Devoted to Him

by Sofia Tate

  “Wow. That looks…comfortable,” I comment, envisioning the events to come later in the flight with great anticipation.

  “Oh, it is, my love. Very comfortable,” he assures me slyly, planting a kiss on my hand before taking it in his, leading me out the door. “Come on. It’s almost time to take off.”

  “So, wait. I’m guessing that I was the last to know that you were planning this, judging by the mischievous looks that Charles and Gerard were giving me.”

  Davison sits me down in the seat next to his. “Pretty much,” he confirms as he’s locking his seat belt.

  I give him a long stare. “Evil. Pure evil.”

  He takes my hand again, stroking it with his thumb in that way of his that always arouses me. “But you love it, baby.”

  I bite down on my lower lip as I shake my head.

  I hate it when he’s right.

  “Yes,” I finally admit reluctantly.

  Before he can reply with a snarky comment, the captain comes on over the PA system. “Mr. Berkeley, we’ve been cleared for takeoff. Please be seated.”

  “Here we go,” I declare.

  “Andiamo, baby.” With my hand in his firm grip, I remember he said those same exact words to me when we left the cemetery in Naples where my mother is buried.

  I pull his hand to my lips, kissing it softly. He smiles at me. He remembers too.

  * * *

  Sitting across from each other at the small table in the back of the cabin, Davison and I use the linen napkins in our laps to wipe our mouths after our delicious dinner of grilled chicken with mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables. He made sure to serve my favorite dessert—molten chocolate cake with raspberry coulis.

  I lean back in my seat to loosen the belt on my jeans. “That was so good.”

  When I glance at Davison, a sly smile is spread across his face, studying me, suddenly making me self-conscious.

  I quickly pat my face. “Do I have any chocolate anywhere? I practically inhaled that cake.”

  “No,” he replies with a deep rumble that makes my toes curl, sending flutters through my belly. “You’re just too fucking beautiful for words.”

  Just as my heartbeat starts to race and my breathing increases, Gerard chooses that moment to come by to pick up our plates. “Will there be anything else?”

  Davison’s stare doesn’t waver from my eyes as he addresses him. “No, we’re all done, Gerard. Once you’re finished cleaning up, you can take a break. We won’t be needing you for the time being.”

  “Very good, sir,” he acknowledges with a nod.

  Davison stays in his seat until Gerard walks away, then he rises to his feet, stepping toward me. He silently holds out his hand, inviting me with his brilliant emerald eyes.

  I follow him back to the bedroom. My nerve endings are pulsing to every end point in my body, my heart pounding so hard I can sense it in my ears, my throat.

  “Just give me a minute,” I ask of him.

  “Take all the time you need,” he murmurs. “There’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom. And when you finish, come out naked.”

  I gulp at his last command, not in nervousness, but anticipation. I step into the en suite bathroom, thoroughly brushing my teeth, splashing water over my face, and fingering my hair with my hands. I strip down and leave all of my clothes on the floor.

  When I come back into the room, Davison is standing in front of me, wearing only a pair of black silk boxers and a wicked look on his gorgeous face, his eyes hooded with desire. He’s holding a black silk scarf, running the soft material through his fingers.

  “And what are you planning to do with that?” I ask, gesturing to his occupied hands.

  “Thought we’d try something new,” he purrs.

  “I love trying out new things,” I inform him, eager to see where he’s going with this.

  “That’s why I love you, Venus. Now come to me,” his deep, raspy voice instructs me.

  With my shoulders thrown back and my eyes fixed on his, I stride to him confidently. Once I’m standing in front of him, he softly kisses me on the lips before turning me around to tie the scarf around my eyes.

  “Can you see anything?” he asks, his hot breath on my ear.

  I shake my head in reply.

  My hand is now gripped in his as he leads me to the bed, sitting me down and arranging me. “Push yourself back until you feel the pillows, then lie down.”

  Using my hands, I slide along the soft fabric of the cashmere duvet, stopping when I sense the lump of the pillows under me. I place my head down, breathing fast as I wait for Davison’s next move.

