I can’t. Not when he’s doing this—dragging it out, making me want.
His teeth graze my earlobe, and I gasp as his hands travel higher, fingers teasing the lace edge of my panties, dipping under but never touching where I need him most.
"Nothing to say?" His smirk is sinful, his voice taunting as his hands explore, his touch frustratingly light. "Not so sharp-tongued now?"
I let out a frustrated whimper, my hips shifting, searching for more. "Stop teasing."
He chuckles, low and dark, as if this is a game only he knows the rules to. "Oh,amore,I haven’t even started."
Then he moves.
In one swift motion, he grips the backs of my thighs and spreads me wide, dragging me to the edge of the bed until my legs dangle over the sides. He kneels before me, his palms smoothing up the outside of my thighs, his breath warm against the bare skin between them.
I’m shaking now, my body already aching, already begging.
"Look at you," he murmurs, eyes locked onto mine as his fingers drag lazily over my soaked panties. "Fucking trembling for me, and I’ve barely touched you."
"Then touch me," I bite out, frustration laced in my voice.
He tsks, shaking his head. "You don’t give the orders here,dolcezza."
Then he leans in, slow, deliberate torture, and presses an open-mouthed kiss against the inside of my thigh.
I whimper, my fingers twisting into the sheets.
Another kiss. Another. Each one closer, each one softer than the last.
"Marco…"
He hums against my skin, dragging his lips higher, inhaling deeply like he’s savoring the scent of my arousal. "You’re already dripping,bella." His voice is thick with satisfaction. "Is this what you wanted?"
I nod frantically, my body on fire, every nerve ending begging for more.
But he doesn’t give it to me.
Instead, he moves higher, his lips brushing the lace of my panties, his tongue pressing against the damp fabric, tasting me through it.
I jolt, a broken sound leaving my throat as he does it again.
"You want my mouth, baby?" he purrs, voice dripping with sin. "You want me to make you come with nothing but my tongue?"
"Yes," I gasp. "Please."
A pleased hum vibrates against me. "Beg me properly."
My pride wars with my desperation, but only for a second.
"Please, Marco," I whisper, desperate, wrecked. "I need you. I need your mouth on me. Please."
He groans, deep, like my begging did something to him, like it unraveled him in ways he wasn’t expecting.
Then, finally—finally—he hooks his fingers into my panties and rips them away.
I barely have time to gasp before his mouth is on me.
And then I shatter.
The first stroke of his tongue is devastating.
