Addicted to Santino - Amarie Avant Page 0,16
my retreat. “A few minor adjustments, Bella.”
“Kiss my—”
“Oh, I plan on kissing your ass. Up until now, that was your favorite pastime in and out of bed. Having everyone kiss your ass. Now, all this ass is mine, Gina.”
Though my name drips like desire from his mouth, I grumble in frustration. “Not Bella?”
“After I kiss your perfect round ass, Gina, I’m gonna bite all that delicious fat ass, grip it, and plow my cock into—”
“Not my ass. Oh, no, you won’t.” Conflicting emotions twist and turn in my abdomen, namely curiosity, and apprehension.
“Your tight pussy.”
“Oh okay.”
“Just like that, okay?” Santino’s thick brow lifts as he opens the door to his truck.
“Thank you,” I reply, taking his hand. “Also, if you follow through with all that talk, I’ll look back at it and let your balls clap against my ass. FYI, your fetish has only been my reality in reading.”
“What’s your—”
“Missionary.” I wink, gliding into the passenger seat. “I don’t have time for the bells and whistles. Hell, I’ve only climaxed from a stiff tongue. At least, you’ve excelled at one of my requirements.”
Santino laughs as he confirms all my body parts are inside before closing the door. In a few, Lord, was I about to learn that sex wasn’t bells and whistles.
My place spans the entire top floor of a building. There’s exposed brick outlining an expansive floor plan. In addition, there’s enough room for a few hundred thousand in black American art. I order Alexa to play something smooth since I bet Santino has it in his mind to order me around.
“Your phone, Santino?”
“I’ll turn it off.”
“Your phone,” I repeat myself.
He smiles then hands it over.
“Before you go all wannabe Dom on me, I need your undivided attention for the remainder of the night.”
I hold his cell phone and mine over the opening of an aquarium with exotic fish. “Just kidding.” I smile. “Power this sucker off and place it in the drawer next to mine.”
I lob his phone at him. Although he does as told, I can tell he believes this will be my last order. My gaze says: you want to bet? His dark eyes counter.
Santino tosses the phone inside and closes the drawer. Santino takes my hand before directing me to the center of the bedroom.
“Get undressed, Gina.”
His eyes war against mine: definitely, Gina. At least I have to assume he’s calling my name instead of the sentiment.
“What about you, Santa?”
He leans against me. The heat of his rock-hard body warms my skin. I desperately want his body all over mine. The bastard knows too as he laughs softly. Santino catches my fingers between his, raising my hand to his mouth to press kisses on my fingertips. Might as well have been tossed on my ass. I’m moaning when Santino reprimands me for my retort that was seconds ago—seems like ages.
“Sure, Bella, call me Santa. I’ll keep adding strikes for your insolence.”
“You do that.” I run a fingertip along my curls, and it bounces like I’m a model in a hair show. I make a note to myself to give my hairstylist a heftier tip next time.
Santino affectionately brushes my hair aside. His tongue caresses where the chocolate brown tresses have fallen.
“I can smell your arousal, Gina.”
Blushing, I bite down on my tongue as not to stammer out a reply. This time, my jolly, built like a linebacker, dirty Santino has the very last word. One side of his mouth tips, cockily.
Our gazes lock for the length of several heartbeats. Santino’s eyes are darkening by the second. I contemplate how a quick fuck has brought about my satisfaction in the past.
The thought of being “just satisfied” seems like a letdown for the first time in my life. I want more.
While his hands roam over my body, my fingers tremble with anticipation as I clinch the silky fabric of my dress. I slowly pull upward. God, I’m shivering, staring at Santino’s gorgeous face. There’s an unwritten rule between us.
I need to get this right.
To please him.
Toni spilled just how good of an uncle he is, and he deserves better. At first, Santino meets my stare, but his eyes lock onto the hem of my dress like he’s silently ordering me to unwrap a Christmas package—with his name on it. The French couture inches up my thighs, pausing at the swell of my pussy lips, soaked in desire. It’s almost as if he can see through the black lace. As if I’m more exposed to him today, than