my body. They linger on my tits which are falling forward to fill the cups of my sports bra, then trace down over my bare abs to the flare of my hips.
“Cazzo a mi,” he murmurs. I have no idea what that means, but I can read the hunger in his eyes.
I push forward and then back, keeping the scant inches between us until he whispers, “Please, Abigail.” The begging hitch in his voice has me lowering until we are pressed together, chest to chest, hips to hips.
I can feel his arousal against my pussy, and I forget my flow, simply grinding against his hardness.
“Yeah, babe. Gimme more of that . . . flow,” Doug grunts out, and despite my utter lack of desire to see anything that remotely looks like Emily Jones’s sex face, I can’t help but look over. She’s on her elbows, pushing forward and back the way Amalya instructed. But instead of sexy and seductive forward and back, it looks as though she’s fighting her way through push-ups like she’s in a competition to win a car.
Who can do the most? Winner takes home this brand-new Buick!
“Like this, Abi. Did you forget how?” I can’t decide if she’s teasing me about my lack of sex or that I’m stupid. I decide it must be the latter since she thinks I’m on my honeymoon getting sexed up non-stop. “Or are you just worn out from showboating with that backbend?”
“Come back to me, Abigail. I need you,” Lorenzo groans, and any competition, real or imagined, with Emily floats away when I meet his eyes.
I push forward into my shoulders, and my clit rubs along his length, drawing a hiss from Lorenzo. A surge of power rushes through me. I’m in control of his pleasure, his pain, his everything right now, and he has to lie there and take it from me as he begs for more. I’m not usually dominant in bed. I prefer a more equal sporting event if I’m honest, but this excites me.
I glide down his body, enjoying the way the head of his cock bumps over my clit and down my slit. I’m giving him pleasure as I take some of my own. Amalya might’ve said this was a give or take position, but I’m finding it to be quite give and take.
I find a rhythm and pace that I can maintain, and the flow up and down Lorenzo’s length is driving us both mad. My breath is panting, my brow sweaty, and my eyes are locked on his as we reach higher and higher.
Around us, the intrusive sound of grunts tells me we’re not the only ones, but I focus solely on Lorenzo now.
He groans deeply, and then, despite the rules of the pose, his hands slap down on my ass, stilling me fiercely. In his grip, I can’t move an inch, can only feel the pulsing throb of his cock against my clit. I raise my brows and he shakes his head slowly. “Not here. Not our first time.”
Sweet. Sexy. Man.
Oh, shit . . . he said first time! Did Emily hear that? That’ll ruin everything. I pale and look over, half expecting to see her evil smile of ‘gotcha’ at discovering our charade, but I find her shuddering on top of Doug, who seems pretty pulled together and clear-eyed.
Did she? Did he? Oh, my God. Seriously?
Wait, don’t answer that, universe. I do not want to know.
As if the universe is actually granting wishes, Amalya calmly advises, “Last but not least, please find your way into any comfortable position that has you and your partner connected. This could be spooning, on your backs holding hands, on top of one another, et cetera. The connection is the important thing.”
Lorenzo and I lie on our sides facing one another with our hands and legs interwoven between us. Eyes locked on one another, I try to read what lurks in his. Hunger and lust are easy to see. But could there be more? Do I even want more? I certainly don’t have time for it beyond this week. Hell, I don’t even have time for more this week!
But I let that go and simply stare into his eyes as Amalya leads us through a guided meditation of connection and hope for our future as couples. It’s lovely, though I couldn’t tell you a thing she says because I’m too caught up in what Lorenzo’s eyes might be saying.
Chapter 12
Lorenzo
After that sexy version of yoga, Abigail