I release the knots around her neck and waist, biting my lip when the material falls away and reveals her pert breasts. I can’t resist leaning in and placing a gentle kiss on her rose-pink nipple. She gasps, prompting me to lick it, and I groan from how addicting she tastes.
“L’oceano era l’unico posto in cui mi sentivo a casa,” I continue, moving my hands to the knots on either side of her hips. I pluck those, too, raw desire consuming every one of my brain cells when her bottoms drop. I can smell her arousal, and I’m struggling to concentrate on what I’m saying.
“Era l’unica cosa che mi eccitava e dava pace. Hai rovinato anche questo. Sentirti su di me è meglio di immergersi nell’oceano. Neanche con questa rivelazione so che fare.”
Leaning forward, I draw her nipple into my mouth, sucking on it harshly and earning a low, husky moan. I wrap one arm around her, keeping her immobilized, while my other hand teases her entrance, spreading her arousal up to her clit and circling lightly.
“One day,” she pants. “I’m going to learn Italian, and I’ll know exactly what you said.”
I can’t explain the visceral emotion that arises in my chest at the thought of her learning my language—immersing herself in my culture. There’s no controlling the flashes of Sawyer walking down Mercato Campo de' Fiori in Rome, a look of wonder on her face while she visits the bancarelle lining the square, smiling at the sellers as they call out to her, attempting to charm her into coming to their stands. She’d marvel over the fruits and vegetables, and gravitate toward the strong aroma of fresh flowers, sticking her button nose in each one. I’d tuck a blue hibiscus into her hair, the color rivaling her eyes.
Un giorno.
She said she'd let me keep her safe, but I don’t know what that means for us. I don't know if she'll stay. I’m not sure there will be a one day, but I keep that to myself. I have no interest in hurting my own feelings.
In place of an answer, I sink my middle finger in her wet pussy, my own groan masking her cry.
“Cazzo, quanto sei bagnata,” I murmur.
“Enzo,” she moans, rolling her hips into my hand. I add another finger, curling them as I stretch her, finding that sweet spot and stroking it persistently.
Her cries pitch higher while I use my thumb to rub her clit.
“Please, I need more,” she begs, tearing at my shirt. I’m forced to pull away from her to remove it, but the cold air feels good against my heated skin.
She works on my shorts next, and after some maneuvering, she slides them down my legs and mounts me once more.
Just as she prepares to sink down onto my cock, I stop her.
“No need to rush, bella,” I tell her, and my lips involuntarily pull into a grin when she mewls in outrage.
“You’re going to torture me, aren’t you?” she pants. “You’re supposed to be begging for my forgiveness.”
“Can’t we beg together, baby?” I rasp darkly.
Her mouth falls open, but I’m standing, lifting her in my arms as I do. She inhales sharply, quickly grabbing onto my neck. As if I’d ever let her fall. Not unless it's for me.
I carry her over to the pool, and with each step, she grows stiffer.
“Enzo,” she warns, squirming in my hold and rubbing that sweet, little cunt against my cock. Though I don’t think she intended to, I growl anyway, grinding against her. “Enzo,” she repeats, hysteria in her tone. “Don’t do this to me again. I thought you wanted me to forgive you.”
“Shhh, I’m not going to hurt you, amore mio. I’m going to replace that memory with something good,” I assure her, dropping to my knees and settling her at the edge of the pool.
“You wanted me to apologize for what I did to you on the boat, and I said I wouldn’t until I was sorry.” I brush my lips across her jawline, her body trembling deliciously.
“I’m ready to repent, baby. You tell me to stop, I stop.”
She’s staring at me with wide, panicked eyes. If Sawyer and I do have a one day, then I will make sure she never looks at me like this again. I can’t take back what I did, but I will replace it with something good.
“What are you going to do?”
“Adrenaline can be like an aphrodisiac,” I explain. “The fear, the possibility of death, makes you feel alive. That’s part of the reason why I do what I do.”
“Swimming with sharks turns you on?” she questions with doubt, though she’s entirely distracted. I twist her rigid body around before she can spot the grin on my face. When she’s facing the water, I press my chest to her back, flattening my palm against her stomach and leaning down to whisper in her ear.