Ruin Me With Lies, page 26
“It’s just Italian ranch dressing,” he mutters, already kissing down my body. “‘Cause I’m about to eat you out and lick you clean.”
“Oh, jeez, no.” I reach down to stop him. “I’m not the multiple-orgasm-at-once kind of girl. I have to take breaks in between.”
Especially after an orgasm of that magnitude.
The look on his face is a cross between a pout and a scowl. “What do you mean by break?”
“At least twenty minutes.”
He looks so put out right now that I have to bite back a laugh. Running my fingers through his hair, I say, “Hey. I love sex. And I love it because I make sure that if I’m doing it, I’m enjoying it. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
He just watches me.
“You’ll always know if something doesn’t work for me,” I add. “Because I’ll tell you. I know my body. And I want you to know it, too.”
After several beats of just gazing at me, his eyes soften with something indecipherable. He brushes a kiss across my stomach, then shifts back and scoops me up off the couch.
“Well then,” he mutters, carrying me off. “Let’s not stain the couch.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Raya
STREAKS OF PLEASURE RIPPLE under my skin, pulling me from the depths of sleep.
A moan in my throat, I hazily blink awake to the sight of Stefano crouched beside the lounge chair I’m curled up on, fondling my breasts. Pressing them together, kissing them, tonguing my nipples. Just having his own private feast with the girls.
When his gaze flicks up and finds me awake, he flashes a smug, satisfactory smile and gently tucks them back into my dress.
“No,” I protest with a pout. “I was enjoying that.”
“Just wanted to wake you,” he replies. “Felt lonely. I napped for thirty minutes. You’ve been out for almost two hours.”
I reach up and scratch at the low scruff of his beard. “So needy.”
After our little couch romp earlier, he carried me upstairs and we showered together. Messy, teasing, far too long. Then his phone started blowing up again.
With nothing to do while he took his calls, I wandered out to the pool area and fell asleep watching the rain beat down on the skylights.
“That I am,” he admits, unapologetic. “Come have dinner with me.”
He doesn’t wait for a response. He straightens, scoops me right up off the lounge chair, and carries me through the house like I weigh nothing.
In the kitchen, he sets me down on a stool by the breakfast bar, which is already set with plates, cutlery, and a compact buffet warmer partitioned with mouthwatering hot dishes.
My gluttonous appetite perks up. “Where did this come from?”
He gestures to a tall hot box parked at the end of the back counter.
That was there all this time? How did I miss it?
“Cora?” I ask with a smile.
“She wanted to make sure you were fed,” he replies. “We heard from the Pink House that you’re banned from using the kitchen for almost burning it down when you tried to cook.”
A laugh bursts out of me. Damn, they really narced on me like that? But…fair. I am a disaster in the kitchen. Which is why I appreciate a well-cooked meal so much.
Side-eying him, I ask, “Can you cook?”
“I can boil water. That count?”
Another laugh tumbles out of me. “So Cora was in on this kidnapping plan, huh?”
Stefano shrugs as he takes the stool next to mine. “I’m her favorite.”
A rude, impatient growl rumbles from my stomach.
“Okay then,” he chuckles out. “Let’s get you fed.”
He lifts the glass lids off the warmer, and a wave of delicious aromas rushes out, prompting an even louder growl from my stomach.
“Gesù Cristo, she sounds angry.” He grabs the serving spoon and tongs, gripping them like he’s gearing up for battle. “Quick, talk fast. What do you want on your plate?”
“Oh, shut up.” I roll my eyes at his antics, laughing. “A little bit of everything.”
“I mean, of course,” he mutters under his breath.
Cheeks hurting from smiling so hard, I kick his leg on the stool. “Shut up and serve me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He fixes me a loaded plate, and we eat in calming silence. But Stefano is angled toward me, just watching me as he eats. Like I’m some abstract painting he’s gotten lost in. A fascination he can’t look away from. Having his undivided attention is both electrifying and unnerving. It’s like trying to sit still while being slowly, reverently unraveled.
