“This view is incredible.”
Vincent stood in front of the long windows in my living room that looked out over the City of Brotherly Love. The sun had set as we’d driven across the Ben Franklin Bridge, and now the city was spread before us, little twinkles of light dotting black velvet.
Our conversation during the drive had been sporadic, mostly centering on Ava and Liam and their forthcoming wedding. Vincent had told me, with a great deal of humor, about the day that Liam had asked Mr. DiMartino for his blessing to propose.
“He was sitting with us, watching the ball game, but he was antsy. Like he couldn’t sit still. Finally, he asks my pop to talk in the other room, and Carl starts laughing—but you know, I didn’t have a clue what was going on. But I guess it went okay, because a few minutes later, Pop called us in for limoncello, to celebrate.”
I’d laughed. “It’s so weird for me to think of Liam being nervous. He was always the cool one, you know? Nothing rattled him. I think it was because of his parents, the way they made him act growing up. I never saw him unsure until the first time I met Ava.” Grinning, I remembered that night at Giff’s condo. “They weren’t dating at that point . . . they were still dancing around each other. Liam was clearly ga-ga over her, and Ava was pretending she didn’t feel the same way. She got so drunk . . .”
“My little sister got wasted?” Vincent sounded incredulous. “Miss Straight and Narrow?”
“Yeah, and at least part of it was my fault. I gave her jungle juice.” I winced a little, recalling how sick poor Ava had been that night.
“No frickin’ way. Did she know what she was drinking?”
I shrugged. “In my defense, she’d definitely already had been indulging before I started talking to her. She asked me for a sip of my drink, and then she kept it. By the time I realized that she was kind of a lightweight, it was too late.”
Vincent shook his head. “Ava’s always been so serious. Well, that’s not totally true. She was a little bit looser back before our sister was killed. But after Antonia died, it was like Ava felt like she had to do everything right. She changed.”
“I think she and Liam are good for each other. They balance one another.” I sighed a little. “When I look at them, I’m tempted to believe in love.”
We’d been close to my apartment building at that point, so I’d had to focus on giving Vincent directions about where to turn, but I hadn’t missed the fact that he hadn’t responded to my last words. I wondered why I’d even said it. I wasn’t looking for what Ava and Liam had, and I definitely wasn’t looking for anything serious with someone like Vincent DiMartino.
He’d been nearly silent as we’d walked through the lobby and ridden the elevator up to my apartment. And when I’d unlocked my door for us to go inside, his face had been inscrutable as he’d glanced around the foyer and living room, wandering over to the windows where he stood now.
I dropped my handbag onto the coffee table and kicked off my heels, sighing a little in relief. Vincent turned around, and his eyes softened as they traveled up and down me.
“The view on this side of the window is pretty damn amazing, too.” He reached for the top button at his neck and tugged down the already loosened tie. “I have to say, my evil twin Vicenzo is a real idiot.”
Tilting my head, I cocked one eyebrow at him. “Oh, really? Why do you think so?”
He stepped forward and braced both of his hands on the back of my sofa, facing me. “Because I can’t believe he met you over two years ago and didn’t do anything about it then.”
“Ah.” I laughed softly. “He was too busy being offended because I asked about pastries.”
“Like I said. An idiot.” Vincent patted the cushion on the back of the sofa. “Come here.”
I was drawn to him, incapable of denying him what he asked and intrigued by the gleam of desire in his dark eyes. I stood across the couch from him, my heart thudding in anticipation. “Here?”
“Sit down. Lean back. You look like you could use a back rub, and I happen to be a pro at giving those.”
“Lots of practice?” I quipped, but I did as he said and sank into the cushions. Vincent swept the length of my hair forward, so that it fanned over my shoulder.
“Practice does make perfect, and yeah, I’ve put in the hours.” His fingers brushed over the back of my neck before his hands began kneading my shoulders. I moaned in appreciation, my eyes drifting shut, and when his thumbs dug into the top of my spine, I made a sound that could only be described as orgasmic.
“That noise.” Vincent’s whisper at my ear surprised me, and I realized he had bent to nuzzle my neck. “I want to hear you make that same noise when my mouth is on your pussy and your legs are wrapped around my back.”
My breath caught, and I swallowed. “I’ll see what I can do about that. I guess it depends on if you’re as good with your tongue as you are with your hands.”
“Baby, I’m even better.” As if to demonstrate, the tip of his tongue traced my earlobe, and I shivered. Desire was building slowing through me, the heat of want rising over my body. “I can make you scream my name, even if you’re not usually a talker. I can make you come so many times that you’ll think you’re about to pass out.”
