The room was fairly large but completely open. There was nowhere to hide. A sink, a toilet and a mirror were really all that was in the room, and yet Stefano had to have been somewhere. Maybe she’d been so eager she hadn’t seen him when she hurried in. She started to turn.

“Stay still.”

A clear order. She shivered, and remained facing away from him, growing damp and needy without anything else but the sound of his voice. She watched in the mirror as he bunched her panties into the palm of his hand and shoved them into the pocket of his suit.

He reached around her and began to undo the little pearl buttons of her blouse. The edges gaped open to reveal her breasts nestled in the lacy, satin-soft bra. Leaving her bra in place, he reached in and pulled out her breasts so they jutted up and out over the material, her blouse framing them. Francesca’s breath caught in her throat as he reached down and took her hands in his, sliding them up her rib cage to press her fingers to her nipples.

“Work them for me, dolce cuore. You know how I like it. Rough. I want to see you panting. Needy. I love to see your hands on your body.”

She licked at her lips, her breath already ragged. She wasn’t certain how he could do that, make everything feel so sexy, reduce her to a needy, melting woman wanting to beg him to hurry and take her. The fire built between her legs, scorching hot, and to her shock, she could actually feel the liquid need on her inner thighs as she complied with his order, tugging and rolling her nipples, watching him watch her in the mirror.

His hands went to either side of her hips, fisting the material of her skirt. Very slowly he began to pull it up, gathering it into his hands as the hem rose first over her boots and then her thighs and finally to her waist. He tied the skirt at her back, a quick twist and then a knot to keep it in place, his gaze never leaving hers.

“Harder, bella, pretend your hands are mine.” His foot kicked her left leg wider and then her right. “I could hardly think straight this morning. Trying to work, go over reports, when all I wanted to do was get back to you. I thought about fucking you right on my desk at work. Or have you under it, sucking me off while I conducted business.” His hand moved over her rounded cheeks, lingering on the marks he’d left there earlier. One hand pressed her head toward the floor.

She started to reach down and he stopped her. “I’ll hold you. Trust me, Francesca. You keep working those nipples.” His arm locked around her waist and then his hand was at her entrance, scooping out the honey and licking it off his fingers. “You taste so fucking good. Do you think I would have the control to talk on the phone, or have someone in the room while you were there, under my desk, my cock down your throat? Could I keep it together?”

“I hope not,” she panted. “I hope I’d be making you feel so good you couldn’t.”

He’d already opened his trousers. When had he done that? She hadn’t noticed because she was too busy trying to keep from melting into a hot little heap on the floor at his feet. He pressed the broad head of his cock into her entrance and her breath caught in her throat.

It felt like a red-hot brand. Too thick to fit. Stretching her. She pushed back against him, needing him inside. She held her breath. Her heart pounded. A sob escaped. “Stefano.”

“There it is,” he said softly. “Tell me what you want.”

“You. Right. Now.”

“Me what. Be specific.”

She blushed, but it didn’t matter. “You inside me.”

“More specific.”

Her breath hissed out on a thin wail. “Stefano. Please. Your cock inside me right now. Before I go up in flames.”

“Since you asked so nicely. Of course next time, bambina, I’m going to make you beg me to fuck you. You’ll have to say fuck just like a bad girl.”

She couldn’t form a coherent thought. If that’s what it took to get him moving, she would have gladly asked him using his favorite word. He thrust hard. Deep. Buried himself to the balls. She felt them slapping against her. She let go of one breast and jammed her fist in her mouth to keep from screaming. Fire raced through her. Then he was moving, slamming into her over and over, a jackhammer, thick and long, driving through the tight folds of her body, until she came apart over and over.

She didn’t think he’d ever stop, sending one orgasm crashing into the next so that her body tightened around his and milked, strangling his cock. He swore in Italian, his voice as strangled as hers as she finally took him over the very edge of his control.

She closed her eyes, savoring the strong quakes, the contractions and convulsion of her sex around his. She had no idea how many times he’d forced her body to climax because eventually she couldn’t tell where one started and the next began. But they were in the restroom long enough for Pietro to pound on the door and ask her how long a break she was taking.