Decadent

by Alexx Andria

  My respect level rose for Alessandra. To succeed in this environment was an accomplishment worth noting.

  However, even if the party hadn’t revealed much more in the way of information, I considered it a win as I’d convinced Alessandra to meet me for dinner, and that was the real prize.

  Not to mention, the memory of Alessandra in that black dress had kept me awake all night. I tossed and turned in my hotel bed for hours before giving up any hope of sleep without first jerking off to release some pent-up steam.

  I couldn’t help but fantasize about peeling that skin-tight dress from her luscious curves and feasting on every soft bit of flesh my hands could touch.

  In truth, I’d never come so hard by my own hand with such limited mental imagery, but Alessandra was a walking contradiction that I found intensely arousing.

  For now, I needed to shelve those lustful thoughts so I could focus on the task at hand.

  I walked into the rustic restaurant, the sharp tang of fresh herbs and spices permeating the small, intimate space as local diners enjoyed authentic Italian cuisine without the intrusion of tourists hoping for chicken Alfredo.

  Alessandra insisted on meeting me and while I was punctual, she wasn’t at the restaurant yet, which suited me fine and gave me a chance to form a plan.

  I ordered a bottle of wine, knowing that the move would either impress or irritate her, and I was interested to see where I landed.

  My server had just decanted the wine when Alessandra walked in. My body stiffened as I struggled to appear nonchalant but goddamn, if the woman were any hotter, she’d set things on fire by proximity.

  She wore a long, flowing tunic-style blouse with an exposed shoulder, her hair tumbling down her back, and jeans. It was an effortless look yet a supermodel couldn’t have worn it better.

  Our gazes met and the heat jumped but she deliberately paused before joining me at the table to greet the chef grilling lamb in an open-floor-plan kitchen.

  “Alessandra!” he exclaimed, taking the time to kiss her on both cheeks, clearly happy to see her. A sudden flush of jealousy caused me to shift with discomfort but I held it in check. I couldn’t discern their conversation but it was over before it mattered.

  I rose as Alessandra joined me, and I reached out to pull her chair free. “An American gentleman? I didn’t know they existed.”

  “Tsk, tsk, Alessandra, your bias is showing,” I said, returning to my seat. It was a good thing there were linen napkins on the table... I might need one to mop up the drool. “You look lovely.”

  She accepted my compliment with a smile, steepling her fingers as she perused me openly before returning the compliment. “You are quite handsome but then you know this. I am simply stating what you hear on a daily basis and I’m not sure I want to perpetuate your arrogance.”

  “The same could be said for you.”

  She shrugged, her gaze alighting on the wine. “You ordered ahead?”

  “I took the liberty.”

  Her smile tickled my insides. “We shall see if you ordered wisely.”

  I poured two glasses and waited for Alessandra’s assessment. She took her time like a true connoisseur, first burying her nose in the glass to inhale the bouquet, then taking an exploratory sip between those luscious lips. I had to drag my gaze to avoid from staring too hard.

  “Good?” I asked, pleased my voice held. “Does it meet with your standards?”

  Alessandra smiled coyly as she answered, “Franco always carries excellent wine. Why do you think I picked this restaurant?”

  I laughed. “You didn’t trust my instincts so you hedged your bets. Crafty woman.”

  Alessandra didn’t deny my assumption but the amusement sparkling in her eyes was like a drug in my system. I wanted to know why she was single, why some lucky bastard hadn’t snapped her up by now. By the standards of polite etiquette, jumping into relationship statuses was usually considered rude. I never played by the rules, so why start now? “Why are you single?” I asked, throwing it out there.

  “Because I am not interested in marrying,” she answered without artifice. “And you?”

  “Because I’m also not interested in marrying. Seems we have a bit more in common than we thought.”

  She chuckled but graced me with a patronizing look. “Tell me why you came all the way to Italy when you could’ve made a phone call that would’ve yielded the same result.”

