“You’re not in charge here.” Her nails scraped my nape. “You’re my chair.”
I nipped at her jaw. “Talk, talk, talk. Fuck yourself, bella.”
“Like this?” Her knees rose and she tilted her hips, giving me a better view of exactly what she was doing. And what she was doing was plunging two fingers inside herself and slowly sliding them back out.
“Are you going to tell me that satisfies you? Two little fingers?”
She shook her head. “No. I need something thicker.” She shoved three fingers inside herself. “Yes, that’s better. That’s all I need.”
I slapped her thigh again. “You’re in denial.”
She pressed her ass against my cock, grinding down hard enough to make me see stars. “I’m going to come. It doesn’t matter how it happens or who does it. The end result is the same.”
Slap.
“I think you’re having memory problems. I melted you with my tongue.”
“Coming is coming,” she panted.
Her hips were rocking with the slide of her fingers. It was like getting a private lap dance from the hottest fucking stripper on earth. My dick pulsed behind the zipper of my trousers, which were undoubtedly stretched out beyond repair. Then again, she was soaking them with her pussy juices. They’d have to go in the evidence bag along with the sheets.
I didn’t give a single damn.
It took all my self-restraint not to toss her hands aside and take over. To show her how it was really done. But she was baiting me, and there was no way I’d rise to it. If she wanted to give herself a subpar orgasm, she could do that.
We both knew what I could give her would’ve been so much more satisfying, even if she pretended otherwise.
Her huffs of breath against my neck became shorter, more rapid. The flat plane of her stomach clenched and rippled as she got closer. Her long legs rose and fell with her pleasure.
As maddening as it was not to touch her, there was something to be said for this view. Saoirse’s long, lean body all stretched out along mine, her feet digging into the backs of my calves, nipples turned up, begging for a mouth to cover them. I’d done a lot, experienced almost too much, but never anything that could touch how viscerally hot this was. Fully dressed in one of my finest suits, a naked, writhing woman in my lap who wanted nothing from me.
Before I could stop myself, I covered her hand with mine. Her movements stuttered, her mouth falling open against my neck.
“Keep going, pretty girl,” I growled low. “I’m riding this out with you.”
The heel of her hand hit her clit each time she fucked her fingers. I trailed my fingertips along her outer lips and down to the valley of her ass, which made her jerk and moan into my neck.
“Softest skin, most stubborn girl,” I murmured to her. “Let me see you come. Show me how good you can get yourself off.”
Like she was following my command, her spine arched, and her cries grew high and frantic. I pressed on her fingers, pushing her deeper into her pussy, which earned me her ass slamming down my throbbing cock.
“Luca,” she rasped. “Oh fuck.”
Nails dug into my nape as she rode the wave, cresting over and over. Her eyes were slammed shut, her expression rapturous. It was gorgeous and infuriating.
I couldn’t even pinpoint exactly why I was angry. I’d had blue balls before, and I’d dealt. I’d never felt like punching a hole in the wall from unmet need. That wasn’t what this was.
There was a word on the tip of my tongue for where the anger was coming from, but if I acknowledged I was jealous I didn’t own Saoirse’s orgasms, I’d be entering dangerous territory.
After a minute or two, her limp body relaxed in my lap. She withdrew her fingers, but we both cupped her between her thighs until she yawned.
“Mmm…I think I can go to sleep now. Everything’s quiet.”
“Good idea. We have an early start.”
Her eyes fluttered open. “You are going to tease me.”
Lowering my chin, I stared down at her flushed face and swollen, pink lips. It wouldn’t take much to drop a kiss on them. They were practically begging for it.
I scooped her into my arms and walked her to her bed instead. “I think we’ve done enough teasing tonight.”
I laid her down, pulling the sheets up to her chin. The sleepy girl she was snuggled into her pillow without any resistance, her eyelids lowering to half-mast.
I turned away, but she caught the back of my trousers, pulling me back around.
“I’m really looking forward to riding your motorcycle tomorrow,” she mumbled.
“Yeah.” I grazed her temple with my knuckles. “I am too.”
“Good night, Luca.” Eyes closing, her lips tipped into a contented little grin.
“Night, wife.”
Even after I fucked my fist to thoughts of my wife, I lay awake and alone in bed, nowhere near settled. Any other night, I would have gotten up, gone for a ride on my bike or indulged in other passions, but we had a long ride tomorrow. I’d take chances with my own life but not with Saoirse’s. So, I forced myself still, closed my eyes, and waited for sleep to come.
If I’d expected anything to change between us overnight, I would have been wrong. Saoirse’s chocolate eyes lit on my bike, and she was all coos and excitement, running her fingers over the seat and bending to check out the chrome.
“Oh, it’s pretty.” She pressed her hands together beneath her chin. “I didn’t know you had this one.”
Wearing the leather jacket I’d given her this morning, her long legs encased in black jeans, Saoirse looked like she belonged on a poster hanging in the back of a mechanic’s shop.
I patted the seat. “I’m borrowing it for the weekend. It’s a better ride for two people. If you end up liking it, I’ll buy one for us.”
Rossi bikes were works of art, so I appreciated the way Saoirse stroked the leather stitching and admired the shape of the handlebars.
“It’s gorgeous.” The light in her eyes brightened. “But what if I want one of my own?”
“Then we’ll get you one. Clara rides when she isn’t pregnant. You’ll have to talk to her about what bike to choose.” Folding her hand in mine, I yanked her close. “First step is taking a ride with me. You might hate every second of it.”
“I’ve been on a motorcycle before, Luca.”
My mouth flattened, displeased, though I had no idea why I’d assumed she hadn’t ridden a motorcycle before. She’d lived ten lives before we’d met. Of course she’d ridden.
And it fucked me to hell thinking of her on the back of someone else’s bike. No way they’d been as careful as they should’ve been. She was lucky she’d come out of it unscathed.
“Never with me. I’m assuming not on this route?”
She shook her head. “Not in this country.”
“Good. Then I get your first.”
“That you do. First husband, first motorcycle ride in the US.” She shoved her helmet on and perched on the seat. The visor was down, so I couldn’t see her, but I imagined she was fluttering her lashes at me.
“You really are a little brat, aren’t you?”