by Alice Ward
Cristiano spun around and leaped for the stove. Snatching up a spatula, he grabbed a large skillet from the back of the stove and started fervently stirring.
“Got it just in time,” he announced. “Don’t worry. We won’t be ordering in pizza.”
I giggled. “Anything is fine with me.”
“You don’t have any allergies do you?”
“Nope.”
“Is there anything you don’t like?”
“Nope.”
“Not even onions?”
I giggled again and clamped my mouth shut. I was so not a giggler. “Are you trying to make me not want to eat what you made?”
He reached above his head and opened a cabinet, his shirt stretching tightly across his back as he did so. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”
“I could never be,” I answered, perhaps a little too breathlessly.
His back still turned to me, he got busy adding more ingredients to the pan. I took the free time to let my gaze roam around the kitchen. It was perhaps the biggest one I’d ever been in, with new and sparkling appliances. The counters were clean and mostly empty, nothing on them other than the occasional appliance. Large windows sat to my right, an intricately carved and bare table resting under them.
I glanced surreptitiously over my shoulder at the doorway to my back. Through the curved archway, a long dining table held dinner settings for two.
So I’d been wrong. The whole floor had to belong to Cristiano. The kitchen alone was the size of my own kitchen, living room, and bathroom combined. His walk-in closet probably rivaled my bedroom.
“Did you have a nice day?” Cristiano asked over his shoulder, making my head snap back to attention.
“Yeah! It was great. What about you?”
“Wonderful.”
The deep vibrations of his voice pushed their way under my skin and made me throb. I cleared my throat and tried to think of anything to talk about other than how horny I was for him.
“How long have you lived here?”
“A couple years.”
“Ah. It seems...” Not cozy, certainly not cozy. “Nice,” I settled for.
“It does me well.”
I nodded, left wondering what the specific meaning of that statement was.
“You look good,” I blurted out.
He walked across the spacious floor to open the fridge and pull out some kind of fresh herb. “Thanks,” he smiled. “I think you already said that.”
I realized I was grinning like a fool. “I did, didn’t I? Oops...”
He walked back to his station at the stove, shooting me a saucy glance as he went. “So you’re just trying to be nice.”
“Can you blame me? Look at you.”
Desire filled his eyes. With barely a glance at what he was doing, he turned the heat down on the stove and lunged back across the kitchen. His broad palms pressed into my back, making me arch into him. Just like that, the mood switched, going from pleasantries and simple chit chat to blunt acknowledgment of our burning desires.
The dam broken, I lifted my chin, daring him to go ahead and do whatever was on his mind.
“You vixen,” he growled. “Are you trying to make me insane with desire before dinner has even begun?”
“That depends,” I softly replied, the confidence in me rising. Shy and nervous Blaire, the person who’d walked in on shaky heels, was gone, replaced instead by determined Blaire, a woman who knew what she wanted and was set on getting it. I placed two fingers on his chest and walked them slowly upwards towards his neck. “What exactly happens when you go insane with desire?”
Cristiano bent his head, putting his face an inch away from my throat. His breath tickled my skin, making my own breathing speed up.
“Something like this,” he whispered before placing his lips against my neck and sucking lightly.
I let out an involuntary gasp. The sucking ended.
“And this,” he added, one hand sliding around my hip and down my thigh. His fingers trailed the hem of my dress, teasing but not going any higher.
“And what else?” I asked in a shaky voice.
He smirked. He had me wound around his finger, and not only did he know it, he loved it.
“This.” Lightning quick, his hand shot up my dress and grabbed the panties between my thighs. The lace twisted, tearing slightly into my skin. I cried out, my fingers curling, my nails pressing into the fabric of his shirt. A finger pushed between my folds, driving its way into the wetness there.
“I like it when you cry out,” Cristiano said, his sweet breath drifting into my open mouth.
Quickly, he pulled his hand back and stepped away. “But you’re going to have to wait.”
I stared at him dumbly. “Wh-What?”
His face remained stony. “You’re going to have to wait.”
I licked my lips. Was this a challenge? What was he hoping I would say? Was it a fight he was looking for, or a submissive attitude?
If this was some kind of game, I was more than up to play. First I just had to figure out the roles and rules.
I lifted my chin and snapped my legs shut. “What if I’m not up to it later?”
One corner of his mouth jerked, and he took a slow step back towards me. His hand came to cup my upturned chin, holding it in the position I’d placed it. “You really think that will happen?”
My body trembled. No.
Cristiano traced his fingers along my jaw, then around the edges of my lips. My mouth instinctively opened, and his thumb slipped inside. I pressed my lips down on it and sucked hard. His amber eyes grew softer, and his lips parted, making him look like he was being pulled into a trance.
“You’re naughty,” he hissed. “I just told you later.”
I said nothing, just continued to suck on his thumb. I rolled my tongue around it, savoring the saltiness filling my mouth.
Cristiano growled.
I reached up and grabbed his hand with both of mine, pulling it away from my mouth. “And what if I don’t wait until later? What happens then?”
Cristiano’s free hand pressed down onto my thigh. “It sounds like you want to start trouble.”
