Chapter 9 Touch

Olivia Fernandes

It took just a single, delicate touch for regret to bloom in me. But don't get me wrong, I felt no regret about Dante. Not yet, at least.

The regret came from having waited so long to experience something like this, from letting my insecurities and anxieties hold me back. But when that intense pleasure finally hit me, like a storm tearing through my body, I realized there was still so much more to uncover.

And each new discovery only expanded my delicious spectrum of possibilities.

"Right there, Dante... yes..." I tried to stifle the ragged moan that slipped out, louder than I intended.

"Don't hold back, please," he said, but I pushed him deeper, grounding him where I needed him most.

The kisses we'd exchanged had already given me a taste of his soft lips and skillful tongue, but nothing compared to what he was doing now, between my legs, devouring me like a man starving. His hunger lit a fire inside me.

I was soaked-so much so the sheets beneath me were damp with my arousal-but I couldn't bring myself to care. The sight of him buried between my thighs, savoring my taste like it was the sweetest thing he'd ever known, only turned me on more. He held me tightly, as if I were his salvation, his hands gripping my thighs and waist, fingers digging into my burning flesh as he pushed me closer and closer to the edge.

I could feel it- Dante was close. His cock throbbed against the cushions beneath him, the friction driving him insane. He needed relief, was desperate for it. And yet, he kept going. He would keep going for as long as it took-because right now, all he cared about was giving me this. This moment. This pleasure. This overwhelming, dizzying high.

Being devoured with that kind of devotion... I'd never felt so wanted. Dante was a master at making a woman feel like a goddess-and he worshipped with every kiss, every touch.

"I want to taste you too," I begged, struggling to get the words out between gasps and groans. Dante didn't stop-his tongue only pressed harder against my clit, sending electric shocks through my body.

"Fuck, Dante... if you keep that up, I won't be able to speak," I whimpered.

He paused and gave me a sly smile, brushing the damp strands of hair from his forehead. The sight of his face-his sculpted jaw, the scruff around his mouth now red and raw from his efforts-made my breath catch.

"You're too damn sexy," I murmured, leaning my head back against the arm of the couch, chest rising and falling rapidly. "You scramble my senses. I don't even know what's right or wrong anymore."

Dante didn't respond- he didn't have to. He simply moved up, settling his body between my open legs. I gasped as I felt the hard press of his cock against me, aching to know what it would feel like inside.

"The feeling's mutual, as you can probably tell," he said, his voice low and full of need.

"I haven't had nearly enough of you... Why don't you show yourself to me? Feels only fair-you're completely dressed down, and I'm here, bare and exposed."

"You can touch me. Watch me. But tonight is about you. We're not doing anything until you finish, Bella."

He brushed a kiss over my lips and stood. Shirtless, he reached for the leather belt at his waist, undoing it slowly, deliberately. My eyes dropped to his hands, veins bulging as they moved, each flex and shift making me ache all over again.

Dante was tall, powerfully built. Despite being older, he carried a youthful air. If it weren't for the sharper lines on his face and the silver at his temples, he might pass for someone younger.

"Come here," he ordered, and his firm, commanding tone sent a shiver down my spine. "You like watching me, but I wonder if you like touching me just as much." He popped open one button on his pants... then the other... drawing it out, teasing.

"Maybe I don't know yet," I said, hesitating.

"I'll guide you," he said, voice low and deliberate. "Kneel."

I obeyed without hesitation, sinking to my knees before this man who had completely unraveled me. My legs trembled, still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure.

He slipped off his pants, revealing snug black designer boxer briefs. The fabric did little to hide the way he pulsed beneath it-he was straining, ready, hungry.

"Do you want to touch me, Olivia?" His voice sent another wave of heat coursing through me.

I didn't answer. I just reached for him, grabbing the hard outline through the fabric with a firm grip.

"Easy, sweetheart," he murmured, his tone suddenly sweet.

I nodded, swallowing down the urge to apologize, and slowly pulled his boxers down, freeing his thick, solid length before my eyes. I wrapped my hands around him carefully, still clumsy with nerves.

But after a few uncertain movements, confidence kicked in. I started stroking him from tip to base, fingers gliding over the swollen head, already slick with pre-come. He rocked his hips gently into my hands, matching my rhythm, showing me exactly how he liked it.

"Fuck, Olivia..." he growled, voice ragged. "If your hands feel this good, I don't know how I'll survive the rest."

I smiled, flushed with heat and pride. My cheeks burned, but I was intoxicated by the rush of it all. There was no turning back.

I just wanted this moment-this heat-to last as long as possible.

But just as I leaned in, finally ready to taste him, something interrupted us.