  “You look so fucking beautiful, Allegra. I could just watch you for hours.”

  “And, ironically, that’s just about the amount of time we have,” I comment.

  “No smart-ass remarks,” he declares. “All I want to hear from you are groans, moans, yells, screams, and your voice calling my name in ecstasy.”

  I nod in acknowledgement, grinning like a damn Cheshire cat.

  The plane lifts up slightly, but I don’t mind the turbulence. The only thing I’m thinking about now is how soon Davison is going to begin pleasuring me.

  Something wet and cold drips onto my chest. Chills run up and down my skin. A familiar smell travels up to my nose.

  “What is that, Harvard?”

  He wipes a finger across my stomach where the liquid has dripped. “Taste, baby.”

  I suck his finger into my mouth, and melt upon contact. It’s the raspberry coulis that was served with our dessert.

  “Mmmm,” I moan, tightening my lips harder around his index finger, determined to suck every last drop of the sweet syrup.

  He groans.

  I finally release his finger. He moves down the bed. I sense a flutter of air. More liquid is poured onto my body. My nipples and belly are covered in it.

  “Davison, just as a reminder, this is cashmere I’m lying on.”

  “I’m touched you’re so concerned about my bed linens, my love. But I don’t give a fuck about them.”

  My head sinks helplessly farther into the pillow and I’m about to say something else when the tip of his tongue starts to play with my left nipple, bobbing it up and down, then running it around my areola.

  “Fuck, Allegra. You taste so sweet,” he purrs.

  I moan in rapture, my pussy soaked with desire. I squirm, fisting the cashmere fabric under me as he starts to travel with his tongue down onto my belly, my stomach contracting, my muscles pushing down onto my cleft, so close to coming from the ministrations of his tongue alone.

  His mouth travels back and forth across my torso, his tongue leaving a trail of moisture.

  “Please, Davison,” I plead.

  “What is it? I’m busy,” he says as if I’m bothering him.

  “I need you there…” I pant.

  “Where?”

  “You know where.”

  “No, I don’t,” he teases. “Tell me.”

  “My pussy. My clit. Everything. I want to come. Please,” I beg him.

  “Ask me again. And say my name,” he commands.

  “Make me come, Davison. Suck my clit,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “Hmm. I’ll think about it,” he replies, still tormenting me.

  The torture is too much to bear.

  He moves to my thighs, nipping and licking. I think I’m about to lose it when suddenly he announces, “It’s time to feast.”

  Thank fucking God.

  His mouth settles on my soaked pussy, and I whimper at the feel of his tongue swirling inside me as if he were trying to get every last drop of me. His deep moans vibrate across my labia, making me shudder, desperate for more.

  And then, when I sense his breath across my clit, I clench the duvet, preparing myself.

  The instant Davison inserts my clit into his mouth, my hips jerk violently. He grips my upper thighs, holding me down to keep me steady. And then his fingers enter me, thrusting in and out.

&
nbsp; I can’t hold it in any longer.

  “Davison, oh God! Don’t fucking stop!” I beg of him.

  My eyes roll back into my head as my orgasm sweeps over me, my hips contracting despite being held down by the sinewy muscles of his strong arms.

  I can’t catch my breath, panting as Davison makes his way up my body. He pulls the scarf from around my eyes. I blink a few times to adjust to the light, revealing him hovering over me holding himself up by his arms, his gorgeous face covered by the most satisfied smile I’ve ever seen on him.

  “Enjoy that?” he asks, grinning so damn mischievously.

  Stupidest question in the history of stupid questions.

  I cough out a laugh, still trying to get my heart rate down so I can thank him properly.

  I finally take a deep breath. “Come here.”

  I wrap my hands around his nape, pulling his mouth to mine. When I finally taste him, I am overcome by the heady combination of my arousal, the sweet raspberries, and his warm tongue. The flavor is the most erotic mixture I’ve ever enjoyed, and I want more. So much more. I kiss him again and again, finally licking around his lips to get every last taste.