I smiled coyly. “And why would I want to do that?”
He gazed heatedly at me, his expression a mixture of lust and something else I couldn’t pinpoint. Excitement? Fury? No, fury was too strong of a word. He didn’t seem angry, exactly. Maybe he was just full of adrenaline.
“Perhaps you want to be punished.”
The way he said it told me everything I needed to know. He wanted me to be punished. Specifically, he wanted to be the one doing the punishing.
But he wasn’t the only one getting a thrill from the idea. The second the last word left his mouth, my heartbeat increased. I didn’t know what punishment meant in his book, but I was eager to find out. My last two boyfriends had been pretty PC in bed, never wanting to even do so much as hold me down. For years, a part of me had yearned to meet a man who would take charge, a man who would make me his in ways I only dreamed of.
“Do it,” I gasped, staring him down.
His eyes dilated, the black depths of them shrinking then growing. “Be careful what you wish for,” he growled. Both of his hands moved back up my thighs, the fingertips crawling along. I opened my legs, eager for his touch to go to between them. With me settled on the stool and him standing, there was just enough height difference left for him to look down at me. I gulped, anticipation mixing with a slight amount of trepidation. Just what was I getting myself into?
Cristiano’s hands went back to my knees and spread them, pushing my legs open. Down went his face, to press between my thighs. Instead of taking my panties off, though, he nipped at my clit through the material. I yelped and jerked, but Cristiano held me tight, his hands still clamped onto my knees.
“That’s for being a bad girl,” he murmured into my pussy before biting me again. Pain was closely followed by pleasure, the two sensations warring with each oth
er. Neither of them winning or losing.
I started to respond, but the sensation of his tongue swirling over my clit made me moan instead. He licked it through the sopping lace, soothing the spot he’d so aggressively just assaulted.
Straightening back up, Cristiano licked his lips and gazed at me. “Stand up.”
I gulped and lowered my heels to the floor. My knees shook, and I had to reach out and grasp hold of the island counter to keep myself up.
“Turn around,” Cristiano said, softer this time.
I went slowly, facing the kitchen window with curtains drawn over it. One large hand pressed against my lower back, rubbing softly there, while the other went up and down my thigh. Under my dress, the smooth touch went. Cristiano pulled my panties down, leaving them in a bunch around my ankles.
His warm mouth pressed into the back of my neck, and I sighed. If this was his idea of punishment, it was nothing like I expected, but I definitely wouldn’t be complaining.
Grasping the bottom of my dress, he pulled it up and over my torso. It snagged a bit on my head, and I shook it loose, letting him take it and throw it on the floor.
His fingers traced down over my lace bra, then down over my stomach. I arched my back, pushing my butt back into him. His hard cock rubbed against me, and I sighed in satisfaction. Soon, that delicious girth would fill me up.
One hand grasped my fingers and tugged slightly. “This way,” he ordered, his voice holding a seriousness I hadn’t heard before.
I went, wearing nothing now other than my lingerie and heels. The trip was short, taking us over to the little table next to the windows. Before I hardly even knew what was happening, Cristiano locked his hands on my hips and lifted me up, depositing me on the table. My back brushed against a bit of the exposed window that sat between the curtains and I shivered, the slight coolness of the pane traveling through me.
So slow he had to be putting on a show, Cristiano unhooked my bra and took it off of me. He did the same with my panties, slipping them down my legs with dramatic ease. Instead of tossing those off somewhere, though, he balled them up.
“Open your mouth.”
I stared at him for a second, baffled... and then I remembered just how much I enjoyed the game and parted my lips. Cristiano stuffed the lace panties in between my teeth, sealing my mouth up nice and good.
“That’s for being so petulant,” he growled.
I whimpered in reply, the noise an animalistic sound that came from my ravenous need to be touched. Cristiano grabbed my chin with one hand and forced me to look into his eyes. I froze and gazed back, staring him down. He was a changed man. Where a few minutes ago he’d been soft and gentle, now he was ferocious and violent.
And yet I trusted him. Above that, I loved what he was doing.
Cristiano wrestled with his belt with one hand, the other hand still busy holding onto my chin.
“Look at me while I fuck you,” he hissed, rolling a condom down his length.
Before I even knew it was coming, he plunged into me. I let out a muffled scream, jerking as he pushed all the way in. His hand on my chin snaked around to the back of my head, where he grabbed my hair and held it in a tight ball.
Again and again, he slammed into me, making the table shake, making my back pound against the window. I broke eye contact to look down at his cock entering me and when I did he grabbed my face, turning it back up.
“Do you want to be punished?”
Yes. That was the answer. God, I wanted to be punished so bad.
I nodded, my head already shaking from his violent thrusts. Cristiano smirked the slightest bit, clearly pleased by my response.
Another deep thrust hit me, and at the same time, Cristiano slapped my breast, making it sting right on the nipple. Another slap and the corresponding mound got the same treatment. I whimpered, wanting him to hit me again.
“Please,” I garbled through the fabric in my mouth.
Cristiano chuckled lightly and took one nipple between his thumbs to twist it. Aching pleasure filled me up as he twisted, the added force making his pummeling me that much better. An orgasm wrecked me, making me shake and cry out.
