He turns his head and looks at me and then looks down at his hand on my thigh and then back at my face with an expression that tells me he's known exactly what he's been doing from the second I walked up to him at that bar.
His hand slides up until his fingers graze the edge of my underwear and my breath comes out in a shudder that fills the quiet car. He watches it happen, watches my chest rise and fall, watches my lips part, and his thumb traces along the fabric slowly like he has all the time in the world and he's going to use every second of it.
I grab his wrist but not to stop him. To hold on. Because everything is spinning.
He leans in, his mouth finding my neck, and this time he's not gentle about it. His lips press hard against my neck and his tongue drags up to the spot below my ear and I make a sound that I should be embarrassed about but I'm past that. His fingers press against me through the thin fabric and my hips shift toward his hand because I need more and he's giving me almost but not quite and it's driving me insane.
"Leonardo—"
He pulls me onto his lap.
One movement. His hands gripping my hips and lifting me over and suddenly I'm straddling him in the backseat and I can feel him through his trousers, hard, and the pressure of it against me makes us both exhale at the same time. My hands are on his chest, his hands are on my waist, and we're looking at each other in the dark of this car with streetlights sliding across our faces.
He reaches up and pushes my hair back from my face, tucks it behind my ear, and the gesture is so gentle compared to everything else that it makes my chest ache.
And then he kisses me.
His mouth meets mine and I stop breathing. His lips are warm and firm and he kisses the way he does everything — unhurried,he already knows exactly how this is going to go. His hand slides into my hair and grips at the root and I gasp into his mouth and he swallows it, his tongue finding mine, and I melt into him. My hands fist his shirt, my hips roll against him without permission, and he groans into my mouth, low, quiet, a sound that I feel in my core.
His other hand grips my thigh, pulling me harder against him, and I grind down because I can't help it. His head falls back against the seat and I follow him, kissing his jaw, his neck, tasting the salt on his skin. His hand tightens in my hair and pulls my head back gently, exposing my throat, and his mouth drags down the column of my neck biting softly at the base where it meets my shoulder.
My hand drops between us. I palm him through his trousers and he tenses underneath me, his hips pushing up into my hand, and the sound he makes against my collarbone is so low it's almost a growl. I press harder and his grip on my hair tightens and his teeth graze my shoulder and I'm shaking, actually shaking, my thighs trembling on either side of him.
The car slows. Stops.
His building doesn't have a lobby like a normal building. There's a door, heavy and dark, and a lift behind it that opens with a key he pulls from his pocket without looking. He holds it open for me and I step inside and the doors close and it's just us in this small mirrored box and I catch my reflection — red dress wrinkled from his lap, hair wrecked from his hands, lips swollen, mascara slightly smudged under one eye — and I look like someone who's already been fucked even though he hasn't even started.
He stands behind me. I can see him in the mirror watching me look at myself and there's something on his face,like he's already decided what he's going to do to me.
The lift opens directly into his apartment. Wide and dark, the city spread out through floor-to-ceiling windows, Milan glowing gold and white beneath us. I should look around but I don't get the chance because his hand catches my wrist and he pulls me toward him and his mouth is on mine before I've taken two steps.
This kiss is different from the car. In the car he was testing, tasting, learning what made me react. This one is just want. His tongue slides against mine deep and slow and his hand grips the back of my neck holding me exactly where he wants me. I grab his shirt with both fists because my knees are already unreliable and he hasn't even touched me properly yet.
He walks me backward. I don't know where we're going and I don't care because his mouth hasn't left mine and his other hand is on my lower back pressing me into him and I can feel how hard he is against my stomach and every step pushes me closer to whatever surface he's aiming for.
My back hits a wall. He pins me there with his hips and his hands find the zipper at the back of my dress and he drags it down slowly, his knuckles trailing down my spine, and I shiver so hard he feels it against his mouth and I feel him smile. His lips curving against mine and something about that makes me want to ruin him the way he's ruining me.
The dress loosens around me. He pulls back enough to drag the straps down my shoulders, down my arms, and it pools at my feet and I'm standing against his wall in nothing but my underwear and Lucia's heels. The air hits my skin and my nipples harden immediately and his eyes drop and he looks at me, all of me, slow, taking his time like I'm something he wants to memorize.
"Take your shirt off," I say because I refuse to be the only one exposed right now.
He laughs softly and reaches behind his neck with one hand and pulls it over his head and drops it on the floor and okay. Okay. His body is lean but solid, the kind of build you don't see until the clothes come off, and there's a scar low on his ribs that I want to ask about but not now, not tonight, tonight I just want to put my mouth on it.
So I do. I lean forward and press my lips against that scar and his stomach contracts under my mouth and his hand slides into my hair. I kiss across his chest, up his collarbone, my tongue dragging along the line of his neck , his fingers tighten in my hair when I reach the spot just below his jaw.