  “Well?” he asks, his eyebrows raised inquiringly.

  “We’ll need to do that again. Soon.”

  “Trust me. We will, baby. And now…”

  I watch as he nudges my legs apart with his knees, reaching down with his right hand. His finger slips easily into my pussy.

  Oh God…

  “Just checking,” he grins.

  “Round two. Bring it, Harvard,” I urge him on.

  Like a hand sliding seamlessly into a glove, he enters me, filling me with his girth. He starts to move, pummeling me with each thrust.

  “Fuck, Allegra. So good. Always so tight. I love being inside you,” he rasps.

  He pounds into me, the intensity increasing with each thrust. When I glance down to see his face, his eyes are shut tightly in concentration, the muscles along the sides of his neck straining against his skin. He’s past the point of return, arousing me further, seeing this beautiful specimen of a man in his full Alpha glory only exciting me more, stirring my nerve endings, sending my blood racing through my veins.

  His body begins to shudder as he nears his release. He thrusts once, twice, then we come together, Davison shouting my name in rapture.

  Completely depleted, he collapses on top of me as we fall into a deep sleep.

  * * *

  I knew this moment was coming. I’d told myself that I would be strong, but I’m going to lose it any second the longer he looks at me like that, with pure love in his eyes.

  About an hour ago, we’d showered, gotten dressed, and enjoyed a late supper of omelettes, croissants, fruit, and coffee that Gerard prepared for us. I couldn’t handle anything heavier than that due to my nerves. We’d landed shortly thereafter at the airport in Milan around nine o’clock, and waited for the customs agent and an airport official to come on board for passport control. Once he completed his check, the official waited for me out on the tarmac to take me inside the terminal. La Diva’s driver texted that he was waiting outside to drive me to her villa once I was ready to say good-bye to Davison.

  But I’m nowhere near ready.

  As Davison holds my hands, I speak to his shoes instead of his face. “I put a trifecta of songs on your iPod…”

  “Allegra…”

  “They’re not sad ones, just ones that will remind you of me…”

  “Allegra…”

  “And when I come back, we’ll dance to them together in your living room. And—”

  “Allegra, please look at me,” he tells me calmly yet firmly.

  I finally gather myself and tilt my face to him, my eyes boring into his.

  “We’ll call. We’ll Skype. We’ll text. It’s only a few weeks,” he offers with a shrug, as if it’s no big deal.

  At first, I’m offended at his demeanor, but then I see his chest rising and falling, taking deep breaths. He’s hating this as much as I am. Thankfully, his strong, steady hands are keeping my shaking ones under control, but his grip is growing tighter on them.

  “Right, it’s only a few weeks,” I repeat.

  The tears running down my face counter all my attempts to stay strong and not break down. He releases my hands, running his thumbs along my cheeks to wipe them away. Then he clamps my face with his hands, looking straight into my eyes.

  “I love you, Allegra. So fucking much.”

  I press my lips together and nod my head to keep myself in check so I can reply without losing it.

  “I love you,” I declare breathlessly before pulling him to me roughly, kissing him so hard. His arms coil around my waist, grabbing my jacket in his hands, thrusting me to him as we melt into each other, forming one entity.

  When we come up for air, we lean our foreheads together, our eyes communicating what we’re feeling inside. No more words are necessary.

  “Call me when you get to London,” I ask of him.

  “I will. I promise.”

  I give him one last quick kiss on the lips and dash down the stairs, not looking back until I have to get into the shuttle van that will take me to the terminal. When I finally do turn around, Davison is staring right back at me. Standing in the doorway of his jet, dressed in one of his dark tailored suits, every hair in place, his tie perfectly knotted, he is the epitome of power. He nods at me encouragingly, pressing me to go on. I mirror him, nodding in return, placing a hand over my heart. Our eyes don’t waver until the van pulls away and we can’t see each other anymore.