Holy fucking shit. I wiggled a little, unable to sit still. I could feel the wetness between my legs, and I was dying for him to touch me . . . more than he was. I was acutely and keenly aware of each inch of my skin. My nipples throbbed where they were hidden beneath my dress, and I swore my clit was already pulsing.
Just as I was about to beg him to do something, to do anything, Vincent eased his hands down over my shoulders and onto my chest, spreading his fingers so that the tip of each one was beneath the neckline of my dress.
“When I first noticed you tonight, all I saw was the red of your dress.” His fingers moved just a little. The longest two were near enough to my nipples that if I took a really deep breath—
“And then I got close enough to get a look at all of you. Babe, this dress is amazing, but it’s only because of the body inside it. I saw these beautiful tits and knew I had to touch them. I could almost feel them in my hands, feel the weight of them against my palms.”
“What are you waiting for, then?” I was nearly gasping.
“This isn’t something we need to rush. Taking my time . . . that’s the key. I want to touch you in all the right ways. I want to taste every bit of your skin. And we have all night.”
I arched my neck back so that my eyes were staring up into his. “But if you don’t put your hands on my nipples right now, I might die from wanting you.”
“We can’t have that, can we?” Vincent lowered his face until his lips hovered above mine. “No dying. But the wanting . . . that’s never a bad thing.”
“For the love of God, fucking kiss me.” I reached up and pulled him down, taking what he was so slow to give, kissing him with reckless and total abandon. The second our mouths met, his hands slid the rest of the way down my dress, closing over my breasts.
I groaned into him, curving upward toward his body, eager for him to take all of me and needing his touch more than I needed my next heartbeat. His fingers sought my nipples, pinching them and pulling them taut before he let them go.
“Need—to taste.” Finally, he sounded as desperate as I was. “Jesus, Amanda—” His mouth journeyed down the column of my throat. “God, I need my mouth on your tits now.” Pushing down the straps, he bared my boobs, giving a small, strangled cry as he looked down at me.
“So fucking beautiful,” he mumbled, and then he was bent nearly double over the back of the sofa as he sucked my nipple into his mouth.
Vincent, I discovered, had not been lying about the talent of his tongue. It swirled around the already stiffened peak, pressing it up against the roof his mouth and then teasing circles around the areola. I gripped the back of his neck, holding him where I wanted him, reveling in his every movement.
“So good—harder here. Suck me hard. Bite.” I’d never been shy about my needs when it came to sex, but there was something about Vincent that made me even more demanding. He didn’t seem to mind, as his mouth did my bidding.
When his lips moved to the other side, his fingers took over, playing me until I was writhing in an exquisite mix of pleasure and agony.
“Vincent—please.” I could only beg, no longer able to put into words what I was craving. “Please. Now.”
He growled something low under his breath, and then the heat of his upper body was gone from me, leaving me bereft for a disconcerting moment, until he vaulted over the back of the couch, landing next to me as he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt.
“Let me help.” I tugged the material from the waistband of his pants and starting working the buttons from the bottom up. When our fingers met in the middle, he yanked the still-knotted tie over his neck and then shook off the shirt.
For a long minute, I could only gape. Good god in heaven, I’d felt the hard wall of his body back at the restaurant when he’d kissed me, but seeing it was another thing altogether. Damn. He was more than built. He was goddamn sculpted. His chest was finely-crafted muscle under smooth olive skin, giving way to his chiseled abs. An intriguing line of dark hair ran from below his navel and disappeared into his pants.
I’d known from the minute he’d begun speaking to me at the party that Vincent DiMartino wasn’t my type. I tended to gravitate toward men who were like me, in the sense that we’d been raised the same way, knew the same people and would end up living similar futures, with white-collar jobs and tastefully decorated homes. I didn’t go slumming, as my less-charitable friends called it, for my occasional one-night stands. I stuck to type, whether I was looking for a relationship or just a release.
But now, looking at Vincent and feeling his heated gaze on me, I wondered what I’d been missing all this time. Because none of the men I’d ever slept with had been like this.
It was more than just his body, which was inarguably sexy and drool-worthy. It was something else about him . . . something about the way he touched me, about his intensity and his focus. The other men I’d known tended to treat sex the same way they did most of life, with an air of weary cynicism, as though the act was just one more in a series of questionable endeavors to find something new or interesting.
But with Vincent, there was no doubt that he was determined to bring me as much mind-blowing pleasure as he could—and to take as much as he could for himself, too. There wasn’t anything cynical about the open admiration and want on his face as he raked his gaze over me.