Are my cheeks and neck hot? Yep. Am I letting it stop me from enjoying my meal? Not a chance. If he’s keeping me here all weekend, I might as well get used to him being so…unnervingly intense.
Stefano’s a picky eater. His fork is never full. A little pick of something here, a little pick there. It’s baffling how he manages to maintain all those sculpted muscles. Sure, he eats chocolate almond butter like it’s a food group, but I doubt that’s where the bulk of that mass is coming from.
Eventually, I break. “Why don’t you just go ahead and ask whatever it is you’re dying to know?”
He chews slowly. “Why bother? You’ll only lie.”
“Not because you deem something a lie does it mean that it is.”
“What’s your name?”
“Raya Michel.”
“See? Lie.”
I blink at him. “Do you think staring me down like that is going to coax some mythical ‘truth’ out of my so-called lies?”
He takes a sip of his drink, gaze unmoving. “Maybe I’m just memorizing every inch of you…because I know that as mysteriously as you showed up here, you’ll one day disappear.”
“You really make me out to be more interesting than I am.” I laugh, shaking my head. “Damn do I wish I was that girl of your imagination. She sounds sly. Mysterious. Kind of cool, honestly.”
A long silence stretches between us as his unreadable eyes move over me. Then, softly, but with razor-edge focus, he asks, “Do you like me?” Before I can answer, he adds, “Even though she betrayed him, Delilah loved Samson.”
What’s his angle now? “I’m…attracted to you.”
“Who isn’t? But that’s not what I asked.”
A giggle falls out of me. “Your humility is so…likable.”
“Humility is for broke men with small dicks.”
“Wow. You’re—”
“You want to humble me, don’t you?”
“I don’t think you’re capable of being humbled.” I sip my drink. “You could have everything you own stripped from you, your dick chopped off, and you’d still be a cocksure, egotistical menace.”
He laughs, and it’s so infectious I end up laughing too. Why is his laugh so...pretty?
“You don’t like me. Got it,” he says, but there’s something beneath it. A tinge of disappointment, the faintest trace of dejection.
And just like that, I feel like shit.
God, I’m such a sucker. Even knowing it’s emotional manipulation, I’m slipping and sliding straight into his web.
“Hey…” I extend my leg to rub against his. Weakling that I am. “Of course I like you. You think if I didn’t, I’d have sat there and watch you sleep instead of dumping boiling water on your domineering ass?”
Like a kid just told he can have chocolate cake for dinner, Stefano grins and preens like a smug peacock. This is the same ruthless king of Vegas, right? Someone didn’t body-snatch the real one? Because who on earth is this adorable, needy man?
It’s like false advertising gone right—getting something completely different from what you ordered, and somehow liking it even more. Jarring at first. But better. Unexpected, and better.
“Yeah, I like you,” I reiterate, more for myself than for him this time. Because it’s starting to dawn on me that I’m falling for him all over again. Not the man I thought I knew. But this version. This impossibly complex, infuriating, tender, terrifying version. And falling for this version of him? It will be my ruin. “I really, really like you.”
~
STEFANO FINDS ME playing pool solo in the game room downstairs. He comes up behind me and nuzzles into my neck.
After dinner, he’d gotten sucked into a string of work calls, which left me wandering again, this time to the rec room that had Lorenzo Castello written all over it. RGB lighting, slick gaming decor, and every kind of game table and machine imaginable.
Across the house is another room with just a grand piano, a lush chaise, and shelves of poetry books. No mystery who that one belongs to.
“How’s it going at Black Gold?” I ask, chalking my cue.
“Overflowing. Usually is when the weather’s like this. That’s why I can’t get a moment’s peace. Shit gets rowdy when the floor’s packed.” He hums against my skin. “But the headache’s worth it once we count the take.”
“Have you been updating Lorenzo?”
“Mhm-hmm.” His hands glide up my thighs and disappear under my dress. “Why do you keep leaving me alone?”
Gripping the pool stick tighter, I push my ass back against him. “You’re hardly alone with all those phone calls.”