  “Because I thought a face-to-face was more effective,” I answered. “I should’ve done my homework first. I confess, I thought buying your winery was going to be an easy win.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because everyone has a price and it’s usually lower than they realize. The wine business is capricious and most don’t have the capital to weather the bad years. The other wineries my father purchased didn’t resist much once we made our offers.”

  “We would never sell.”

  “Yes, I’ve come to accept this.”

  “Have you?”

  The open suspicion in her gaze kept me on my toes. She didn’t trust me or my motives. Smart woman. “It’s true I could’ve made a phone call to get the same information that flying over garnered, but the truth of the matter is... I needed a change of scenery. My older brother runs the family business, which leaves me to collect dust. I was bored and Italy sounded more exciting than what I was doing.”

  “Your father favors your brother? He doesn’t value his sons equally?”

  Her simple question unexpectedly hit a raw nerve. Instead of answering, I took the time to sip my wine, savoring the flavor before drawing the conversation back to the present. “How about this...let’s not talk about our fathers. They aren’t nearly as interesting as the two people sitting at this table. I want to know more about Alessandra. Let’s start there.”

  I wasn’t fooling her, but she didn’t press the issue and I was grateful. I had issues with my father—ones I wasn’t ready to discuss with a stranger, not even one as beautiful as Alessandra—but if I could bring home this win, perhaps our relationship would change.

  My father wasn’t a bad man, self-absorbed and selfish at times, but he was still my father and I had looked up to him my entire life.

  “What would you like to know?” she asked, curious.

  “Everything.” That much was true. I was greedy for details and not entirely to find information to use as leverage. That alone surprised me. “You fascinate me.”

  “Shall we speak plainly?” At my nod, she said, “We share an attraction. We can play the social game, dance around the small talk that we both know is simply courtesy, or we can both admit that our attraction is merely physical and lead with that.”

  Annnnddd, my cock nearly split in two. I swallowed. Had I just met the female equivalent of myself?

  “You’d be okay with just sex between us?” I asked.

  “Now that I know you’re not interested in pursuing the purchase of Castello di Baroni...yes.”

  The heat between us climbed. I’d never been so eager to feel a woman’s skin beneath my fingertips before that moment. The giddy teenager I think never quite leaves a man’s psyche, no matter his age, urged me to signal for the check and haul ass out of there. I held the urge back by the thinnest thread.

  I swirled the remaining wine in my glass. “Maybe I’m not that into you,” I said, talking total crap.

  At that she grinned, readily calling my bluff. “Are you saying you’re prepared to sleep alone tonight?”

  “I didn’t say that,” I answered. “Italy is a place filled with beauty of all kinds. I’m sure I could find someone to warm my bed.”

  “Why settle for a mild flicker of heat when you can have a bonfire?”

  God yes, why?

  Fuck it. The seventeen-year-old in me was in charge. I pulled a wad of cash from my billfold and tossed it to th
e table. “You make a persuasive argument. Let’s go, then,” I said, taking the leap. She slipped her hand into mine, her gaze dancing with anticipation as we left the restaurant for my hotel.

  We were playing an exciting game but I couldn’t quite tell who was in the lead.

  All I knew was that in the end... I was going to win.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Alessandra

  DANTE’S BIG BODY pressed against me, his hands interlinking with mine as he drew my arms up over my head. We’d barely made it through the door when he was on me. His ferocity took my breath away. There was something savage about Dante—something primal—that spoke to me, whispered dirty things into my ear and left me weak.

  My breasts strained against my bra, my nipples pearling behind the silk with an eagerness I shared. I was already wet and ready. His tongue stabbed into my mouth, daring me to resist. I met him with a savagery of my own. It’d been so long since I’d slept with such a virile man that I was eaten by sensual hunger.

  Our tongues danced, sliding against one another, building the heat to a fever pitch. He released my hands to cup my face, drawing me close as he continued to plunder my mouth. I could taste the lingering wine on his tongue, could feel the masculine energy coming off him in waves, and I was drunk on it.