I stretched my fingers to touch the button on his pants. “Take these off, too. I want to see all of you.”
He smirked and stood, unhooking the trousers. “Turnabout’s fair play, sweetheart. Lose the dress. Strip it off.”
With hands that still weren’t steady, I pushed up on the cushion and reached backward to pull down the zipper. When I’d gotten it as far as I could, I lifted my ass from the couch and wriggled the dress off, leaving me in nothing but a tiny black lace thong.
Vincent’s pants pooled at his feet. He wore boxers beneath them, and those did little to hide his erection . . . thank you, sweet goddess of love. Without any conscious thought, I extended my fingers toward him.
“Uh-uh.” He knocked away my hand gently. “Not yet. It’s still my turn to call the shots. Spread your legs, baby. Spread them wide, so I can see that pretty pussy.”
I lay back again, parting my legs, and Vincent stepped into the apex of my thighs, the backs of his fingers brushing over the soft skin there. Kneeling, he lowered his mouth to my stomach and pressed a single kiss just below my belly button. His eyes met mine as he settled onto the carpet in front of me, running one fingertip down the seam of my panties.
“You’re so wet already.” He picked up my hand where it lay on the sofa and threaded his fingers through mine. “I’m going to make you even wetter. Watch me do it.” Lifting my hand with his, he laid it over my breast. “Play with your tits. I want to see you make yourself feel good at the same time I’m doing it.”
I could feel heat suffuse my cheeks. I’d never done this before—touched myself in front of a man—but there was something about Vincent that made it impossible for me to tell him no. With my eyes steady on his, I pinched my nipple between two fingers, rolling it as he smiled in approval.
And then he moved swiftly, licking me through the lace of my panties in one firm stroke. I gave a cry as my hips canted up, seeking more, and he delivered, using one finger to move the lace out of his way as his lips, tongue and teeth went to work.
It was the most exquisite, erotic form of torture I could imagine, with all of my senses under assault. I couldn’t look away from the captivating sight of Vincent’s head moving up and down between my legs, his fingers splayed over my thighs, my feet hooked behind his back. His groan of pleasure vibrated into me, competing with my own small sounds of encouragement. With one hand, I continued to pluck at my nipple, while the other drifted down to cover his dark hair and sift through its strands.
“You taste like heaven.” With the tip of his tongue, he circled my clit. “God, Amanda.”
“Are you hard?” I heard my own voice, low and raspy. “Is licking me, tasting me, making you hard?”
In response, he lowered one hand under the waistband of his boxers and pulled out his cock, which was indeed hard and long and thick, glistening with a bead of moisture on its tip. He gave it one slow stroke and then kept working it as his mouth brought me closer and closer to climax. When I moaned, he muttered under his breath and pushed the boxers down his legs, kicking them away, so that I could see all of him and watch the way his hand moved over his erection.
When he spoke again, his voice was almost guttural, commanding me.
“I want you to come like this. I want you to give in and come against my tongue, screaming until you can’t speak.”
I panted, shifting restlessly. “I’m so close. So fucking close—”
“Then dive over.” The second he said the words, he thrust two fingers into me, even as his lips sucked hard on my clit. I arched backward, no longer able to keep my eyes open, so intent on the sensations and the pleasure that I lost the ability for rational thought. I heard myself chanting his name, interspersed with the occasional Fuck, yes, harder, yes, oh, god, oh, god, yes.
And then I was gone, both hands gripping his head, bucking upward once with a long, keening cry that echoed off the cream walls of my living room.
Vincent trailed kisses over the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, which was trembling as I drifted back to the earth, my chest rising and falling rapidly. I’d dropped my hands from his head, and they lay useless alongside me. I didn’t move much beyond letting my head roll to the side, watching him as his lips lazily made their way across my stomach, my ribs and between my breasts, until his torso covered mine.
“Amanda.” He murmured my name, bracing himself over me. “That was so fucking hot.”
“Yeah, well . . .” I gave a breathy laugh. “I try. You know, laying here receiving incredible pleasure takes real talent.”
“You own it, baby.” He touched his lips to mine, and his erection brushed over my leg. I managed to lift up my hand to take hold of his length, smiling a little at Vincent’s hiss of surprise.
“So . . .” I stroked him languidly. “It seems as if you like my living room. Want to see my bedroom?”
A grin spread over his face. “I think I should. It would be rude to say no, right?”
“That definitely sounds like something your evil twin Vincenzo might say,” I agreed.
“Then I guess we need to find the bedroom.” Without warning, he stood, lifting me with him and hoisting me over his shoulder as I shrieked again, this time in laughter. “Point the way, sweetheart.”