam.

There will be no intimacy, nothing to blur the lines about what this is. A one-night stand, purely carnal, where we enjoy each other's bodies. That's it. End of story.

I can't help but train my gaze on his butt as he walks up the stairs ahead of me. And oh, God, what a butt it is. Tight and hard, it stretches the seat of his jeans as he stalks forward. My fingers tingle, and my mouth pools with saliva. What I wouldn't give to lean in and squeeze his flesh. I curl my fingers into fists.

As we reach the corridor at the top of the stairs, he prowls forward until he reaches the single door at the end of the short hallway.

"There's only one room here?"

"And it's ours for the night." He pushes the door open and gestures to me. I walk in, very aware of the heat of his body as I brush past him. My scalp tingles, and the soles of my feet burn. Goodness, and I haven't even touched him. He slaps on the light, and I walk into the room. He shuts the door behind him, and the quiet snick echoes around the space. I shiver, and the hair on my forearms rises.

The room—well it's a suite really—is nicer than I would've expected—a double bed, with bedclothes that appear to be clean, next to it a bed-stand, then a door that leads to the bathroom. Pushed up against one wall is a single mirror with a dressing table and stool in front of it. Next to it a window, with an armchair pushed up near it. Adjoining the area is a bar with stools next to the counter. I glance around the suite and notice there are no other belongings of his.

"You travel light," I murmur.

"I only use the suite to sleep off the alcohol in my system, before I head off the next morning," he replies from his stance near the door. He hasn't made any effort to approach me, thank God. I just need a little time to gather my wits around me.

"Very sensible of you. Speaking of—" I glance at him over my shoulder, "—you do have condoms, right?"

He glances at the drawer in the bed-stand, then at me. I walk over, pull open the drawer, and spot the unopened box of condoms. "You were expecting to have sex tonight?"

"The staff's instructions are to keep the place fully stocked."

"So, the staff know you use this place for your encounters?"

"Only the bartender knows, and he can be trusted to be discreet."

"Hmm." I straighten and turn to face him. "Why do I get the feeling you're not telling me the whole truth?"

"Just like you aren't revealing why you came here with the intention of picking up someone tonight."

"I didn't—" I purse my lips. Why am I trying to deny it? "Does it matter why I want a one-night stand? Isn't it enough that I'm here?"

"You don't do this very often, do you?"

I sense my cheeks redden and resist the urge to look away. "You don't ever mince your words, do you?"

"Told you, I am forthright in my dealings."

"So, what now?" I twist my fingers together in front of me. "What's the protocol in these situations? Should I strip or something? Or will you take off your clothes first?"

"All in good time." He looks me up and down, and his gaze is so searing, so hungry, that my knees nearly give out from under me. I sit down on the bed and place my hands in my lap.

"Let me get you a drink." He walks over to the bar and busies himself.

I glance around the room, take in the clean-but-faded carpet, the faded wallpaper, and the old-fashioned chandelier in the ceiling. "This place has a certain charm about it; is that why you chose it?"

"I chose it for the location. It's far enough to not be anyone's regular haunt. At the same time, it's not too far away."

"So, you live in Palermo?"

"Do you?" He turns to me with two glasses in his hands. He walks over, hands me one, then sits down next to me.

"Orange juice?" I glance from my glass to his which is half-filled with what looks like whiskey. "I see what you're doing there." I scowl.

"Told you, I need you sober for what's to come." He twists his mouth, and good God, there's so much hidden meaning in the curl of his lips. If every, single, filthy thing I've learned from the internet was distilled into an expression, it would be this smirk.

He clinks his glass with mine, then tosses back his whiskey. He leans around me to set his glass on the side table, and goosebumps unfurl across my skin. My hand trembles and some of the juice spills on my jeans. "Shit." I place my glass on the bed-stand, then look around for something to mop up the juice with.

"There are towels in the bathroom." He jerks his chin in the direction of the door I saw earlier.

"Give me one sec." I jump up and head for the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I draw in a breath, then another. Jesus, I can't believe how nervous I am. And I'm not a virgin, obviously. I mean, I've done it with my two ex-boyfriends and a few others. But none of them had the kind of presence this guy has. Am I out of my depth here? Did I make a mistake coming here? On the other hand, he'll definitely know how to handle my body. He'll know how to bring me to orgasm, and so far, the conversation has been anything but boring. I glance at my features in the mirror. My eyes are bright, my cheeks flushed. In fact, I'd go so far as to say my skin is glowing, and I haven't even fucked the man yet.

I am going to fuck you.