“Those calls are nuisances, not companionship.” He smooths his palms over my ass before giving one cheek a light, punishing slap. “Stay where I can see you...or take me with you.”
“I didn’t peg you as the clingy type.” My breath hitches as he slips a hand between my thighs and strokes my lace-covered pussy. “I th-thought a big, strong macho like you would n-need your—mhmm…your space.”
“Who said I was a big strong macho? And so the fuck what if I want to burrow under your skirt like a lost and needy little pup?” One finger circles the area where my clit’s pulsing against the fabric, and the teasing motion has me rotating my hips, holding back a moan as I rub my ass against him. “Who knows how long I’ll have you for?”
Why does he keep alluding to me leaving? What does he know? Or thinks he knows?
Flattening a warm palm between my shoulder blades, he urges me forward. “Bend over for me, beautiful.”
No hesitation. I drop the pool cue, roll the balls to the other end of the table, and lay my torso flat across the felt.
He lifts my dress, gives my ass another sharp slap, then lowers to press slow kisses across the heated sting.
“You smell so good,” he murmurs from below, sliding his hands between my thighs again.
Two fingers sweep my panties aside, and then his mouth is on my pussy, sucking on my clit.
“Ohhhh!” A violent current of heat zaps up my spine and coils tight in my belly. My knees damn near buckle as a shudder runs through me. “Ahhh…mhmmm.”
Gripping my ass, he works me over with smooth, languid strokes of his tongue. Intermittent little suctions that tease, tantalize, drive me mad, but never quite let me fall.
Stefano Castello eats pussy like ancient poetry. Like classical music. Slow and measured. Gentle and exact. In stanzas and verses. Strumming all the right nerves, lulling me into a kind of drugged euphoria where pleasure builds and builds with every lick, every pull, every flick.
Holy shit, he’s good.
His deep groans vibrate against me, rumbling through my core, through every nerve ending. It’s as though he’s getting off on this more than I am.
As my orgasm builds and hovers just out of reach, my hips start to roll, my body writhing for more. “Stefano...” I whimper. “Ohhhgod, you’re so good...so good...”
In response, he suckles my clit like it’s his favorite sweet, and the intense jolt of pleasure has me shooting up onto my toes. “Ahh!”
He eases up with a long, slow lick to calm me. Only to dive back in again, this time sliding two fingers deep inside me, thrusting lazily.
The slow, deliberate rhythm, paired with the rapid flutter of his tongue on my clit, has me gasping, losing all sense of time.
When he hooks his fingers just right, it’s over. My knees give and my vision blanks as my orgasm slams into me like a wrecking ball, shattering me to smithereens. Consciousness obliterated. The scream that tears from my throat is raw and wild as pleasure consumes every part of me.
Stefano licks at me with tender patience, coaxing me down from the high, soft and unhurried until I’m left trembling, dazed, and wrung out.
Once I’m back down on earth, he straightens up and taps my thigh for me to do the same.
Knees still weak, I peel up from the table, and he turns me to face him. Lips glistening, gaze smoldering. “You taste like heaven.”
And you are...a dangerously pleasant surprise, Mr. Castello. “Thank you...that was—”
“Don’t thank me for eating your pussy.” He licks his lips, slow and measured. “That was all for me.”
He grips the hem of my dress and peels it up and off, then clasps my waist and lifts me up onto the pool table. Stepping back, he bites down on his fist as he drinks me in, nostrils flared, eyes molten and ravenous. “Spread for me, baby.”
Flattening my palms to the table, I part my legs. My panties are still on but pulled to the side, my pussy slippery soaked from the mind-warping orgasm he just gave me.
Once he’s had his fill of me, he slides a condom from the pocket of his lounge pants, before he slips them down and off, kicking them aside. Smooth and fluid, he makes quick work of sheathing his thick, veined cock.
Anticipation for what’s about to happen has my heart hammering. How many times have I imagined this? Wished for this? Scolded myself for even entertaining the fantasy? For thinking it could ever even happen?