Cristiano groaned, a sound full of heat and passion. Digging the nails of both hands into my thighs, he sped up his movements, fucking me hard and fast. One of his arms looped under my leg to lift it up and over his shoulder. His dick hit a deeper spot, a sore and aching area. I let out a muffled cry, wanting him to stop but also needing it to never end.
He slapped my clit, mimicking the attention he gave to my breasts. Instead of stinging like my breasts, though, the touch was delicious. Over and over he slapped it, then rubbed it with his thumb. Another orgasm rippled through me, and I bit down into my panties.
Cristiano moaned and pulled out. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and he still held my leg over his shoulder. My thigh ached, but I didn’t try to move it. I didn’t so much as move a muscle. He was still in control, and I was still waiting for his word.
A naughty grin on his face, he removed the panties from my mouth. I gasped and realized for the first time just how dry my tongue was.
Cristiano grabbed the sides of my head and pressed his mouth against mine. Our tongues pushed together, each one eager for the other.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“If it’s overdone, I’ll order something in,” Cristiano said. “It would be here in no time at all. Also, if you were lying about liking onions, this is your last chance to speak up.”
I smiled at him over the candles in the middle of the table then humorously wondered to myself how a man like Cristiano received his Chinese food delivery. Did it get dropped off via helicopter on a landing pad right above our heads, thus cutting out time spent in traffic and ensuring the egg rolls got here in no time at all?
“It’s great,” I promised him. “Really. And I love onions... and snap peas... and chicken... and whatever this is.”
I stabbed the vegetable in question with my fork and lifted it for him to see.
“Ah. Bamboo shoots.”
“Yes. Bamboo... love it.”
Indeed, the stir-fry was perfectly done, the peppers and onions still having just the slightest crisp left in them. Apparently, putting the stove on low and making time for the hottest bondage romp in the history of the world was the long-sought-after addition to the recipe for perfect veggie stir-fry.
A shiver traveled through me as I remembered the details of what happened in the kitchen. As the tremor hit my core, a deep desire rose in me. I wanted to experience the things Cristiano had made me feel again. The helplessness. The exposure. I felt raw and revealed underneath his hands. I felt... out of control. It was something I never even knew I wanted to feel, and once it happened, the intensity of it blew me away. Not in a million years would I have expected it, but one taste of what it felt like to surrender every bit of myself and I was addicted.
Cristiano cut his food into small pieces, the fork and knife poised gracefully in his hands. If I hadn’t known about his past I would have thought he’d been brought up in a well-to-do family, one highly concerned with manners and etiquette. Although I could imagine a little boy in Hampton Road, as well as in a random foster home, I couldn’t see how that child had grown to become the man in front of me. Just how much struggle did he go through before he began to make a concerted effort to change things around for himself? Or had he always been self-willed, always known that he wanted to be and have the very best?
Surely, if anyone had ever deserved the term ‘self-made’ it was Cristiano Leventis.
He looked up from his plate and caught my eye. “You look flushed.”
“Do I?”
“Perhaps it’s the after effects of what I just did to you.”
This time, heat really did fill me. “I liked it,” I huskily whispered, partially shy to even admit it.
“Good.” He put a bite of food in his mouth, his eyes still on me.
“I was just thinking... about you.” I paused, doi
ng my best to tactfully approach the subject. “Just wondering about when you decided to go to business school... and why.”
One of his eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn’t look displeased. His eyes drifted away towards the wall, giving the impression that he was thinking back to a time many years ago and trying his hardest to pull forth some details of life then.
“There wasn’t an exact moment. All I knew my whole childhood was that I didn’t want to be like so many of the people around me. So... defeated. Desperate... feeling like they had no control over things, which they did.”
“You mean their own lives?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
I pierced a hunk of broccoli with my fork and thumped in against the plate. Realizing I was playing with my food, I ate the vegetable.
“Not everyone,” Cristiano said. “Not everyone was like that. Just a lot of people.”
“At the orphanage?”
“No. The orphanage was the best part of my life. Leaving it was the worst.”
It felt like an arrow pierced my heart. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
His face darkened, and his eyebrows bunched. For a moment, it seemed as if he would open his mouth and dismiss the whole issue, tell me it “didn’t matter” or he was “over it.”
A few quiet breaths passed. His face relaxed, and his eyes drifted back to me.
“It was hard,” he murmured. “But just like not all people from my childhood lived lives of quiet desperation, not every foster home I stayed in fit the bill of the stereotypical foster care nightmare. I knew good people... and some not. But if my childhood taught me anything, it was that no one was going to take charge of my life for me. It was no one else’s job to make sure I was all right. It was mine and mine alone.”
I reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “You’re never alone.”
Cristiano blinked rapidly and looked at me, his face the softest it had been all night. It occurred to me that my gesture might be upsetting him. Perhaps he was merely reflecting for his own benefit and had made a blunder by revealing so much to me. I still didn’t know a great deal about him, but I knew that no one who had been through difficult experiences wanted to think of themselves as the poster child for tragedy. His wounds weren’t on display for my entertainment.