Chapter One: Simmer and Burn

The kitchen of Ristorante Bella Notte was a symphony of controlled chaos, the kind only a well-oiled team could pull off. Steam curled from simmering pots of ragù, the scent of garlic and rosemary thick in the air. The clatter of knives against cutting boards, the hiss of olive oil in pans, and the occasional shout of “Sì, Chef!” filled the space with a rhythm that was almost musical. Anthony Rossi stood at the center of it all, his broad shoulders squared as he plated a dish with the precision of a man who had spent decades perfecting his craft. His dark, wavy hair was slightly damp at the temples from the heat, the quiff he usually styled with such care now softened by the humidity of the kitchen. His beard, meticulously groomed, framed a mouth that was currently set in a line of concentration—though those who knew him well could spot the faintest hint of a smirk playing at the corners.

Nancy Gordon moved through the space with the quiet efficiency of someone who had spent half her life in kitchens like this one. Her chef’s coat, crisp and white with N. Gordon embroidered in elegant script over the left breast, was already smudged with flour and a splash of tomato sauce near the hem. Her hazel eyes scanned the station as she adjusted the flame under a sauté pan, her fingers deft despite the slight callouses that came from years of gripping knife handles and whisking batters. The silver necklace she wore—a delicate chain with two small charms, E and L, for her children—caught the light as she leaned forward to taste the reduction simmering in front of her. The flavor was nearly there, but it needed something. A pinch of salt, perhaps. Or maybe a touch of lemon zest to brighten it.

She was so focused on the sauce that she didn’t notice Anthony’s approach until his voice cut through the noise, smooth and warm, like aged bourbon.

“You’re overthinking it.”

Nancy blinked, the wooden spoon hovering over the pan. She turned her head just enough to see him out of the corner of her eye. He was closer than she’d expected, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his deep brown irises, the way his beard caught the light like dark honey. “Excuse me?” she said, her voice steady despite the sudden flutter in her chest.

Anthony didn’t step back. Instead, he reached past her—his arm brushing against hers just enough to send a prickle of awareness down her spine—and plucked a lemon from the nearby bin. With a chef’s knife already in hand, he halved it in one fluid motion, the citrusy scent sharp and bright between them. “Here,” he said, squeezing a wedge over her pan. The juice hissed as it hit the hot liquid, and the aroma shifted instantly, richer and more vibrant. “Now it’s perfect.”

Nancy exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing as she stirred. He was right. Of course he was. “Thanks,” she murmured, but when she glanced up to meet his gaze, she found him still watching her, his expression unreadable. There was something in the way his eyes lingered on her face—something that wasn’t just professional curiosity.

“You’ve got a good palate,” he said, his voice low enough that it didn’t carry beyond the two of them. “But you hesitate. That’s your only flaw.”

She arched a brow, wiping her hands on her apron. “And you don’t?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I have many flaws, Chef.” The way he said it—drawing out the word like it was an endearment—made her pulse jump. “But hesitation isn’t one of them.”

Nancy turned back to her station, suddenly hyper-aware of the heat of the stove, the weight of her own breath. She could feel his gaze on her, heavy and considering, as she adjusted the seasoning one last time before sliding the pan off the burner. “Confidence is easy when you’ve got nothing to lose,” she said, keeping her tone light. “Some of us have more at stake.”

There was a pause. Then, softer: “Don’t we all?”

She didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. Because if she did, she might see the same thing in his eyes that she was trying so hard to ignore in her own—the flicker of something dangerous. Something that had no place in a professional kitchen.

---

The dinner rush came and went in a blur of tickets and fire, the kind of controlled madness that made Nancy forget everything but the food in front of her. Anthony was a force of nature at the helm, barking orders with a precision that left no room for error, his voice a deep timbre that cut through the chaos without ever raising in volume. She stole glances at him when she could—when he wasn’t looking, when she was pretending to check the oven timer or wipe down her station. The way his chef’s jacket stretched across his shoulders when he reached for a pan. The way his fingers, strong and sure, plucked herbs from their stems with the same ease he might use to trace a lover’s collarbone.

It was ridiculous. She was a grown woman, a mother, a chef—not some love-struck line cook. And yet, every time he laughed at something one of the sous chefs said, the sound rich and warm, she found herself gripping her knife just a little tighter.

“You’re burning the garlic.”

Nancy jolted, the spatula slipping in her hand. She hadn’t even realized she’d zoned out, hadn’t noticed the acrid scent creeping into the air until Anthony’s voice snapped her back to reality. The pan in front of her was smoking, the garlic slices blackened at the edges. “Shit,” she muttered, yanking it off the heat. “I—”

“Happens to the best of us,” Anthony said, already reaching for a fresh clove. His fingers brushed against hers as he took the pan from her, sending a jolt through her that had nothing to do with the heat of the stove. “You’re distracted tonight.”

“Just tired,” she lied, forcing a smile as she wiped her hands on her apron. “Long week.”

He studied her for a moment, his dark eyes searching hers in a way that made her skin prickle. Then, with a slow deliberation that felt intentional, he leaned in just slightly, close enough that she could smell the faint scent of his cologne beneath the layers of garlic and tomato and sweat. “Or maybe,” he murmured, “you’re thinking about something else entirely.”

Nancy’s breath hitched. The kitchen noise faded around them, the clatter of pots and the shout of orders dissolving into white noise. For a heartbeat, it was just the two of them, suspended in a moment that felt far too intimate for a Tuesday night service. Then the spell broke as Marco, one of the line cooks, called out for Anthony’s approval on a plate.

Anthony straightened, but not before Nancy caught the smirk playing at his lips. “Later, Chef,” he said, his voice a promise as he turned away.

She exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to her sternum as if she could slow the hammering of her heart through sheer willpower. Later. The word echoed in her mind, heavy with implication.

---

By the time the last ticket was called, the kitchen was a wreck of dirty dishes and exhausted sighs. Nancy wiped down her station with methodical strokes, her movements slower now, the adrenaline of service ebbing into the bone-deep tiredness that came after a long shift. Most of the staff had already clocked out, their laughter and chatter fading as they filed out the back door into the cool night air. Only Anthony remained, leaning against the prep table with his arms crossed, his chef’s jacket unbuttoned at the collar to reveal the hint of a white undershirt beneath.

“You’re still here,” Nancy observed, tossing her rag into the laundry bin. “I thought you’d have bolted by now.”

“And miss the chance to walk you to your car?” He pushed off the table, the movement fluid, predatory almost. “I’m wounded, Nancy.”

She rolled her eyes, but the way he said her name—like it was something savory, something to be tasted—sent a shiver down her spine. “I can walk myself, Tony.”

“Anthony,” he corrected, stepping closer. “Only my nonna calls me Tony.”

“Noted,” she said, though the way her voice came out—breathy, almost a whisper—betrayed her. She cleared her throat, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “What do you want, Chef?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached out, his fingers hovering just above her wrist before finally, deliberately, brushing against the inside of it. His touch was light, barely there, but it burned like a brand. “I want to know why you’re so determined to pretend you don’t feel this.”

Nancy’s pulse spiked. She should have pulled away. Should have laughed it off, told him he was imagining things, that they were coworkers and nothing more. But the warmth of his skin against hers was intoxicating, the callouses on his fingers rough in a way that made her wonder what they’d feel like tracing other parts of her. “We work together,” she said weakly.

“And?”

“And it’s complicated.”

“Life is complicated,” he murmured, his thumb tracing a slow circle over her wrist. “But this? This is simple.” His eyes dropped to her mouth, then back up, dark and searching. “Tell me you don’t feel it, and I’ll walk away.”

She should have lied. Should have told him he was wrong, that she didn’t spend her shifts stealing glances at him, that she didn’t lie awake some nights wondering what it would be like to have those strong hands on her, that deep voice whispering her name in the dark. But the words wouldn’t come. Because she was tired—tired of pretending, tired of being the responsible one, tired of denying herself something that felt, for the first time in years, good.

Anthony must have seen the conflict in her eyes, because his expression softened. “One drink,” he said, his voice gentle now, coaxing. “No expectations. Just two people who worked a long shift, unwinding together.”

Nancy swallowed. “That’s all?”

“That’s all,” he promised, though the way his thumb continued to stroke her wrist suggested otherwise.

She hesitated, her mind racing through all the reasons this was a bad idea. They worked together. She had kids. He was her boss, for God’s sake. But then he stepped just a little closer, his body heat wrapping around her like a blanket, and she realized she was already lost.

“Fine,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “One drink.”

Anthony’s smile was slow, triumphant. “You won’t regret it.”

Nancy wasn’t so sure. But as she followed him out of the kitchen, the weight of his hand warm against the small of her back, she knew one thing for certain:

She was already in too deep to turn back now.

Chapter Two: The Chef’s Touch

The kitchen door swung shut behind them with a final, decisive click, sealing off the hum of the dishwashers and the lingering scent of garlic and seared meat. The back alley was narrow, dimly lit by a single flickering bulb above the service entrance, casting long shadows that stretched like fingers across the pavement. Anthony didn’t let go of Nancy’s wrist—his grip firm but not possessive, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles over the delicate skin just above her pulse point. She could feel the heat of his touch branding her, could hear the way his breath hitched just slightly when she didn’t pull away.

“My car’s this way,” she murmured, nodding toward the far end of the alley where her sedan was parked beneath a skeletal tree. The air was cool, carrying the damp weight of an impending autumn rain, but the chill didn’t touch her—not with the way Anthony’s body radiated warmth beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed with every step.

He stopped walking.

Nancy turned, her heels scuffing against the asphalt, and found him watching her with an intensity that made her stomach clench. His dark eyes caught the weak light, the shadows beneath his cheekbones sharpening the angles of his face. “You don’t want to go home yet,” he said, not a question but a statement, his voice rough with the kind of certainty that made her want to argue just to see how hard he’d push back.

She swallowed. “I have to.”

“No,” he corrected, stepping closer, the toes of his polished shoes brushing hers. “You think you have to. But we both know you don’t.” His free hand lifted, fingers hovering just shy of her cheek, close enough that she could feel the calloused heat of them without him even touching her. “One drink. No expectations. My place is right here.”

Nancy followed his gaze upward. Above them, the second-floor windows of the loft glowed softly, golden light spilling through half-drawn curtains. She’d heard the staff talk about Anthony’s apartment—the way he’d renovated it himself, the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stuffed with cookbooks and vinyl records, the kitchen that put the restaurant’s to shame. A place that was his, not the restaurant’s, not his ex-wife’s, not his kids’. Just his.

And he was offering it to her.

“Anthony—”

“Nancy,” he interrupted, his voice dropping to a murmur that vibrated through her. His fingers finally grazed her cheek, tilting her face up to his. “Stop thinking. For once in your goddamn life, just stop.”

She should’ve argued. Should’ve reminded him of the kids waiting at home, of the way this would complicate everything. But the words dissolved before they could form, lost in the way his thumb dragged over her bottom lip, parting it just enough that she tasted the salt of her own breath.

“Fine,” she breathed. “One drink.”

His smile was slow, triumphant, the kind that promised he’d already won. “That’s my girl.”

---

The loft was exactly as she’d imagined—warm, lived-in, the kind of space that wrapped around you like a well-worn sweater. The scent of aged leather and espresso beans clung to the air, mixed with something faintly citrus, like the bergamot in his cologne. Anthony tossed his keys onto the island counter with a clatter, the sound echoing off the exposed brick walls. The kitchen was a chef’s dream: copper pots hanging above a six-burner stove, a marble countertop dusted with flour, a bowl of ripe lemons sitting beside a half-empty bottle of olive oil.

Nancy hovered near the doorway, suddenly hyper-aware of the way her chef’s coat clung to her sweat-dampened skin, of the smudge of tomato sauce on her wrist. She should’ve gone home. Should’ve changed. Should’ve—

“Wine?” Anthony’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts as he pulled a bottle from the rack beneath the island. Something Italian, the label worn at the edges, the kind of thing he’d probably been saving for a special occasion.

She wet her lips. “Yes.”

He didn’t reach for a corkscrew. Instead, he set the bottle down and turned to face her, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed over his broad chest. The sleeves of his chef’s jacket were pushed up to his elbows, revealing the corded forearms dusted with dark hair, the faint scars from years of kitchen burns. “You’re overthinking again.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.” He pushed off the counter, closing the distance between them in two long strides. Before she could protest, his hands were on her, gripping the lapels of her coat and tugging her forward until her hips pressed against his. The contact sent a jolt through her, sharp and electric. “You’ve been overthinking since the moment you walked into my kitchen.”

Nancy’s breath hitched. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” His fingers slid up to cradle her jaw, his thumb brushing over the pulse fluttering wildly in her throat. “Then tell me, chef—when was the last time you did something just because you wanted to?”

She couldn’t answer. Not with his body pinned against hers, not with the way his breath fanned hot over her lips. The truth was a knot in her throat: she couldn’t remember. Motherhood, divorce, the restaurant—every decision had been measured, calculated, safe.

Anthony’s mouth curved against hers as he whispered, “That’s what I thought.”

Then he kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t the cautious, testing press of lips she might’ve expected. It was hungry—his teeth nipping at her bottom lip before his tongue swept in, deep and demanding, tasting of red wine and something darker, something that made her knees weak. Nancy gasped into his mouth, her hands flying up to clutch at his shoulders, fingers digging into the thick muscle beneath his jacket. He groaned, the sound vibrating through her, and suddenly she was pressed back against the wall, the cool brick biting into her shoulder blades as Anthony’s body covered hers.

His hands were everywhere—sliding down to grip her waist, thumbs digging into the soft flesh above her hips, then lower, lower, until his palms cupped her ass and hauled her against him. The hard ridge of his cock ground against her stomach, unmistakable even through the layers of their clothes. Nancy moaned, her head falling back against the wall as his lips trailed down her throat, teeth scraping over the sensitive skin just below her ear.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he growled, his breath hot against her collarbone. “Like salt and sugar. Like something I want to lick off my fingers.”

Nancy’s entire body flushed at the words, her pussy clenching with a need so sharp it bordered on pain. She arched into him, her nails raking down his back, and he hissed, his hips jerking forward in response.

“Anthony—”

“Shh.” His mouth found hers again, swallowing her protests as his hands worked at the buttons of her coat. One by one, they gave way, the fabric parting to reveal the thin tank top beneath, the one that clung to her breasts like a second skin. His fingers traced the swell of her cleavage, his touch feather-light, maddening. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Nancy. Every time I look at you, I want to ruin you.”

The words sent a shudder through her. She should’ve been scared. Should’ve run. But instead, she reached for the hem of her tank and pulled it over her head, tossing it aside without a second thought. The cool air pebbled her nipples, the lace of her bra doing little to hide how hard they’d gone, how desperate she was for his touch.

Anthony’s breath stuttered. His hands stilled on her waist, his dark eyes raking over her with something like reverence. “Christ.”

Then his mouth was on her, hot and wet through the lace, his tongue circling one taut peak before he sucked it between his lips. Nancy cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair, holding him to her as he lavished attention on first one breast, then the other, his teeth grazing, his lips leaving damp marks on the swollen flesh. The sensation was too much—pleasure bordering on pain, the ache between her thighs growing unbearable.

“More,” she gasped, her hips rolling against him instinctively. “Please, more.”

Anthony chuckled darkly, the vibration making her nipples tighten further. His hands slid down to the waistband of her pants, fingers hooking into the fabric. “Since you asked so nicely.”

The button gave way with a soft pop, the zipper following with a whisper of metal teeth. He knelt before her, his broad shoulders parting her thighs as he tugged her pants and underwear down in one smooth motion. Nancy stepped out of them, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts as she stood there in nothing but her bra, her skin flushed and sensitive to the cool air.

Anthony’s hands gripped her thighs, his thumbs brushing the damp heat of her pussy, parting her folds with a slow, deliberate touch. “Look at you,” he murmured, his breath ghosting over her bare skin. “So wet. So ready for me.”

Nancy whimpered as his fingers teased her entrance, circling but not entering, driving her mad with the promise of more. “Anthony, please—”

“Patience, chef,” he chided, but there was a rough edge to his voice, a tension that betrayed his own control. Then his mouth was on her, his tongue flat and broad as he dragged it through her folds, lapping at her like she was the finest sauce he’d ever tasted.

Nancy’s legs nearly gave out. She clutched at his shoulders, her nails digging in as his tongue found her clit, swirling around the sensitive bundle of nerves before he sucked it between his lips. The pleasure was white-hot, consuming, her hips jerking forward as she chased the sensation.

“Fuck—yes—” she gasped, her voice breaking.

Anthony groaned against her, the vibration making her toes curl. His fingers finally slid inside her, two thick digits stretching her as his tongue worked her clit in relentless, punishing circles. Nancy’s breath came in ragged sobs, her body tightening around him, her orgasm coiling low in her belly, just out of reach.

Then his fingers curled, pressing against that spot inside her that made her see stars, and she came with a broken cry, her thighs trembling around his head as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. Anthony didn’t let up, drinking down every shuddering gasp, every drop of her release, until she was boneless and trembling, her fingers tangled in his hair.

Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with hunger. He stood slowly, his body pressing against hers, the hard length of his cock trapped between them.

“Bedroom,” he growled, his voice rough with need. “Now.”

Nancy didn’t hesitate. She let him lead her through the loft, her legs still unsteady, her heart pounding in her ears. The bedroom was just as she’d imagined—minimalist, masculine, the bed a massive thing draped in dark linens, the sheets already turned down as if he’d known this would happen.

As if he’d planned it.

Anthony didn’t give her time to think. He spun her around, his hands on her shoulders, pushing her down onto the mattress. Nancy went willingly, her breath catching as she felt his weight settle over her, his body covering hers as his mouth claimed hers again.

This time, there was no teasing. No holding back. His hands were rough as they slid up to cup her breasts, his thumbs rolling her nipples between his fingers as his tongue fucked her mouth with deep, punishing strokes. Nancy arched into him, her legs wrapping around his waist, the friction of his cock against her bare pussy sending sparks through her over-sensitized nerves.

Anthony broke the kiss with a groan, his forehead pressing to hers. “Condom,” he panted. “Nightstand.”

Nancy reached for it blindly, her fingers fumbling with the drawer until she found the foil packet. She tore it open with her teeth, her hands shaking as she rolled it down his length, the heat of him scorching her palms.

Then he was there, the broad head of his cock pressing against her entrance, his eyes locked on hers as he pushed inside.

Nancy’s back bowed off the bed, a broken moan tearing from her throat as he filled her, inch by slow, stretching inch. He was big—thicker than she’d expected, the stretch burning in the best possible way. Anthony hissed as her tight heat enclosed him, his fingers digging into her hips as he bottomed out.

“Fuck, you feel—” His voice broke, his jaw clenching as he held himself still, letting her adjust. “Perfect. You feel perfect.”

Nancy couldn’t speak. She could only clutch at him, her nails raking down his back as he began to move, his hips rolling in deep, measured thrusts that dragged against every sensitive inch of her. The bed creaked beneath them, the sound mixing with their ragged breaths, the wet slap of skin on skin.

Anthony’s mouth found hers again, his tongue mimicking the slow, deep rhythm of his cock as he fucked her. One hand slid between them, his fingers finding her clit, circling in time with his thrusts. Nancy’s vision blurred, her body coiling tight, tighter—

“Come for me,” he demanded against her lips, his voice a dark command. “I want to feel you milk my cock, Nancy. Now.”

The words sent her over the edge. Her orgasm crashed through her, her pussy clenching around him as she cried out, her nails digging crescents into his shoulders. Anthony groaned, his thrusts turning erratic, his own release barreling through him as he buried himself to the hilt and came with a guttural curse, his cock pulsing inside her.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing, the way their sweat-slicked skin clung together. Anthony’s weight pressed her into the mattress, his heart hammering against hers.

Then he rolled onto his side, taking her with him, his arms wrapping around her like he had no intention of letting go.

Nancy should’ve panicked. Should’ve bolted. But as his fingers traced lazy patterns over her bare skin, as his breath warmed the shell of her ear, all she could think was:

One drink was never going to be enough.

Chapter Three: Melted Butter and Lullabies

The warmth of Anthony’s body pressed against Nancy’s back was a slow, deliberate heat, seeping into her skin like melted butter into dough. His breath, still slightly uneven from their earlier passion, fanned against the nape of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the cool air of the loft. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against her shoulder blades, the weight of his arm draped possessively over her waist, fingers splayed just beneath the swell of her breasts. The sheets beneath them were a tangled mess, still damp in places from sweat and other, stickier remnants of their urgency. The scent of sex—musky, salty, and undercut with the faint citrus of Anthony’s cologne—lingered in the air, thick enough to taste.

Nancy should have pulled away. She knew she should have. This was the part where she’d usually slip out of bed, gather her clothes with practiced efficiency, and make some excuse about needing to get home to the kids. But her body refused to obey the script. Instead, she lay there, boneless and sated, her mind pleasantly fogged by the afterglow. The silence between them wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either. It was charged, like the moment before a storm breaks—full of potential, heavy with things unsaid.

Anthony’s fingers twitched against her stomach, tracing idle patterns over her skin. Then, without warning, he shifted, his body molding more firmly against hers as he pulled her flush against him, her back to his chest. The movement was so natural, so intimate, that Nancy’s breath hitched. His arm tightened around her waist, not possessively, but protectively, as if she were something precious he was afraid of dropping. His legs bracketed hers, the rough hair on his thighs abrasive against the smoothness of her skin. She could feel the faintest stir of him against her lower back, not quite hard, but not soft either—just there, a quiet promise of what they’d already shared.

Then, he started to hum.

The sound vibrated against her shoulder, a low, rumbling melody that resonated through his chest and into her body. It wasn’t a tune she recognized—nothing modern or familiar—but it was beautiful. Haunting, almost. The notes were simple, repetitive, but carried a weight that made her throat tighten. His voice, when it joined the hum, was rough around the edges, the words in a language she didn’t understand. Italian, maybe? The syllables rolled off his tongue like honey, warm and rich, wrapping around her like a blanket.

“Che c’è, bella?” he murmured against her ear, his lips brushing the shell of it as he spoke. “You’re thinking too hard again.”

Nancy swallowed. “What is that?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “The song.”

Anthony’s hum deepened for a moment before he answered. “My nonna used to sing it to me when I was little. A lullaby.” His breath ghosted over her skin as he spoke, sending goosebumps prickling along her arms. “She’d sing it when I couldn’t sleep, or when I was upset. Said it had magic in it.”

Nancy exhaled shakily. A lullaby. He was humming a lullaby to her. It was so far from the fiery, demanding man who’d had her bent over his kitchen counter less than an hour ago that it made her head spin. This wasn’t part of the game. This wasn’t flirting, or seduction, or even the quiet companionship of two people who’d just fucked. This was tender. This was the kind of thing you did for someone you—

No. She cut the thought off before it could fully form.

“It’s beautiful,” she admitted, her fingers curling around the forearm he had banded across her waist. His skin was warm, the dark hair on his arms soft against her fingertips. “What does it mean? The words.”

Anthony was quiet for a long moment, his hum fading into silence. Then, his voice rough with something she couldn’t name, he began to translate.

“Sleep, my love, the night is deep,” he murmured, his accent thickening with the words. “The stars will watch you while you dream. Close your eyes, let go your fears—” His grip on her tightened almost imperceptibly. “—tomorrow’s light will bring you peace.”

Nancy’s chest ached. It was too much. Too sweet. Too real. She could feel the walls she’d spent years building—brick by careful brick—starting to tremble. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Sex was one thing. Sex was simple, physical, a release. But this? This was something else entirely.

She shifted slightly, as if she could put distance between them even while pressed so tightly together. “Anthony,” she started, her voice unsteady. “I—”

“Shh.” His breath was warm against her neck. “Just listen.”

And then he started to sing.

His voice wasn’t classically trained or particularly smooth, but it was honest. Raw. The kind of voice that carried the weight of memory, of long nights and childhood comforts. Nancy’s eyes burned. She blinked rapidly, willing the sudden sting of tears away, but it was no use. One traitorous drop slipped free, rolling down her cheek to dampen the pillow beneath her.

Anthony’s fingers caught it before it could fall further, his thumb brushing gently over her skin. “Hey,” he murmured, his lips pressing to the spot where the tear had been. “What’s this?”

Nancy shook her head, her throat too tight to speak. She didn’t cry. Not like this. Not over a man singing to her. But the dam was cracking, and she couldn’t stop it.

Anthony didn’t push. He just kept singing, his voice a low, soothing rumble against her back. His free hand found hers where it rested against his arm, their fingers intertwining. The callouses on his palms—earned from years of gripping knife handles and kneading dough—scraped gently against her softer skin. It grounded her. Reminded her that this was real. That he was real.

Nancy turned her head slightly, her cheek brushing against his beard. He smelled like sex and wine and something uniquely him, a scent she was starting to crave. “Why this?” she asked, her voice barely audible. “Why now?”

Anthony’s singing faltered for a heartbeat before resuming, softer this time. “Because you needed it,” he said simply. His hand slid up from her waist, his palm cupping the underside of her breast, his thumb brushing lazily over her nipple. Not to arouse—though her body responded anyway, the peak tightening under his touch—but to comfort. To hold. “Because you’re always running, carina. Always thinking, always planning. I just… wanted you to stop for a minute.”

Nancy’s breath hitched as his thumb circled again, slow and deliberate. Her nipple pebbled under his touch, her body betraying her even as her mind raced. She should pull away. She should tell him this was too much, that she couldn’t afford to feel like this. But the words died in her throat as he pressed a kiss to the back of her shoulder, his lips lingering against her skin.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmured. “Just for tonight.”

It was the tonight that did it. The implication that this was temporary, that he wasn’t asking for more than she could give. Nancy exhaled, her body melting back into his. She turned her head further, her lips finding the inside of his wrist, pressing a kiss there. His pulse jumped beneath her mouth, strong and steady.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Anthony’s hum deepened in approval, his hand sliding down to rest over her stomach, pulling her even closer. The song wrapped around them like a cocoon, the melody weaving through the quiet of the loft. Outside, the distant hum of the city was a muted backdrop to the intimacy of the moment. Nancy’s eyes drifted shut as she let the sound wash over her, let the warmth of him seep into her bones.

She didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until she woke to the sensation of being moved. Anthony’s arms were around her, lifting her effortlessly against his chest as he shifted them further up the bed. The sheets were cool against her skin where he pulled the blanket over them, tucking it around her shoulders with a care that made her heart clench.

“Go back to sleep,” he murmured, his voice rough with drowsiness. His fingers carded gently through her hair, pushing the loose strands away from her face.

Nancy blinked up at him, her vision adjusting to the dim light. The loft was quieter now, the city sounds faded into the early hours of the morning. “You’re still dressed,” she noted, her voice thick with sleep. His chef’s pants were still on, though unbuttoned, the waistband slung low on his hips.

Anthony smirked, but it was softer than his usual grin, edged with something almost shy. “Didn’t want to presume.”

Nancy huffed a laugh, her hand finding the warm expanse of his chest. His skin was smooth under her palm, the muscle firm. “Since when do you not presume?”

His chuckle vibrated against her, his hand covering hers, pressing it more firmly against his heart. “Since you,” he admitted quietly.

The words hung between them, heavy and bright as a struck match. Nancy’s breath caught. She should have laughed it off. Should have made a joke, deflected, done something to break the tension. But she couldn’t. Not when he was looking at her like that, his dark eyes soft in the low light, his beard scratching deliciously against her palm as he turned his head to press a kiss to her wrist.

Instead, she tugged him down, her fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck. Their lips met in a slow, deep kiss, tongues sliding together lazily. There was no urgency this time, no frantic need to devour. Just the slow, sweet burn of connection, the taste of him—wine and something darker, something his—filling her mouth.

Anthony groaned softly into the kiss, his body pressing more fully against hers. His cock, half-hard, nestled against her thigh, the heat of it searing even through the fabric of his pants. Nancy arched into him, her breasts flattening against his chest, her nipples tightening at the contact. His hand slid down her back, gripping her ass possessively, pulling her more firmly against him.

“Fuck, Nancy,” he breathed against her lips. “You’re gonna kill me.”

She smiled, her teeth grazing his lower lip. “What a way to go.”

His laugh was a dark, approving sound, his hips rolling against hers in a slow, deliberate grind. The friction sent a jolt of heat straight to her core, her body already slick and ready for him. She could feel how wet she was, the evidence of her arousal smearing against her inner thighs. Anthony’s fingers found the waistband of her panties—when had she put those back on?—and tugged them down with practiced ease.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered, his voice rough.

Nancy obeyed without hesitation, her thighs falling open. The cool air of the loft hit her exposed pussy, the contrast making her gasp. Anthony’s hand slid between her legs, his fingers parting her folds with a groan.

“So fucking wet,” he murmured, his thumb finding her clit. “Always so ready for me.”

Nancy moaned as he circled the sensitive nub, her hips jerking up into his touch. “Anthony—”

“Shh.” His mouth found hers again, swallowing her whimper as his fingers worked her. One slid inside her, then two, stretching her open, curling against that spot inside that made her see stars. “Just feel, bella. Let me make you feel good.”

She couldn’t argue. Not when his fingers were crooking inside her, his thumb pressing down on her clit in slow, firm strokes. Not when his cock was a heavy, insistent presence against her hip, the tip already damp with pre-cum. She reached for him, her hand fumbling with the button of his pants, pushing them down his hips along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, the vein along the underside throbbing.

Nancy wrapped her fingers around him, stroking from base to tip. Anthony hissed, his hips jerking into her grip. “Fuck, just like that—”

She tightened her hold, her thumb swiping over the slick head, spreading the pre-cum in slow circles. His breath came faster, his fingers inside her matching the rhythm of her strokes. They moved together like that, a tangled, desperate dance, their mouths fused, their bodies straining toward release.

Anthony broke the kiss with a groan, his forehead pressing to hers. “Condom,” he gasped. “Bedside table.”

Nancy reached for it blindly, her fingers brushing against the foil packet. She tore it open with her teeth, rolling the latex down his length with shaking hands. Anthony’s eyes darkened as he watched her, his jaw clenching as she gave him one last stroke.

“Enough,” he growled, grabbing her wrist. He pushed her back against the pillows, following her down, his body covering hers. The head of his cock notched at her entrance, teasing, not pushing in. Not yet.

Nancy whimpered, her hips lifting, trying to take him deeper. “Anthony, please—”

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, his voice a rough whisper. His cock pulsed against her, the tip breaching her just enough to make her gasp.

“I want you,” she moaned, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Now. Please.”

He didn’t make her beg again. With a deep, guttural groan, he thrust forward, filling her in one smooth stroke. Nancy cried out, her back arching off the bed as he bottomed out inside her. He was big, stretching her deliciously, the burn of it edged with pleasure.

“Fuck, you take me so well,” Anthony groaned, his hips pulling back before slamming into her again. “So tight. So perfect.”

Nancy wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his ass, urging him deeper. He set a punishing pace, his cock pistoning in and out of her with deep, measured strokes. Each thrust hit that spot inside her, sending sparks of pleasure skittering through her nerves. Her breasts bounced with the movement, her nipples dragging against the rough hair on his chest.

Anthony’s mouth found one, his teeth grazing the peak before he sucked it hard between his lips. Nancy cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair, holding him to her. He lavished attention on first one breast, then the other, his tongue swirling around her nipples, his teeth nipping just enough to sting.

“More,” she gasped, her body coiling tight. “Harder, Anthony—”

He growled, his hips snapping forward with more force, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. His cock swelled inside her, the ridge of the head dragging against her walls with every thrust. Nancy’s orgasm built like a storm, her muscles clenching around him, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Come for me,” Anthony demanded, his voice a raw command. His hand slid between them, his thumb finding her clit again, pressing down hard. “Now, Nancy. Now.”

The dam broke. Pleasure crashed over her in a wave, her body convulsing beneath his as her orgasm tore through her. She came with a broken cry, her nails raking down his back, her pussy clenching around his cock in rhythmic pulses.

Anthony groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic as her climax milked him. “Fuck—fuck—” His cock swelled further, his release barreling through him. With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, his cum spilling into the condom as he shuddered above her.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Anthony’s forehead rested against hers, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Nancy’s body still hummed with the aftermath, her skin oversensitive, her heart pounding.

Anthony pressed a kiss to her lips, slow and deep, before pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. His were dark, satisfied, but beneath the lust, there was something else. Something that made her chest ache.

“Stay,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Just… stay.”

Nancy opened her mouth to argue, to remind him of her kids, of the million reasons why this was a bad idea. But the words wouldn’t come. Because for the first time in years, she wanted to stay. Wanted to pretend, just for a little while, that this—him—could be hers.

So she nodded. And when Anthony gathered her into his arms again, pulling her close, she let him. Let the warmth of his body chase away the cold, let the steady beat of his heart lull her back to sleep.

And for once, she didn’t think about tomorrow.

Chapter Four: Steam and Surrender

The morning light had barely begun to stretch across the city when Nancy’s eyes flickered open, her body still humming from the night before. The loft smelled like sex and Anthony’s cologne—something warm and spiced, like cardamom and cedar, clinging to the sheets. She exhaled slowly, her fingers curling into the mattress beneath her. One more minute. That’s all she needed. Just one more minute to pretend she didn’t have a life waiting for her outside these walls.

But the weight of responsibility pressed down on her chest like a physical force. The kids would be waking soon, their little voices already calling for her in her mind. The restaurant wouldn’t run itself. And yet, here she was, tangled in Anthony Rossi’s arms, his breath steady against the back of her neck, his body a furnace against her skin.

She slipped out from under his arm with practiced silence, her muscles tense as she moved. The floor was cool beneath her bare feet, a stark contrast to the heat still radiating from her skin. Her panties were somewhere near the couch—tossed aside in last night’s frenzy—and she crouched to snatch them up, the fabric damp and clinging to her fingers. The memory of Anthony’s hands tearing them off her earlier sent a fresh wave of heat between her thighs. No. Focus.

Her chef’s coat was crumpled near the kitchen island, the white fabric wrinkled from being discarded in haste. She pulled it on, the familiar weight of it a reminder of who she was outside of this loft, outside of him. The silver necklace with her kids’ initials—E and L—brushed against her collarbone as she fastened the buttons, a grounding touchstone. She was Mom. She was Chef. She wasn’t some woman who could afford to lose herself in a man’s bed, no matter how good it felt.

Anthony’s voice cut through the quiet, rough with sleep. “You’re sneaking out on me, dolcezza?”

Nancy froze, her fingers pausing on the last button. She didn’t turn around. If she looked at him, she’d weaken. And she couldn’t afford to be weak. “I’m not sneaking. I told you I had to leave.”

The mattress creaked as he shifted, the sheets rustling. She could feel his gaze on her back, heavy and knowing. “You also told me you’d stay the night.”

“I did stay the night.” She finally turned, her arms crossing over her chest like a shield. Anthony was propped up on one elbow, the sheets pooled around his waist, his chest bare and sculpted in the dim light. The sight of him—all dark hair and sleep-rumpled intensity—made her throat tighten. “Now I have to go.”

He smirked, the expression lazy and infuriatingly confident. “You just got here.”

“It’s six AM.” She gestured vaguely toward the windows, where the sky was lightening to a pale, reluctant blue. “My kids will be up in an hour. I need to be home before they wake up.”

Anthony swung his legs out of bed, unashamedly naked, his cock already stirring as he stood. Nancy’s traitorous gaze flicked down before she could stop herself, her pulse jumping at the sight of him—thick, veined, the tip already glistening. Goddamn it.

He stepped closer, his body heat wrapping around her like a promise. “They’ll survive.”

“That’s not the point.” She sidestepped him, but his hand shot out, his fingers curling around her wrist, pulling her back against his chest. His other arm banded around her waist, his breath hot against her ear.

“Then what is the point, Nancy?” His voice was low, a dark velvet rumble that vibrated through her. “You’re here. I’m here. The world isn’t ending because you’re not home for one extra hour.”

She swallowed hard, her body already melting into his. “You don’t get it.”

“I get that you’re scared.” His teeth grazed her earlobe, sending a shiver down her spine. “But you’re not running out on me that easily.”

Nancy twisted in his grip, her hands pressing against his chest. “I’m not scared.”

“No?” His eyebrow arched, his fingers trailing down her arm before sliding under the hem of her coat, his palm splaying over her bare stomach. “Then prove it.”

She should’ve pushed him away. Should’ve told him to go to hell. But the way his thumb traced slow circles just above the waistband of her panties, the way his dark eyes burned into hers—challenging, daring—made her breath catch. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re still here.” His mouth crashed onto hers before she could protest, his kiss hungry and possessive. Nancy gasped against his lips, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he walked her backward until her spine hit the loft door with a dull thud. The impact sent a jolt through her, her body already thawing under the heat of him.

Anthony didn’t ask. He took.

His tongue swept into her mouth, tangling with hers in deep, claiming strokes, his hands sliding down to grip her thighs, lifting her effortlessly. Nancy wrapped her legs around his waist on instinct, the friction of his bare cock against the thin fabric of her panties making her whimper. He was already half-hard, thickening against her as he ground his hips into hers, pinning her to the door.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he growled against her lips, his voice rough. “Even when you’re trying to run.”

Nancy arched into him, her nails scraping down his back. “I have to go.”

“No, you want to go.” His teeth sank into her bottom lip, just enough to sting, before soothing it with his tongue. “But you don’t want to stop.” His hand slid between them, his fingers pressing against the damp fabric of her panties, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over her clit. “Do you?”

She bit her lip to stifle a moan, her hips rolling into his touch. “Anthony—”

“Say it.” His breath was hot against her ear, his voice a dark purr. “Say you want to stay.”

Nancy’s head fell back against the door with a thud, her body tightening around the pressure of his fingers. “You’re a bastard.”

His chuckle was low, triumphant. “And you’re dripping.” His fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties and ripped, the sound sharp in the quiet loft. Nancy gasped, but before she could protest, his hand was back, two fingers sliding inside her with no warning.

“Oh—fuck—” Her fingers clenched in his hair, her body clenching around him.

“That’s what I thought.” His thumb found her clit, rubbing in tight, relentless circles as his fingers curled inside her. “You’re not leaving until I’m done with you.”

Nancy’s vision blurred, her breath coming in sharp, needy pants. “You’re insufferable—”

“And you’re mine,” he growled, capturing her mouth again as his fingers pumped harder, faster. The wet sounds of her arousal filled the space between them, obscene and intoxicating. Nancy’s legs trembled, her orgasm coiling tight and low in her belly.

Anthony tore his mouth away just as her back bowed, his dark eyes locked on hers as he worked her through it. “Come for me, chef.”

The command sent her over the edge. Nancy cried out, her body clenching around his fingers as pleasure ripped through her. Anthony didn’t let up, drawing out every shuddering wave until she was boneless against the door, her chest heaving.

Before she could catch her breath, he was on his knees, his hands gripping her thighs as he buried his face between her legs. His tongue dragged through her folds, lapping up her release with a groan. “So fucking sweet.”

Nancy’s fingers tangled in his hair, her knees weak. “Anthony, I—”

“Shower.” He stood abruptly, scooping her up into his arms before she could protest. “Now.”

The bathroom was already warm, the air thick with the scent of sandalwood and something darker, muskier—their arousal from last night still lingering. Anthony kicked the door open, stepping into the glass-enclosed shower without setting her down. The water hit them in a cool spray at first, making Nancy gasp, but it quickly warmed, steam billowing around them as the heat seeped into her skin.

Anthony set her down, his hands immediately sliding over her slick body, his touch possessive. “You’re still overdressed.” His fingers found the hem of her chef’s coat and tugged it over her head, tossing it aside before his palms cupped her breasts, thumbs flicking over her hardened nipples.

Nancy’s head fell back as the water sluiced over her, the heat of his body contrasting with the warm spray. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stunning.” His mouth closed over one nipple, tongue swirling before his teeth grazed the sensitive peak. Nancy moaned, her hands flying to his head, holding him there as he lavished attention on first one breast, then the other.

The shower stall was barely big enough for both of them, their bodies sliding together with every movement, skin slick and hot. Anthony’s cock pressed against her stomach, fully hard now, the tip leaking as she reached down to wrap her fingers around him. He hissed, his hips jerking into her grip.

“You keep doing that, and this’ll be over before it starts,” he warned, but his voice was thick, his breath ragged as she stroked him.

Nancy smirked, tightening her grip. “Maybe I want it over fast.”

Anthony’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist. “Careful, dolcezza.” His eyes darkened as he pinned her hand above her head against the tile, his other hand sliding down to grip her thigh, lifting it to wrap around his waist. “You’re the one who’s going to be begging by the end of this.”

Before she could retort, he surged forward, his cock sliding against her folds, teasing her entrance. Nancy’s breath hitched, her free hand clawing at his shoulder. “Anthony—”

“Louder.” He nudged her clit with the head of his cock, not pushing in, just there, hot and heavy. “I want to hear you scream my name.”

Nancy’s nails dug into his skin. “Fuck you.”

His laugh was dark, triumphant. “That’s the idea.”

Then he was inside her in one smooth thrust, filling her completely. Nancy cried out, her back arching as the water pounded down on them, the steam making every sensation sharper, more intense. Anthony didn’t give her time to adjust. He set a punishing pace from the start, his hips snapping against hers, the slap of skin on skin echoing off the tile.

“God, you take me so well,” he groaned, his mouth crashing onto hers as he fucked her against the wall. The water streamed between them, their bodies slick and sliding, every thrust driving her higher.

Nancy’s legs trembled, her orgasm building again, faster this time. “Harder—please—”

Anthony growled, his grip on her thigh bruising as he angled his hips, hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. “Like that?”

“Yes—fuck—yes—” Her voice broke, her body tightening around him as she came, her walls clenching so hard Anthony groaned, his own release barreling down on him.

“Nancy—fuck—” He buried his face in her neck as he came, his cock pulsing deep inside her, his breath hot against her skin.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, the water washing over them, their chests heaving. Anthony’s forehead rested against hers, his hands still gripping her like he was afraid she’d disappear.

Nancy’s fingers traced idle patterns on his shoulders, her body humming with aftershocks. “We’re never going to leave this shower, are we?”

Anthony lifted his head, his dark eyes glinting with satisfaction. “Who said we had to?”

She laughed, the sound breathless and warm, and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t argue. The water continued to pour over them, the steam curling around their bodies like a living thing, sealing them in their own private world. Nancy tilted her head back, letting the spray rinse the sweat and sex from her skin, but she didn’t move to leave. Not yet.

Anthony’s hands slid down to her ass, his fingers kneading the flesh as he lifted her slightly, his cock still semi-hard inside her. “You know,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her collarbone, “I could get used to this.”

Nancy’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening on his shoulders. “To what?”

“Waking up with you.” His voice was low, serious now, the playful edge gone. “Fighting with you. Fucking you against every surface in this loft.”

She swallowed, her heart pounding. “Anthony—”

“Stay,” he said again, but this time it wasn’t a demand. It was a plea, raw and unguarded.

Nancy’s throat tightened. She wanted to. God, she wanted to. But the weight of her life outside this shower pressed in on her—the kids, the restaurant, the endless list of responsibilities that wouldn’t wait for her to indulge in fantasy.

Before she could answer, Anthony’s mouth was on hers again, his kiss slow and deep, his tongue coaxing her lips apart. Nancy melted into it, her body responding before her mind could catch up. His cock twitched inside her, hardening again, and she moaned into his mouth as he began to move, his hips rolling in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

“Just one more hour,” he murmured against her lips, his voice rough with need. “Stay for one more hour, and I’ll let you go.”

Nancy’s nails dug into his skin, her body already tightening around him again. She knew she should say no. Knew she should push him away and walk out that door. But the way he filled her, the way his hands gripped her like she was something precious, the way his dark eyes burned into hers—it undid her.

“One hour,” she breathed, her voice barely audible over the rush of the water.

Anthony’s smile was triumphant, his thrusts growing harder, deeper. “That’s my girl.”

And for the first time in years, Nancy let herself be—not a mom, not a chef, but just a woman, lost in the heat of a man’s touch, the steam, the water, the relentless rhythm of their bodies moving together. The world outside could wait. For now, there was only this. Only him.

Chapter Five: Claimed by the Storm

The steam curled around them like a living thing, thick and warm, clinging to their skin as the water cascaded over their bodies. Nancy’s back was pressed against the cool tile, her breath still uneven from the way Anthony had just fucked her—slow at first, then hard, his hands gripping her hips like he was afraid she’d vanish if he let go. His cock, still half-hard inside her, twitched as the water sluiced between them, the sensation making her thighs tremble. She could feel his heartbeat against her chest, steady but fast, like he’d just run a mile and was trying to catch his breath.

Anthony exhaled sharply, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You’re still thinking about leaving,” he murmured, his voice rough, accusatory. His fingers traced idle patterns down her spine, possessive even in something so simple.

Nancy swallowed, her nails scraping lightly over his shoulders. “I have to,” she admitted, though the words felt hollow, like she was arguing with herself more than him. The water pounded between them, the rhythm almost hypnotic, making it too easy to forget the world outside this shower.

Anthony pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his dark eyes burning with something between frustration and desire. “Bullshit,” he said, low and firm. Then, before she could protest, he smirked—that infuriating, cocky grin that made her want to slap him and kiss him at the same time. “You’re mine, remember?” His hands slid down to her ass, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp. “And I’m not done with you yet.”

Nancy opened her mouth to retort, but he cut her off by suddenly twisting the showerhead, sending a cold spray directly at her chest. She shrieked, the abrupt chill making her nipples tighten into hard peaks, her skin prickling. “You asshole—!” She lunged for him, but he was already dodging, laughter rumbling in his chest as he turned the water back to warm, shielding himself with his forearm.

“Oh, it’s on,” he taunted, his voice thick with amusement.

Nancy didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the detachable showerhead and yanked it free, aiming the jet straight at his stomach. Anthony yelped, stumbling back as the water hit him square in the abs, his muscles flexing under the force. “Cheater!” he accused, but his grin was all teeth, his eyes alight with challenge.

“All’s fair,” she shot back, stepping forward, her hips swaying with deliberate provocation. The water dripped from her hair, rivulets tracing the curves of her breasts, her skin glistening. She could see the way his gaze darkened, tracking every movement, but she didn’t stop. Instead, she sprayed a sharp burst at his chest, watching as the water beaded over his tattoos, the ink dark against his tan skin.

Anthony’s laughter turned into a growl. “You’re gonna regret that.” In one swift motion, he lunged, wrapping an arm around her waist and hauling her against him. The showerhead clattered to the floor as Nancy shrieked, her hands flying to his shoulders for balance. He was already turning the water back on them, the spray now a warm, relentless downpour that plastered her hair to her face.

“No fair!” she gasped, squirming against him, her body sliding against his in a way that sent a fresh wave of heat through her. His cock, no longer half-hard, pressed insistently against her stomach, thick and heavy.

“Fair?” Anthony’s voice was a dark chuckle against her neck. “Baby, I don’t do fair.” His teeth grazed her earlobe, just hard enough to make her shudder, before he suddenly released her and grabbed the body wash. Before she could react, he squirted a generous dollop into his palm and smeared it across her collarbone, his fingers working it into a lather.

Nancy yelped, the sudden slickness making her skin tingle. “Anthony—!” She tried to wipe it off, but he caught her wrists, pinning them above her head against the tile with one hand while the other continued its slow, maddening circles over her breasts, her stomach, the dip of her waist.

“You’re filthy,” he murmured, his breath hot against her mouth. “Need to get you clean.” His thumb brushed over her nipple, and she arched into the touch, a whimper escaping her. The soap made everything slick, her skin sensitive to the point of pain, every drag of his fingers sending sparks through her nerve endings.

“You’re a menace,” she managed, her voice breathless.

“And you love it.” His mouth crashed onto hers, the kiss bruising, demanding. Nancy melted into it, her body responding before her mind could catch up. His free hand slid between her thighs, fingers teasing her entrance, and she moaned into his mouth, her hips rocking instinctively.

Then, just as suddenly, he pulled away, leaving her gasping. “Run,” he ordered, his voice rough with lust.

Nancy blinked, dazed. “What?”

Anthony’s grin was pure sin. “I said run, Nancy.” He released her wrists and took a step back, his cock jutting out proudly, his body coiled like a predator ready to pounce. “Unless you’re scared.”

Her pulse spiked. She should’ve known better than to let him goad her. But the challenge in his eyes, the way his gaze raked over her like she was prey—it sent a thrill through her. Without another word, she bolted.

The loft was a blur as she stumbled out of the shower, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floors, water dripping in her wake. She could hear Anthony behind her, his footsteps heavy, his laughter dark and promising. The air was cooler out here, raising goosebumps over her skin, but she barely noticed. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, her breath coming in sharp gasps as she rounded the kitchen island, her fingers gripping the edge for balance.

“You can’t outrun me, chef,” Anthony called, his voice closer now. The teasing lilt in his tone made her stomach clench.

Nancy didn’t stop. She darted toward the living room, her wet hair sticking to her neck, her heart hammering. The couch was just ahead—if she could just—

A hand snapped around her wrist, yanking her back. She crashed into Anthony’s chest with a startled cry, his arm banding around her waist, lifting her off her feet. “Got you,” he growled, his mouth finding the sensitive spot beneath her ear.

Nancy squirmed, but his grip was iron. “Let me go!” she laughed, though the sound was breathless, needy. His body was a furnace against hers, his cock pressing into the small of her back, hard and demanding.

“Not a chance.” His teeth sank into her shoulder, just enough to sting, and she gasped, her nails digging into his forearm. He spun her around, pressing her back against the nearest wall, his hands caging her in. Water dripped from his hair onto her cheeks, his breath hot and fast. “You’re mine,” he repeated, his voice a dark promise. “Say it.”

Nancy’s chest heaved, her gaze locked onto his. The command in his tone, the way his body dominated hers—it should’ve terrified her. But all it did was make her wetter, her thighs slick with more than just water. “Yours,” she whispered, the word torn from her.

Anthony’s pupils blew wide. “Louder.”

“Yours,” she said again, firmer this time, her voice steady despite the way her pulse raced.

His mouth crashed onto hers, his kiss punishing, possessive. Nancy kissed him back just as fiercely, her tongue tangling with his, her hands fisting in his wet hair. He groaned, the sound vibrating against her lips, before he suddenly hoisted her up. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, her back hitting the wall as his cock slid against her, thick and insistent.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he growled, his hips rolling, the friction maddening. Nancy whimpered, her head falling back against the wall as he ground against her, his cock teasing her entrance but never quite pushing in. “Beg for it,” he demanded, his voice rough.

Nancy’s breath hitched. “Please—”

“Please what?” His teeth grazed her throat, his hands gripping her ass hard enough to bruise.

“Fuck me,” she gasped, the words spilling out before she could stop them. “God, Anthony, please—”

He didn’t make her wait. In one sharp thrust, he was inside her, filling her completely, stretching her around his thick length. Nancy cried out, her nails raking down his back as he bottomed out, his cock hitting that perfect spot deep inside her. “That’s it,” he groaned, his voice strained. “Take me like a good girl.”

Nancy could only moan in response, her body already tightening around him. He set a brutal pace, his hips snapping forward, each thrust driving her higher. The wall at her back gave her something to brace against, her legs locking around his waist as she met him stroke for stroke. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the loft, mixed with their ragged breaths, the wet slickness of their bodies making every movement obscene.

“You’re mine,” Anthony growled again, his fingers digging into her flesh. “Say it again.”

“Yours,” Nancy gasped, her orgasm already coiling tight in her belly. “Only yours—”

His mouth sealed over hers, swallowing her cries as she came, her body clamping down around him, her nails digging crescents into his shoulders. Anthony groaned, his thrusts turning erratic as he chased his own release. “Fuck—Nancy—” His cock swelled inside her, and with a final, deep thrust, he came, his cum filling her in hot, thick pulses.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, their breaths mingling, their bodies still trembling. Anthony pressed his forehead to hers, his hands gentling on her waist. “Stay,” he murmured, his voice raw. “Just… stay.”

Nancy didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Because the terrifying truth was, she didn’t want to leave. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

And that scared her more than anything.

Chapter Six: Tangled Promises

The shower had left Nancy’s skin flushed and sensitive, the dampness clinging to her like a second layer as she bolted across the loft. Anthony’s laughter was a dark, velvety thing, wrapping around her ribs and squeezing tight. She could feel him behind her—his heat, his intent—before his arm banded around her waist, yanking her back against the solid wall of his chest. His other hand clamped over her mouth, fingers pressing just enough to silence her without cutting off her air. The scent of soap and something deeper, muskier, filled her lungs as she struggled, her wet hair sticking to her neck, her shoulders.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His voice was a rough purr against her ear, his cock already swelling against the curve of her ass, thick and insistent even through the towel barely clinging to his hips. Nancy twisted, but his grip only tightened, his fingers digging into the soft flesh above her hipbone, possessive and unyielding. She could hear the smirk in his words when he murmured, “You really wanna play this game, cuore?”

She didn’t answer—couldn’t, with his palm still sealing her lips—but her body had its own traitorous response. A whimper slipped out when his teeth scraped her earlobe, sharp and promising, and her hips rolled back before she could stop herself, seeking the friction of his hardening length. Anthony groaned, the sound vibrating through her bones, and then he was moving, spinning her in his arms like she weighed nothing. Nancy’s legs locked around his waist on instinct, her arms looping over his shoulders as he carried her toward the bedroom. The loft blurred past—cool air raising goosebumps on her damp skin, the faint creak of floorboards under his strides—but all she could focus on was the way his muscles flexed beneath her fingertips, the way his breath hitched when her nails dragged down his back.

They hit the bed in a collision of limbs and tangled sheets, the mattress dipping under their weight. Nancy barely had time to gasp before Anthony was over her, his thighs forcing hers apart, his cock already hot and heavy against her slick folds. His eyes burned into hers, dark and hungry, as he gripped her wrists and pinned them above her head. The towel he’d been wearing was long gone, his body a solid, golden expanse over hers, every inch of him radiating heat and demand. “You think you can run from me?” His voice was a growl, rough with want, and the way his hips rolled against hers made her whimper, her back arching off the bed. “After everything? After the way you begged for me in the shower?”

Nancy’s breath came in short, sharp bursts, her body already thrumming with the memory of his hands on her, his mouth between her legs. “I—I wasn’t begging,” she lied, but the words dissolved into a broken moan when he ground against her clit, his cock sliding through her folds, teasing her entrance but never quite pushing in. His chuckle was dark, triumphant, and then his mouth was on hers, swallowing her protests as his tongue claimed her with the same ruthless confidence as the rest of him.

“Liar,” he murmured against her lips, his free hand sliding down to grip her thigh, hiking it higher around his waist. The shift in position opened her completely, and Nancy felt the thick head of his cock notch against her entrance, stretching her just enough to make her whine. “You were dripping for me.” His fingers found her clit, circling lazily, and her hips jerked, her body already winding tight with need. “Still are.” His voice dropped to a whisper, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Tell me the truth, Nancy.”

She should’ve resisted. Should’ve twisted away, should’ve reminded him of the kids waiting at home, of the hundred reasons this was a terrible idea. But the way his cock pulsed against her, the way his breath hitched when she rocked her hips, chasing that first shallow thrust—it scrambled her thoughts, reduced her to nothing but sensation and need. “Yours,” she gasped, and the word barely left her lips before Anthony surged forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal, claiming stroke.

The bed creaked beneath them as he set a punishing rhythm, his hips snapping against hers with a force that stole her breath. Nancy’s legs locked around his waist, her heels digging into the small of his back as she met him thrust for thrust, her body already singing with the promise of another orgasm. Anthony’s hands were everywhere—gripping her hips to angle her just right, tangling in her damp hair to tilt her head back for his bruising kisses, his thumb pressing down on her clit in time with his strokes. “That’s it,” he growled, his voice rough with effort. “Take me like a good girl.”

Nancy’s nails raked down his back, her body coiling tighter with every snap of his hips. The room spun around them, the scent of soap and sex thick in the air, the wet sounds of their bodies slapping together filling the space between their ragged breaths. “Anthony—fuck—” His name tore from her throat as her orgasm crashed over her, her pussy clenching around his cock so tightly he groaned, his own release edging closer.

“Not yet,” he gritted out, his pace stuttering as he fought for control. He pulled out suddenly, leaving her empty and whimpering, and flipped her onto her stomach before she could protest. His hand pressed between her shoulder blades, pinning her to the mattress as he knelt behind her, his cock dragging through her soaked folds. “You come when I say you come,” he murmured, his voice a dark promise, and then he was slamming back inside her, deeper this time, hitting a spot that made her see stars.

Nancy’s fingers clawed at the sheets, her body trembling with the effort of holding back. “Please,” she begged, her voice muffled against the mattress. “I can’t—Anthony—”

“You can,” he growled, his hips pistoning relentlessly. “And you will.” His hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back just enough to expose the line of her throat. His lips found her pulse point, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as his other hand snaked beneath her, two fingers pressing against her clit. “Now, Nancy. Come for me.”

The command shattered her. Her back arched, her body convulsing as her second orgasm ripped through her, her cries muffled by the sheets. Anthony followed with a guttural groan, his cock pulsing deep inside her as he spilled himself, his hips stuttering against her ass. For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing, the weight of him pressing her into the mattress, the warmth of his release dripping down her thighs.

When he finally pulled out, Nancy collapsed onto her side, her body boneless, her skin still humming with aftershocks. Anthony loomed over her, his chest heaving, his eyes dark with something more than just satisfaction. He reached out, his fingers tracing the curve of her hip, his touch almost reverent. “Stay,” he said again, his voice rough. Not a demand this time. A plea.

Nancy’s heart hammered against her ribs. She should’ve said no. Should’ve reminded him of the time, of the kids, of the thousand reasons this couldn’t last. But the way he was looking at her—like she was something precious, something his—made the words stick in her throat. Instead, she reached for him, her fingers curling around the back of his neck, pulling him down until their foreheads pressed together. “One more hour,” she whispered.

Anthony’s exhale was shaky, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that was somehow both desperate and tender. “One more hour,” he agreed, and Nancy knew, with a sinking, thrilling certainty, that it would never be enough.

---

The air between them was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the sheets tangled around their legs as Anthony rolled onto his back, pulling her with him. Nancy straddled his waist, her body still thrumming with the ghost of her orgasms, her skin hypersensitive wherever his fingers trailed. His cock, already half-hard again, twitched against her thigh, and she could feel the way his breath hitched when she shifted, her wetness smearing against his skin.

“You’re insatiable,” he murmured, his hands sliding up her ribs to cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples until they pebbled under his touch. Nancy arched into him, a soft moan escaping her lips. She could feel his cock thickening beneath her, pressing against her stomach, and the thought of taking him again—of riding him slow this time, of watching his face as she worked herself on him—sent a fresh wave of heat through her.

“So are you,” she shot back, her voice breathless as she rocked her hips, teasing him. His fingers tightened on her breasts, his thumbs rolling her nipples between them, sending sharp sparks of pleasure straight to her clit. Anthony’s eyes darkened, his gaze locked on where their bodies met, where the slick evidence of their last round glistened on her skin.

“Fuck, Nancy,” he groaned, his hips lifting to meet hers, his cock sliding between her folds, not quite inside her but close enough to make them both gasp. “You’re gonna kill me.”

She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered, “But what a way to go.” Then she was sinking onto him, taking him inch by inch, her body stretching around his thickness until he was buried inside her again. Anthony’s hands flew to her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as she began to move, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles that had them both panting.

“Just like that,” he rasped, his head falling back against the pillows, his throat working as he swallowed a groan. Nancy could feel the way his cock pulsed inside her, the way his breath came faster as she picked up the pace, her nails scraping down his chest. She leaned back, bracing her hands on his thighs, and let him watch as she rode him, her breasts bouncing with every movement, her clit rubbing against the base of his cock with every downward stroke.

“Touch yourself,” Anthony commanded, his voice rough. “I want to see you come on my cock.”

Nancy didn’t hesitate. Her fingers found her clit, rubbing in tight, desperate circles as she rode him harder, her body coiling tight with the promise of another release. Anthony’s hands slid up to her breasts, his thumbs flicking over her nipples, his hips lifting to meet hers with every downward stroke. “That’s it, cuore,” he growled. “Fuck yourself on my cock. Let me feel you come.”

The words sent her over the edge. Her back arched, her body trembling as her orgasm crashed over her, her pussy clenching around his cock so tightly that Anthony groaned, his own release following hers. He spilled inside her with a guttural curse, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise as he thrust up into her, prolonging both their pleasures.

When it was over, Nancy collapsed onto his chest, her body boneless, her skin slick with sweat. Anthony’s arms wrapped around her, holding her close, his heart pounding beneath her ear. For a moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her.

Then his fingers traced lazy patterns up and down her spine, his voice quiet when he spoke. “We should get dressed.”

Nancy nodded against his chest, but neither of them moved. The weight of what they’d done—what they kept doing—settled over her, but for once, she didn’t want to run from it. Not yet.

Anthony’s lips pressed against the top of her head, his breath warm against her damp hair. “One more hour,” he murmured, and Nancy closed her eyes, letting the lie settle between them like a promise.

Chapter Seven: Slick Surrender

The air between them was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the sheets tangled around their limbs like a second skin. Nancy’s breath still hitched in her chest, her body humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, her skin flushed where Anthony’s hands had gripped her. His cock twitched against her thigh, already stirring back to life, his fingers tracing lazy circles over her breasts, teasing her nipples into tight peaks. She could feel his heartbeat beneath her palm, steady but quick, as if his body was already craving more.

“One more hour,” he murmured again, his voice rough with satisfaction, but his grip on her hip tightening just enough to betray his hunger. The words were a lie they both clung to—one that tasted sweeter each time they whispered it.

Nancy exhaled slowly, her fingers curling against his chest. The warmth of his skin beneath her touch was intoxicating, but the weight of the clock in her mind pressed harder. She knew if she stayed like this, tangled in his arms, she’d lose track of time entirely. And yet… the thought of pulling away made her ache in a different way.

Her gaze flicked to the open door of the bedroom, the soft glow of the loft’s kitchen visible beyond. The marble countertops gleamed under the pendant lights, the space familiar but suddenly charged with possibility. A slow, wicked idea curled in her mind.

She shifted, rolling her hips just enough to make him groan, his cock thickening against her. “You know,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing, “we’ve barely made use of the kitchen.”

Anthony’s fingers stilled on her breast. His dark eyes locked onto hers, sharp with interest. “What did you just say?”

Nancy bit her lower lip, letting her nails drag down his chest before pushing herself up. The cool air kissed her skin as she slid off him, her body still thrumming with sensitivity. She turned, giving him a full view of her—ass swaying slightly as she bent to grab her discarded chef’s coat from the floor. The fabric was wrinkled, the scent of herbs and garlic still clinging to it from earlier. She slipped it on, leaving it unbuttoned, the tails barely covering her thighs.

Anthony sat up, his muscles flexing as he watched her, his cock already half-hard again. “Nancy,” he warned, his voice a dark promise.

She glanced over her shoulder, her hazel eyes glinting with mischief. “Unless you’re too tired, Chef.”

That was all it took.

He moved faster than she expected, lunging off the bed and catching her around the waist before she could take two steps. Nancy yelped as he spun her, pressing her back against the wall beside the bedroom door. His mouth crashed onto hers, his kiss hungry, possessive, his tongue sweeping inside to claim her. She moaned into him, her hands flying to his shoulders, her nails digging in as his free hand slid between her thighs.

“You’re playing with fire,” he growled against her lips, his fingers finding her already slick and swollen. “But since you asked so nicely…”

Nancy gasped as he rubbed slow, deliberate circles over her clit, her legs trembling. “I—I didn’t ask,” she managed, her voice breathless.

Anthony chuckled, low and dark. “You didn’t have to.” He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his fingers never stopping their torturous rhythm. “Kitchen. Now. And don’t fucking run this time.”

She whimpered as he withdrew his hand, her body aching for more. But before she could protest, he grabbed her wrist and tugged her forward, his stride long and purposeful as he led her toward the kitchen. The cool air of the loft raised goosebumps on her skin, the contrast making her hyper-aware of every place his body had touched hers.

The kitchen was a chef’s dream—expansive marble countertops, professional-grade appliances, and shelves stocked with fresh ingredients. The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows, casting golden streaks across the space. Anthony didn’t stop until they reached the center island, its surface smooth and cool beneath Nancy’s palms as he pressed her against it.

“Hands flat,” he ordered, his voice rough with command.

She obeyed, her breath hitching as the marble’s chill seeped into her skin, grounding her. Anthony stepped back just enough to take her in—the way her coat gaped open, the flush still high on her cheeks, the way her lips parted as she waited. His cock was fully hard now, jutting out proudly, the tip already glistening.

“God, you’re beautiful like this,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. Then his tone sharpened. “Spread your legs.”

Nancy hesitated for only a second before complying, her thighs parting. The air kissed her wet folds, the exposure making her pulse quicken. Anthony’s gaze darkened as he took in the sight of her, his fingers twitching at his sides like he was resisting the urge to touch her.

Instead, he turned toward the counter beside them, where a bottle of extra virgin olive oil sat next to a bundle of fresh rosemary and thyme. He uncorked the bottle with a slow, deliberate twist, the rich, fruity scent filling the air between them.

Nancy’s breath caught. “Anthony…?”

He didn’t answer, his focus entirely on pouring a generous amount of oil into his palm. The golden liquid glistened as he rubbed his hands together, warming it. Then, without warning, his slick fingers trailed up her inner thigh, stopping just shy of where she craved him most.

“You’re going to feel every fucking second of this,” he promised, his voice a dark velvet whisper.

Nancy shuddered as his oiled fingers finally made contact, sliding through her folds with a slow, maddening precision. The olive oil heightened every sensation, the slickness allowing his touch to glide effortlessly, his fingertips circling her clit before dipping inside her. She gasped, her hips jerking forward instinctively, but his other hand pressed firmly against her lower back, pinning her in place.

“Stay still,” he commanded, his breath hot against her ear as he leaned in. “Or I stop.”

The threat made her whimper, her body trembling with the effort to obey. His fingers worked her expertly, two slipping inside her while his thumb pressed against her clit, rubbing in tight, relentless circles. The olive oil made everything slicker, the sounds of her arousal obscenely loud in the quiet kitchen.

“Oh god,” she breathed, her fingers curling against the marble. “Anthony, please—”

“Please what?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You want more?”

“Yes—fuck, yes—”

He chuckled, the sound dark and satisfied. “Since you’re begging so prettily…”

Before she could react, he withdrew his fingers, leaving her empty and aching. Nancy turned her head just in time to see him bring his glistening fingers to his mouth, his tongue swiping over them with a slow, deliberate lick. The sight sent a fresh wave of heat through her, her pussy clenching around nothing.

“Delicious,” he murmured, his eyes locked onto hers. Then he reached for the bundle of herbs.

Nancy watched, mesmerized, as he plucked a sprig of rosemary, running it beneath his nose before dragging it lightly over her collarbone, then down between her breasts. The scent was intoxicating—earthy and fresh, mingling with the olive oil and the musk of their arousal. He trailed it lower, the leaves tickling her skin, until he pressed it against her nipple.

The sensation was electric. The slight abrasiveness of the herb against her sensitive flesh made her gasp, her back arching off the counter. Anthony’s free hand gripped her hip, holding her in place as he dragged the rosemary in slow, teasing circles around her nipple, then the other, before dipping lower.

“Anthony—” His name came out as a broken moan as he rubbed the herb over her clit, the combination of textures and scents overwhelming her senses. Her legs shook, her body coiled tight with need.

“You like that?” he murmured, his voice rough with arousal. “The way it feels? The way it smells?”

“Y-yes—”

“Good.” He tossed the rosemary aside and grabbed her thighs, lifting her effortlessly onto the counter. The marble was cold beneath her bare ass, the contrast making her gasp. Anthony stepped between her legs, his cock brushing against her slick folds, but he didn’t enter her. Not yet.

Instead, he reached for the olive oil again, pouring another generous amount into his palm before coating his cock. The sight of his thick length glistening made Nancy’s mouth water, her body clenching in anticipation.

“Watch me,” he ordered, his voice a dark command.

She obeyed, her gaze locked onto his hands as he stroked himself, his grip firm and slow. The oil made his cock shine, the veins standing out as he worked himself, his breath coming faster. