Ilaria

Love is pretty … but can you trust it?

 

Hillary, the cunt who’d refused me the first time I walked into Demetri Enterprises, promised I’d have contact from Lennox Demetri within the next few days, her face red and tear tracks ruining her perfect makeup. As I rode back home with Elliot, I couldn’t begin to describe how what he’d done made me feel. In all my life, I’d never had someone protect me quite the way he had. My mother loved me, I never doubted that for a moment, but her care was to teach me to hide, to be unobtrusive, and though I could handle myself in situations most never would find themselves in, I hadn’t gained confidence in who I was.

Elliot showed me a new world. He sat in the limo, his limbs carelessly sprawling as he chatted away about numbers and marginal revenues, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. The curve of his lips as he framed each word made my panties damp. His long fingers around his cell phone made me wish they were inside of me, thrusting hard and fast until I came. Even the deep timbre of his voice sizzled across my nerve endings, heightening my desire for him. My gut clenched when he worried his bottom lip with his teeth, his eyes closing for a moment before he responded to whatever was happening on the other end of the line.

I wanted my Sir, but I didn’t know how to ask for it.

Would he be angry with me if I slipped my hands under my underwear and worked my clit? Would he find me too forward? I didn’t know the answers, but I was riding a high of powerful, feminine wiles filling my head from what he’ done for me. I was worth it. I was beautiful. This charismatic, rich, gorgeous man wanted me and had ruined someone with just words for hurting me. When my mother died, he found me, desired me, and set about making my life easier. My mother’s ashes rested in a golden urn in my bedroom, watching over me, because of him. I didn’t have to worry about where I laid my head because he gave me the roof. Money, a worry I’d always lived with, disappeared because he never let me touch a penny of what I earned from our agreement. He lavished me and left me with a nest egg steadily growing with each passing day. How could I not love him?

I froze, the words exploding into the cacophony of thoughts in my head. I loved Elliot Wilmington. Somehow, some way, he’d wormed his way into my heart. Maybe I was stupid, blinded by comfort and security for the first time in my life, but I took the chance to own something. No matter what, my love for him was mine. I could own it, revel in it, and feed it as I saw fit. I smiled hard enough to make my cheeks ache and decided I wanted more than furtive kisses in the dark, his talented tongue between my legs, or my throat encasing his manhood. I wanted him to own me—completely.

I leaned back in the limo, resting my back on the door and lifting one leg onto the soft seat. Elliot frowned at me, but his gaze heated as he watched my hands travel over my legs and toward my core.

“Tell them to buy it, Eric. I want that company.”

I smiled. How quickly can I make him forget business?

I lifted my hips, using the door as leverage, and slipped my panties past my ass and down my legs enough to slip it past one foot. Then I laid back again and slicked my fingers in my wet heat. Elliot cleared his throat, still watching me. I did as he’d taught me and slapped my clit to provide a hot sting, massaged my lips to tempt, and slipped my fingers inside to widen. I worked myself up—breath coming faster, nipples hard pinpricks inside my lace bra, and choked off my moans.

“Then have the meeting on Monday.”

Not enough yet. He could still work, but his eyes were all over me. I pulled my fingers out and arched my back to reach the zipper on my dress. The fabric gapped open and I popped my bra. In the middle of his next sentence to Eric, I was stripped bare, left only in my heels, and was twisting one nipple while I played with my clit.

“I need you, Sir. Inside. So deep. Please, Sir,” I whispered, but he heard me.

His nostrils flared, eyes wide and jaw clenched. His free hand worked at his pants, jerking at the belt, then the button and zipper, before he reached inside and pulled out his cock. It stood long and hard, wet at the tip with pearly-white cum. His hand worked his thick shaft, twisting it as he reached the top of every long stroke.

My pumping fingers matched his rhythm. It was decadent, dirty, and sexy. The sun filtered into the darkened interior through tinted windows, but we weren’t absolutely hidden from the outside world. All that mattered, though, was his gaze on me. His need. His desire. The way he stiffened with each stroke.

“Get it done. Goodbye, Eric.”

Finally.

The phone slid across the floor, but I could barely blink before Elliot reached for me. He twisted his fingers in my hair, pulling the strands taut as he forced me up.

“This was not the plan, Ilaria.”

“I want you, Sir.”

He growled, the sound pulsing through me, and he jerked me—hard. I cried out, growing wetter, and straddled his hip. He pressed his thick shaft against my clit and rolled his hips. “Take what you need.”

Not like this. I didn’t want a barrier. I didn’t want to come against him without clenching around him. I needed more, and he’d taught me I had the power. I reached down between us and palmed his cock.

“Please, Sir.”

“Ilaria, you need a bed and some softness for your first time. I won’t—”

No. Not this time. I needed what I needed, and it was his job to give it to me, to provide it for me. He could punish me for forcing it later. For now, I was too far gone to care. I lifted myself over him.

“Ilaria,” he warned.

“I love you, Sir.”

Afraid he’d force me away, I slammed down on his cock and cried out, this time in pain. He was large, so large, and he stretched me to burning.

“Goddammit. I told you.”

Tears leaked from my eyes, but I worked my hips, trying to gain the desire of before, to bring back the burning ache, but I couldn’t take it, couldn’t hold it. I whimpered and rested my forehead on his shoulder.

“Shh, baby. It’s okay. Let me help you.”

I lifted my face, and he took my lips with his. Slowly, he built me back up as he sucked on my tongue, demanding to taste every crevice. Elliot molded my body with his hands—tweaking a nipple here, nails raking down my side there—before sweeping past my clit. He kept going, never moving inside me. Each second that passed made the pain fade, brought the burn back. He was both soft and hard, caring and demanding. He commanded my body to accept him but rewarded it for responding with lavish praise in his touch. In kisses. In needy groans.

I threw my head back and moaned when he gripped my waist and rolled his hips under me. His cock stretched me, but I felt full instead of overwhelmed. The tip pressed against a spot deep inside that throbbed with each strike. A fine sheen of sweat coated my limbs and his forehead, yet he still touched me with measured control. Each push was poignant, each kiss a compliment, and his grip on my body was driven by desperation.

He cared for me, and I loved him more for it.

But he needed something; I could see it in his narrowed gaze, in his apt concentration. He did it this way for me. I framed his cheeks with shaking hands. “Harder, Sir. Take what’s yours.”

It was a key, and he was unleashed. He roared and lifted me high before slamming down and raising to meet me. We fucked, rough and messy. His fingers were cruel, his teeth sharp, as his pleasure slammed into me until I was gasping. I couldn’t catch my breath as he gripped my neck and forced me to bow backward. He followed, keeping me steady until my head and shoulders rested on the seats facing us and he had leverage. When he slid in again, his cock kissed the back of my pussy. I screamed.

“Take it all, every fucking inch. Scream for me.”

He was wild, untamed, fully dressed against my nakedness, his fabric rubbing against my soft inner thighs. But I held on through it all, letting him shatter me and piece me back together. Insatiable, he made me come more times than I could count, and he commanded my pleasure until my throat was hoarse and I could do nothing but hold on. And then he came, swelling within me, a shout filling the compartment.

“I love you, Sir,” I whispered again.

“I know.”

It only hurt, hours later, when I realized he didn’t say it back.