He shifts on the mattress so we’re face to face, curling his fingers in my hair. He smells of me. I lean in and lick his lips, encouraging him into a slow, lazy kiss as I slide my hand down his body to his bulging erection.
He reaches between us and holds my wrist to stop me.
“I wanna take care of you,” I mumble against his lips.
With a slight shake of his head, he whispers, “Just lie back. Let me watch you.”
Scooting farther up on the bed, I shift around and part my thighs.
Saint pushes up onto his knees and shoves his pants down until his long, two-toned cock bobs out.
Stunning.
He collects my cum on his fingers and lubricates himself with it. Stroking his fist up and down his length. His gaze rakes over my body before settling on my face. A low groan leaves him then, his fingers squeezing the head of his cock.
“I wanna touch you,” I whine.
He shakes his head, denying me.
Spreading my legs wider, I squeeze my breasts, pinch my nipples, roll my hips. But his melted gaze doesn’t leave my face.
“Mia piccola regina…” he groans as the pace of his strokes increases. “Così bella.” A deep, feral rumble. “Così fottutamente bella.”
That heated, intense gaze traces every inch of my face as his body tenses and tightens from his mounting pleasure, his veins bulging, breaths quickening.
I’m as bare as can be before him. Spread open. Wanton and ready. Uninhibited. Up for anything.
And still, as he strokes himself to the pinnacle of pleasure, those burning amber eyes never leave my face. With each firm pump of his cock, he calls me beautiful…
So beautiful…
So fucking beautiful…
His little queen…
And it steals my breath, my senses, my pride. Puts me in a chokehold. Drains all the oxygen from my brain.
As he finds his release with a restrained groan and heavily lidded eyes locked on mine, I fall a little in love with him.
Never in my life have I felt more beautiful.
I feel worshiped. Revered. Cherished.
There’s no way…no way in hell I wouldn’t have fallen head-first for him.
~
I WATCH HIMfall asleep. I watch his breaths even out. His chest rises and falls over and over.
I watch him until the sun yawns high in the sky, waking the world, spreading its heat and glory.
I watch him like a painting mounted in a gallery.
How deceptively innocent he looks when asleep. This stunningly twisted creature. This enigma. Thisart.
Only when my eyes and heart are content do I gingerly roll out of bed.
On the nightstand, his phone lights up for a few seconds before going dark again. Quietly, I pick it up, noting the high count of messages, missed calls, and voicemails in the notifications bar. I power it off. The world can wait. This morning he’s mine. He might get upset when he wakes and realizes it’s off, but I don’t mind his anger. I can handle it.