Yeah, yeah, doesn't mean I can't take the lead in some of our interactions, right? I wriggle out of my boots, shuck off my socks and my skin-tight jeans, then wash my jeans under the tap before I drape them over the shower rod. I reach for the strings of my corset and stop. This could be fun, actually. I walk out of the door, clad in my corset and panties.

Before I can take another step, his gaze locks on me. He takes me in from head to toe, and his nostrils flare. He's lost his jacket, and the black T-shirt stretches so wide across his shoulders, it's as if the fabric is molded to his pecs. His gaze narrows. Those gray irises seem to turn lighter, until they're almost colorless.

I put one foot in front of the other until I'm standing in front of him. He parts his legs and I step into the gap between them. With him sitting down, his gaze is at eye level with my breasts. My nipples tighten, and my flesh aches. A slow burn flares to life between my legs, and I resist the urge to squeeze them together. He raises his gaze slowly to mine, and oh, I was wrong. His eyes aren't colorless. There are flickers of blue and green in their depths, as if hinting at the emotions churning inside. He's not as unmoved as his expression seems to imply.

I bite down on my lower lip, and his chest swells. He raises his forefinger and twirls it, indicating I should turn around. I comply. For a few seconds I stand there with my back to him. The heat from his body wraps around my waist and slides down to the space between my legs. My clit begins to throb. I sense him standing, and the heat in the room seems to intensify. A soft touch on my back has goosebumps smattering across the nape of my neck. He begins to undo the lace that holds my corset together at the back. The edges separate. Cool air assails my back. I shiver.

"You cold?"

I shake my head.

"You nervous?"

I hesitate. "A little."

"Don't be." He pulls apart the ends and the entire contraption slides down my waist until its top end is balanced at the tips of my nipples.

He runs his big fingers down my bare back, and I arch into his touch. That feels so good. He traces lines across my back, probably the marks left in my skin by the bindings. Then, he pushes aside my hair, and a soft touch brushes the nape of my neck. I feel it all the way to my toes. He's not even kissed me, and my body is primed to receive him. Every nerve ending in my body is alive, every cell alert, and every pore on my skin opens as if to absorb his very presence.

He slides his big palms under the corset and around to cup my breasts. Sensations crowd my skin, my toes curl, and I push into his hands wanting to feel the imprint of every finger of his on my skin. He massages my flesh and I lean back and into his shirt-covered chest. I place my head on his shoulder, wind my arm around his neck, and turn my head to glance up at him. He's watching me so closely, with so much intensity. Those gray-blue eyes of his now a dark blue. It's incredible how they change with his moods. His jaw hardens and he pinches my nipple.

I huff.

He tweaks my nipple again, and I groan. My thighs clench, and moisture beads my core. I try turning to face him, but he stops me. He continues to strum my nipple, while with his other hand, he squeezes my other breast. I wrap both of my arms about his neck and pant. A nerve throbs at his temple as he squeezes both of my nipples at the same time. I yell. A shudder grips me as I grind my butt restlessly into his groin. He's thick, and long, and throbbing. The column in his pants feels alive and angry enough to stab into me through the layers of clothes that we're wearing.

"Jesus," I groan, then once more, try to turn. He pulls me flush against him, so every inch of my back is plastered against that hard, unforgiving surface of him.

"Massimo," he growls.

"Eh?" I blink rapidly, not sure what he means.

"That's. My. Name. Now say it."

When I hesitate, he releases my breast, only to shove his hand under the waistband of my panties. He stabs two thick fingers inside me, and I gasp. My gaze widens. I open and shut my mouth, unable to articulate the sensations that scream up my spine. He circles my clit with his thumb, and oh, my god, that's too much. I dig my nails into his shoulders, and a growl rumbles up his throat.

"Do you know how much it turns me on when you do that?"

He adds a third finger inside me and I gasp.

"Oh, god, it's too much. Please, please, please," I pant, mewl, and arch against him. I try to squeeze my thighs together to stop him, but he's relentless.

"My name. Say it." He works his fingers in and out of me, then squeezes my clit and kneads my nipples at the same time, and my entire body trembles. "Oh, my god, Massimo," I cry out.

"Good girl." He releases me, only to turn me around.

"Wait, what?" He tugs on my half-undone corset and pushes it down past my waist, along with my panties. The clothes fall around my ankles, and I kick them aside. He sinks down on the bed and stares at my pussy for so long, I shuffle my feet. He grips my hips to hold me in place, then buries his nose in my center and draws in a long breath.

A tremor grips me. It's so hot, so carnal that my knees give out from under me. I sway, then grasp his hair to hold on. He makes a pleased sound at the back of his throat.

"You smell so fucking good," he says in a low, throaty voice that is a kind of sex in itself.

He glances up at me and his eyes gleam. "I'm going to eat you now."