He Gave My Seat to His Sweetheart, So I Went Home and Said My Name novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Third Floor

In his rooms on the third floor Massimo takes her against the door and then in his bed; at dawn Penelope sends a photo in the stolen dress.

His rooms were on the third floor, at the end of a long hall I had never been allowed to walk down.

He locked the door behind us and turned the key, and the small metal click made my stomach drop.

The room was dark and plain.

A big bed with a black cover, a leather chair.

A tall window with the curtains open on the lake.

There was nothing in it that told me who he was, except the way it smelled.

I turned around with his overcoat sliding off my arms and hitting the floor.

Massimo stood with his back to the door, still in his suit, and looked at me.

He looked for a long time.

"Take off the slip," he said.

It wasn't loud.

It was the voice of a man who had given a lot of orders and never needed to say one twice.

My hands went to the straps.

I'd been told what to do by Weston's family all night, and every word had made me smaller.

This made me feel enormous.

I slid the straps off my shoulders, and the silk slipped down my body and pooled around my ankles.

I wore white lace underwear and nothing else.

His eyes went over me from my throat to my feet and back again.

I felt each place his eyes touched.

"Come here."

I crossed the floor.

He didn't touch me.

He stood with his hands at his sides and let me come to him.

When I stopped in front of him I could feel the heat of his body through his shirt.

"Open my belt."

My fingers were clumsy with it.

I got the buckle undone and then the button, and I lowered the zip.

He was thick and hard through his black briefs, and I pushed them down with the trousers.

His cock sprang free, heavy and flushed, with a drop already gleaming at the tip.

I made a sound I'd never made in my life.

"Four years," I said.

"I know."

"I thought about it every night."

"Tell me what you thought."

"This," I said.

I wrapped my hand around him.

He was so hot that it startled me, and so hard that his pulse beat against my palm.

I stroked him once from the root to the crown.

His head tipped back and his jaw tightened.

"Again," he said.

I stroked him again.

I felt his control strain, and I loved it.

"On your knees," Massimo said.

I went down so fast that my knees hit the floor hard, and I didn't feel it.

I looked up at him along the length of his body.

He put one hand in my hair, not pulling, only holding.

"Open."

I opened my mouth and took the head of his cock between my lips.

He tasted salty and clean and hot, and the sound he made went straight between my legs.

I sucked him slowly, circling my tongue under the crown, and I took him deeper with every pass.

He was too big to take all of him, and I tried anyway.

My eyes watered.

"Look at you," he said hoarsely.

"Your mouth is perfect. Take more."

I took more.

I hollowed my cheeks and worked the base with my hand.

He began to move with me, small slow thrusts that hit the back of my throat.

I moaned around him, and his fingers tightened in my hair.

"Stop," he said suddenly.

"Not yet. I'm not coming in your mouth tonight."

He pulled me up by the arms and lifted me off my feet in one motion.

My back hit the door.

The wood was cold against my skin, and his body was hot against my front.

I wrapped my legs around his waist.

"Say it," Massimo said.

"What?"

"What you want."

"I want you inside me."

He tore my underwear aside with one hand.

I heard the lace rip.

I felt the blunt head of his cock slide through my wetness and press at my entrance.

I held my breath.

"Look at me."

I looked.

He pushed in.

It was slow, and it was thick, and it stretched me wider than I'd ever been stretched.

I cried out, and my head hit the door.

"Fuck," he said through his teeth.

"You're so tight."

"Don't stop."

"I'm not going to stop. I'm going to take all of you."

He pushed deeper, another inch and another, until I felt him against the deepest part of me and his hips were flush with mine.

We both stopped breathing.

He was inside me to the root.

I felt every inch of him pulse.

He kissed me, deep and hungry, and I felt him swell inside me.

Then he started to move.

He pulled out almost all the way and thrust back in, hard, and the door shook behind me.

"Oh," I said.

"Oh, fuck."

"That's it."

He set a rhythm that was deep and brutal, each stroke sending a shock from my core to the ends of my fingers.

His hands gripped my thighs.

My nails raked down his back through his shirt, and I pulled the shirt up and dug into his skin.

"Harder."

"Say please."

"Please. Please, Massimo."

He gave it to me.

He pounded into me against the door until my breath came out in broken cries.

The sound of our bodies was wet and loud in the room.

I could feel the pleasure building tight and high, but he slowed down before I could fall.

"Not yet," he said.

I whimpered.

He carried me across the room with his cock still inside me, and every step jolted him deeper.

He laid me on the black bed and pulled out of me, and I sobbed at the loss.

"Shirt off," I said.

He tore it over his head.

His chest was broad and scarred, dark hair across the muscle, and a long white line ran across his ribs.

I put my mouth to it.

He shuddered.

Then he put me on my back and pushed my knees up to my chest.

He sank into me again.

It was a different angle, and it was so deep that I saw stars.

"Touch yourself," he said.

"I can't."

"You can. Show me what you do when you think of me."

My hand slid down between my legs.

I found my clit, swollen and slick.

I rubbed it in slow circles while he fucked me in long, hard strokes.

He watched my hand.

He watched my face.

"Good," he said.

"Good girl. Just like that."

The praise went through me.

I felt the pleasure spiral up, and this time he didn't slow down.

"Come for me, Marisa."

"I'm going to."

"Now."

I came with a scream.

It tore up out of me, and my whole body arched off the bed.

My inner muscles clamped down on his cock in hard, rhythmic pulls.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned.

"Squeeze me. Just like that."

He drove into me three more times, deep and rough.

Then he buried himself to the hilt and came with a shout.

I felt him pour into me, hot and endless.

He collapsed over me with his forehead against mine.

We lay there breathing.

His heart pounded against my breast.

Slowly his hand came up and brushed the damp hair off my forehead.

"Stay," he said.

"I wasn't going anywhere."

He rolled onto his back and pulled me against his side, and I put my head on his shoulder.

Ten minutes later I felt him hard against my hip again.

I looked up.

"Already?" I asked.

"Four years," he said.

He turned me onto my side with my back against his chest.

He lifted my top leg over his thigh.

He slid into me from behind, slow and deep.

I was so sore and so sensitive that I moaned out loud.

One of his arms went under my neck and the other wrapped around my waist.

His hand slid down to find my clit.

He fucked me in long, lazy strokes, with his mouth against my shoulder.

"Feel that?" he murmured.

"Feel how well you take me?"

"Yes."

"Say whose you are tonight."

"Yours," I breathed.

"Only tonight?"

I couldn't answer, because his fingers had begun to circle faster.

I came again, softly this time, in long rolling waves.

He groaned and followed me with his teeth in my shoulder.

I fell asleep in his arms with the lake going grey in the window.

When I woke, the sky outside was the color of ash.

My phone was buzzing on the floor inside my clutch.

Not the cheap black phone.

My own phone.

Thirty-one missed calls from Weston.

I picked it up and saw a new text on top, from a number I didn't know.

It was a photo of Penelope in my mother's dress, laughing, with a glass in her hand.

Under it was a short message.

Collect your things Sunday.

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