Now look at me, spread naked before him like an offering. Wet and panting, open and waiting. While he watches me with raving hunger in his eyes, like I’m his greatest desire made flesh.
Wish for it hard enough, and it just might become reality…
My clit throbs, my nipples taut and aching, my stomach coiled tight with unrestrained lust.
Eyes locked on mine with equally feral craving, he steps in and cups my breasts, weighing them in his palms. He kneads, he teases, fondles, giving them all the love.
I reach up and cup his face, every cell in me screaming to feel his lips on mine, to devour his mouth. But I resist the urge and instead press a light kiss to the corner of his mouth, and then the other.
A smile slants his lips, understanding that it’s all he’s going to get. “I’ll take it.” He breathes across my lips, then taps my waist. “Lift your legs for me, beautiful.”
When I do, he hooks an arm around each leg, lifting them onto the table and arranging them so my soles are flat on the edge, spreading me wide open for him.
Positioning his raging cock at my quivering opening, he rests his forehead against mine, his breath husky and sweet with the taste of me, and whispers, “Can I fuck you?”
“Is that a—UhhhgodYES!”
He drives into me, bottoming out in one brutal, perfect thrust, making it clear that was a rhetorical question. Knocking and explosive cry out of me.
“Fuuuck,” he grinds out. “You’re so—fuck, fuck.”
I’m filled. Stuffed. Stretched to the edge of breaking.
I. Could. Cry.
With another muttered curse, he pulls back and slams in again…and again…and again. Each slow, powerful thrust deep and intentional, each one punctuated by a gritted curse. “I want to kiss you,” he whispers against my lips. “I want to kiss you so fucking bad.”
Then as if it’s too much for him, as if being this close to my mouth without being allowed to taste it is unbearable, he cups my shoulders and urges me back until I’m flat against the pool table. He then hooks my thighs into the crooks of his arms and begins fucking me like a debauchery demon fresh out of hell.
And this part…this part I got right about him. He fucks just as I’ve imagined. Hard and unrelenting. Hot and confident. Deep and rough and penetrating and so damn good. Merciless.
He might be gentle and teasing with his hands, his mouth, his voice, but with his cock buried inside me, he’s every bit the ferocious savage I’ve always suspected he was. No apology in his thrusts. No restraint. No care or concern. Just ruthless rhythm, pounding into me like he owns me, like he’s trying to ruin me.
And my pussy loves it, greedily clenching around him every time he sends it home, gushing and wilding like she’s never experienced good dick before.
“You’re perfect, my little liar,” he husks out. “Perfect.”
With a deep groan, he kisses my inner thighs, then slows as he grips my hips and pulls my ass to the very edge of the table. When he presses my bent legs down to my chest, my cheeks burn, because I couldn’t be more open and exposed in this position. Couldn’t be more his.
Needing to reclaim even a modicum of control, so it doesn’t feel like I’m being completely served up on a platter entirely at his mercy, I wrap my arms around my own legs and pull them back farther, tucking them beneath my shoulders.
A quiet flex. A show of strength. A warning not to forget who I am.
Stefano stops as his eyes go molten, dark with heat, and with a slow shake of his head, he mutters the Lord’s name in vain, then plunges in deep, knocking a rippling cry out of me that doesn’t sound human.
Holy. Shit. He’s in deep.
So. Deep.
My back arches, my mouth falls open, helpless to control the string of mewls and whispers that spills out of me.
“Don’t cry, my pretty Delilah. You wanted to show off, didn’t you?” he taunts, voice like dark silk. “Show me you can take it, then.”
This demon…
Just like that, whatever illusion of control I had is gone. He owns it now. All of it. Stupid of me to think I ever stood a chance.
He fucks me with sinful intensity, with delicious brutality. Each thrust harder, rougher, deeper. It’s as if he’s trying to reach my heart. As if he’s trying to carve his name on the inside of me. As if he wants to break me down and build me back up again with nothing but his cock.
I’ve never felt more like a girl than I do right now, breathless and whimpering under him. I’m all moans, hoarse cries, broken pleas, all nerve endings and surrender.