  “You are the goddamn hottest woman alive,” he said against my mouth before pulling away to rip off his shirt, revealing a hard, powerfully built chest with only a faint smattering of hair that trailed down his belly and beyond.

  I sucked in a tight breath as my mouth dried. I so desperately wanted to taste his skin, to suck that manly nipple into my mouth and worry it between my teeth. I stripped as quickly, and within seconds I was back in his arms.

  He hoisted me up and my legs went around his torso, his hands cupping my ass. I swallowed his groan, the hardened staff of his cock between us, as he carried me to the bed.

  We tumbled to the mattress and Dante immediately opened my legs to gaze at the prize he wanted so badly. His eyes fairly glowed with desire, lust radiated from every pore and his cock bobbed as if seeking that wet heat. “Jesus, woman, is every inch of you perfect?” he asked before locking his arms around my hips and drawing my pussy to his eager mouth.

  And Dante came at me with the same level of ferocity as his kiss—open, demanding, searing—putting his entire face into the job. He ate like a dog determined to put his scent on everything he touched. Dedicated, single-mindedly focused and damn good at his task.

  “Oh, my God, Dante!” was all I could manage before frantic panting escaped my parted lips as his tongue, mouth and fingers worked magic, building the pleasure until I was thrashing like a wild woman, desperate for release. He kept me dangling on that edge, pushing me until I was almost crying.

  But I wouldn’t beg and if he was waiting for that, he’d wait until we both died, even as I so needed my climax. My legs were shaking, my belly trembled and I was almost out of my mind but I wouldn’t give in.

  And then it happened. My body wouldn’t be denied any longer and I crashed hard into an orgasm that left me locked in a paralyzed scream. Each sensation crested over me, squeezing the air from my lungs until I saw spots.

  I sucked in a sharp breath, whimpering as my clitoris pulsed with ragged beats, echoes of the climax with each rhythmic spasm. “Dante,” I said weakly, sweat dampening my hairline as he climbed my body to kiss me deeply. I tasted myself and I melted a little more.

  I was always the one in control, always the one in command in the bedroom, but Dante had taken my power as easily as one took candy from a child. My bones were soupy inside my flesh and it was the most amazing feeling I’d ever experienced.

  “You come like a fucking savage warrior queen,” he said with a feral grin that spoke to my soul.

  A ragged breath rattled out of my chest as I tried to recover but he wasn’t finished with me, not by a long shot. The hunger glowered in his eyes and promised more as soon as I caught my breath, but he was so tightly wound, I knew my reprieve wouldn’t last long.

  Dante flipped me on my belly, hooked his hands at my hips and drew me toward him while holding my head down. “I want to bite that perfect heart-shaped ass,” he growled but instead of nipping at me, the shock of his hand coming down across my cheeks sent a vicious thrill arcing through me. He rubbed at the reddened spot where his hand had connected, soothing the ache until his palm came down again. I cried out but I was wet.

  The pain was a delightful shock that he countered with another soft, almost tender touch afterward. Then his lips grazed the heated flesh and I groaned with need. He rubbed his hand across my slit, sliding it up and down, smearing my wetness along my swollen lips, teasing my aching clitoris over and over. I was nearing climax again—all it would take was the slightest direct contact with that vibrating nub and I’d fall into another orgasm.

  But he was the master tonight. His tongue played with the puckered rosebud of my ass, tickling, teasing, and I gripped the bedsheets between clenched fingers. He rimmed my ass with the same dedication as he had eaten my pussy and I died a million times. The pleasure scrambled my brain in the most delicious way and I was helpless to stop the sensations from wreaking havoc on every nerve ending. And then he slipped a finger inside, pressing against the sphincter, slow but deliberate. “Yes!” I cried. I was sloppy wet and I arched into his invading digit, pushing against him for more.

