The Italian Read online T.L. Swan

Categories Genre: Angst, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 163540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 818(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
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Enrico Ferrara fucks with his body but he kisses with his whole heart.

I can feel it. Every cell in my body tells me that he is as into this as I am.

That this is something more than it’s supposed to be.

“Sei davvero fottutamente perfetta,” he whispers. Translation: you are so fucking perfect.

I don’t know what he said but it was in reverence—words of worship.

I smile up at him as he pulls out and lies over me. He carefully drops his lips to my clavicle and trails kisses up my collarbone.

“Olivia,” he murmurs against my skin.

I feel his dick reharden against my thigh, and I smile up at the ceiling as I bring my arm around his broad shoulders.

I get the feeling that the night is just beginning, and that he is nowhere near done with me.

We kiss again, and I am done.

Perfection.

14

Olivia

I wake to lips brushing my shoulder blade. It’s dark, but my bladder is telling me it’s morning. I roll over to find Rico leaning up on his elbow.

“Good morning, bella.” He smiles sexily.

Oh God. Shit.

“Hi.”

What the hell happened last night? One minute I vowed to hate Enrico Ferrara for all of eternity. Not seven minutes later I’m getting finger fucked in an office.

I think we said all of twenty words together before we were at it like rabbits. Horror dawns. For fuck’s sake.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I whisper as I climb out of bed and go into the en-suite bathroom. I lock the door, sit down and put my head in my hands. I didn’t even make him work for it. I’m weak, a pushover.

What am I doing here?

My heart is beating fast and I’m filled with regret. I need to get out of here, pronto.

I wash my hands and stare at my messed-up reflection. My blonde hair is wild, my makeup is smudged all over my face and don’t even talk to me about how much I smell like sex.

Like him.

How did this happen? I mean, I was fine… and then he sucked his fingers and the sky turned red until I couldn’t see anymore. No horny woman should ever have to watch that while he’s giving her his best come fuck me look. It’s unnatural. It’s like a go button or something. It should come with a warning. Do not go beyond this point…sure as hell fucking follows.

I wash my face and run my hands through my hair. I look around and borrow his toothpaste to brush my teeth.

I really need a shower, but damn, I just want to get out of here. I don’t want to walk back in there naked. I grab his robe from a hook on the back of the door and I throw it on.

Here goes. I’ve always heard about this, although it’s much worse in reality.

The walk of shame.

I open the door in a rush and find Rico leaning up on his elbow. His dark, tanned skin is on display, and his top leg is bent at the knee, displaying the most beautiful thick thigh muscle I’ve ever seen. The white sheets are pooled around his groin, although the tip of his cock is peeking out up against his stomach.

Hard again.

Fuck.

His eyes hold mine as I nervously sit down on the side of the bed.

“Come here, bella.” He taps the space beside him.

“Um.” I feel the blood drain from my face. I pause as I try to think of a lie. “I have to go. I might grab a cab.”

“What?” He frowns.

I shrug. “I’m really busy today.”

His chin rises. “You’re really busy today?”

“Uh-huh.”

His eyes hold mine. “Doing what?”

“Stuff.” Stop talking. Stop talking now.

“What’s your problem?” He sits up slowly.

“Nothing, I just have to go.” I scoop my dress and underwear up from the floor and go back into the bathroom. I’m not fighting with him here in his house. He’ll just somehow talk me onto my back again. It’s obvious I have zero willpower where he’s concerned. He has leg opening superpowers.

I quickly get dressed back into my whore bag dress. This thing is going in the bin. How do people do this on the regular? It’s appalling.

I walk back out into the bedroom to find him zipping up his jeans. “I’ll drive you.”

“No, it’s fine.” I slip on my black high heels.

He glares at me. “Don’t piss me off, Olivia.”

What?

My hackles rise. “Fine. Drive me home, you control freak.”

With another dirty look, he throws on a T-shirt. I follow him out of the bedroom and into the apartment. All the windows are open, and I quickly glance around the beautiful pool and its surroundings. Well, it was nice almost swimming in you.

We get into the lift. He bangs the button hard and stares straight ahead.

Animosity is oozing out of his every pore. God, this is awkward.

I twist my fingers in front of me as I watch the dial. The doors open into the underground parking lot, and he storms out. I follow him over to a black sports car. I see the Ferrari symbol and I inwardly cringe. He drives a Ferrari. Of course, he does. I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.


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