  Once I’m fully out of his sight, I let the tears flow.

  “Siete molto fortunata, signorina. Lui è molto bello,” an older woman says to me.

  I simply nod. I become angry at this nameless woman. She probably assumes I speak Italian because she saw my name on the flight manifest, and I want to reply to her in Italian, “Yes, I am very lucky and yes, he is very handsome. But there’s so much more to him than what he looks like. Nobody knows that except for me. And nobody will ever know because he is mine.” But I stay silent.

  Through the tears, I smile to myself. I know what I just told myself is true, and nobody can take him away from me.

  Chapter Eight

  Davison

  At the age of thirty-one, I’ve achieved most of what I wanted to do with my life. I’m the CEO of my family’s company, I have my own fortune, I possess every toy that any red-blooded American male worth his damn salt would desire: a private plane, a penthouse apartment in Manhattan, a car and loyal driver at my disposal 24/7. Basically, I fucking own this town.

  But none of this is worth shit without her. Without Allegra.

  I knew it was going to be tough not being able to see her at a moment’s notice. I prepared myself for the torture. But it’s worse than that.

  I fucking crave her.

  I crave the sound of her. Her sweet laugh that’s genuine and infectious, easy on the ears, never rough or forced. Her voice when she sings, so pure and angelic, perfectly hitting the high notes that an opera demands. Her smart mouth full of wiseass remarks when she’s admonishing me for something I’ve done that arouses me to the point of making my dick hard.

  I crave the smell of her, especially her coconut shampoo, even though I could just pop open the bottle that’s sitting in my shower. But it wouldn’t be the same because it isn’t on her gorgeous silky brown hair that I could raise to my nose, allowing it to intoxicate me.

  I crave the feel of her. The way she feels sitting in my lap, how she fits perfectly when we lie next to each other, her soft curves folding into my chest and torso seamlessly so I could curl my arm around her.

  I crave the taste of her. I miss being able to spread her smooth thighs so I can insert my tongue into her pussy, where she tastes like the purest honey.

  Saying good-bye to her on my jet in Milan exactly a week ago today was excruciating. I tried to lighten the mood by giving her the whole Hey, no big deal, t
here are phones, Skype, texts speech. But she saw right through me, like she always does, playing along, trying to be strong for me, because she is—strong, courageous, brave, always putting others before herself. More selfless than I’ll ever be.

  So when I’m at my office, like I am now, I sit at the table instead of my desk because of the photo of her that rests there, tormenting me. I can’t get any work done otherwise. I become fucking useless when I sit there because I can just stare at it for hours.

  Papers and files are spread around me. I’m trying to analyze a spreadsheet of projected earnings, but it’s just gibberish to me. I can’t fucking focus.

  The intercom buzzes. My secretary’s voice comes over the speaker. “Sir, there’s someone on the phone for you who says he’s an associate of your father’s and he says he needs to speak with you urgently, but he won’t give me his name.”

  “That’s all right, Eleanor. I’ll take it.”

  I press the line that’s lit. “This is Davison Berkeley.”

  “Tell your father to think twice,” a rough voice whispers.

  “Excuse me? Who is this?” I demand.

  The other line goes click.

  “What the hell?” I ask aloud, looking at the phone as if it could reply. I slam the receiver down into its cradle. Grabbing my jacket, I throw it on and head out the door.

  “I’m going to see my father,” I shout over my shoulder to Eleanor. I storm down the hallway to my father’s corner office. I completely ignore his assistant’s pleas to wait as I push through his door, finding him on the phone, his feet thrust up on his desk as he leans back into his leather desk chair.

  “What the hell, Mal? Didn’t you check them out first?” he’s saying to someone.

  He finally acknowledges my presence, glancing over and grimacing at the sight of me.

  “Davison’s here. I have to call you back,” he informs whoever Mal is, sounding very annoyed.

  He hangs up, then turns to me, looking bothered as usual when it concerns me, his own son.

  “You ever heard of knocking?” he snaps at me.