  Anal play was something I enjoyed but rarely invited. So few got it right, but Dante knew how to play me like a finely tuned instrument. One finger, two fingers, his tongue, working me until I was mindless with all-consuming fire. Soft, mewling noises erupted from between my lips that transitioned to outright groans as Dante left my ass to push that thick length deep inside me.

  He was built like a sturdy horse, thick and long, beefy and strong. I was filled to my limit, almost to the point of pain as he nearly bumped against my cervix, but I welcomed every sensation. The pleasure outweighed everything else as he drove himself into me, gripping my hips with hot hands, the sound of his guttural moans sending my arousal into a wildfire.

  Just as I was climbing that peak again, he stopped and rolled me onto my back, placing one leg over his shoulder as he drove into me again, the force of his thrusts something almost brutal. My breasts bounced with every thrust and I squeezed my eyes shut as the pleasure jumped a notch.

  “Look at me, baby,” he growled, forcing my eyes to pop open. “I want to watch you as you come again and again.”

  I was so close and he knew it. My thighs were already trembling, that telltale flutter in my belly had already begun. Usually I chased an orgasm but not this time. It was chasing me.

  I groaned, my entire body shaking. “Dante!” I cried out as I came again with a ferocity that left me reeling. Dante chased his own climax, gripping my hips as though I might escape if he didn’t clutch at my flesh with desperate fingers. He pummeled my body with his, each thrust more savage than the next until it was all I could do to hold on. A wild, defiant flutter began low in my belly and I moaned, knowing what was coming.

  I couldn’t help myself. My body responded to Dante’s cock like a trained animal, barking and doing tricks for a treat. I tumbled into another orgasm just as Dante found his.

  “Alessandra!” My name on his lips as he cried out was an aphrodisiac of another level. Everything about Dante was hard and masculine. For the first time ever, I softened beneath a man’s touch and it was both wondrous and horrifying.

  I didn’t know if I wanted to be softened.

  I didn’t know if I wanted Dante to be the one who tamed the beast in my heart.

  But I did know that Dante was unlike any lover I’d ever had—and I was already addicted.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Dante

  MY BREATH WAS ragged and my heart felt ready to burst, but I’d never been so sated in my life.

  I rolled onto my back
. I didn’t have the energy to remove the condom as my cock slowly shrank from such a wicked workout. Something primal had erupted out of my consciousness and taken over, but it’d been the most incredible fuck in the history of humans fucking.

  My chest heaved as I fought to recover. Alessandra was no less winded. I’d gone at it pretty hard. I knew she’d climaxed several times without having to ask—some things were impossible to hide. Even the most accomplished of actresses couldn’t have pulled off that act.

  Pride suffused my chest and a slow yet exhausted grin formed on my lips. Thankfully, Alessandra had her eyes closed. If she’d seen my shit-eating grin, my chances of a second round would’ve disappeared. The woman was the most prideful I’d ever known. It was a turn-on.

  Hell, everything about her turned me on. Was that a problem? Not at all. It just made my job that much more enjoyable. I had zero issues fucking Alessandra raw all the while finding the leverage I needed to get her to sell.

  But for now, I needed to catch my breath before I died.

  With a grunt, I rolled over to toss the used condom, then rose to grab two waters from the mini fridge in my room. I handed one to Alessandra, trying not to stare hungrily at her beautiful breasts.

  Waxing poetic on anything wasn’t my style, but if Michelangelo had seen Alessandra’s tits, he would’ve been painting those beauties on every single canvas in his dusty studio. I didn’t have an artistic bone in my body and her tits were inspiring me to do something artsy.

  She slugged the water, thirsty as I was. Alessandra dragged her hand across her mouth, her eyes sparkling with residual heat. “Hungry?” I asked. We’d skipped out on dinner. I could use some food before jumping her sexy little ass again.

  “I could eat,” she answered, rolling away to climb from the bed. She disappeared into the bathroom while I ordered room service. Then she reemerged wearing one of the thick bathrobes that were complimentary to the guests. She belted the robe and walked past me, a regal queen even though she barely reached my chest level. “What did you order?”