Dio, if I could, I would fuck her right there, standing up or against the counter, I didn't care.
“Daisy?” I asked, my voice too distorted by the pleasure I was feeling, but she didn't say anything. “Do you forgive me?”
My hands moved in opposite directions. My left hand moved up to cup one of her small breasts against my palm, and my right hand moved down, disappearing under the skirt of her dress. I caressed the warm skin of her thighs, watching her chest rise and fall with each movement, gulping air, and her body melting against mine. When my right hand made its way up the inside of her thigh, she grabbed my left arm, which was kneading her small breast in circular motions.
I searched for her nipple with my thumb and found it. I pressed it until I heard little moans of pleasure escape her lipsand felt her butt rub against me. With each movement, my penis throbbed, begging me to sink into her.
My right hand found soaked fabric between her thighs, and it was my turn to moan. I moved up to the waistband of her underwear and sank my hand there, caressing the layer of silky hair.
Dio. To say she was wet was an understatement.
I slid a finger between her soft lips, feeling their delicate folds, and she rubbed against me, moaning softly. I felt her entrance soaked, ready to receive me, and slid a finger inside, feeling her body squeeze me. Her breathing broke into moans, and I pulled away slightly, breaking the trance.
“Hands on the counter.”
She looked at me, wide-eyed, and hesitated.
“Hands on the counter, Daisy.” I demanded, and she obeyed, moving slowly to the kitchen island. As soon as her hands rested on the marble, I pushed her gently, bending her body. “Spread your legs.” Again, she hesitated. “Daisy. Spread your legs.”
Her feet slowly moved apart and her body relaxed. Slowly, I fell to my knees behind her and lifted the skirt of her summer dress, seeing the gray piece of fabric of her underwear damp and soaked through between her legs. I slid two fingers over it, immediately hearing her gasping reaction.
I wanted to fuck her in every way imaginable, just not this time. Now, I owed her an apology.Italian style.
Chapter 34
Daisy Peonia Mary Parker
July, 2025
Castello dell'Fiero, Calabria, Italy
Ipressed my torso against the cold marble, trying to take in everything that was happening.
The night before, he threatened me, humiliated me, made it perfectly clear what my place was. Now, he was asking me to forgive him, awakening reactions in my body that I wished I could fight.
His huge hands were covering my bare buttocks at that moment, and I just wanted to feel them all over my skin. I wanted him to touch me. His scent embedded in my skin in a way that even soap couldn't wash away.
His fingers slipped under the waistband of my underwear, and I held my breath, as he slowly pulled it down until it fell to my feet. Still, nothing prepared me for what came next.
“Camillo!” I moaned when his hands squeezed my buttocks, spreading them apart, forcing me onto my tiptoes as he lifted my hips. Suddenly, a soft, warm touch made me bite down on my hands to stifle another moan.
Camillo slid his warm tongue between my lips, sending jolts through my body. His face was buried in my wetness, and I could feel his stubble tickling my inner thighs.
I trembled and stretched my legs even further, meeting his touch. “Camillo...” I moaned his name, feeling his tongue now slide into my entrance, the pressure in my belly growing with each movement.
Suddenly, he stopped, his breath close enough to make my skin tingle. “Stay like that,” he demanded, and I obeyed, keeping my legs steady, feeling him release my buttocks. “Perfetta,” he purred, his Italian having the same effect on me as his tongue.
I flattened my hands against the counter. My eyes rolled back as I felt two of his fingers find my clitoris, caressing it in circular motions, while his tongue returned to my entrance.
At that moment, I didn’t care about anything else. I just wanted Camillo Vicari to fuck me on that counter.
“Camillo, please.”
He stopped, and this time I moaned in frustration. Iwanted, Ineededhim to touch me.
“Come here,” he murmured behind me, and I felt his strong hands rest on my shoulders.
Slowly, I got rid of the underwear that still rested on my ankles and blushed when I saw the wet stain on them. I feltmortified, exposed, yet I let Camillo guide me back to the table. To my shock, I saw him pick up the espresso mug and the plate with the cornetto, and heard him throw everything into the sink behind me. When he returned, I swallowed hard, breathing in deeply as I watched him sit down in his usual place.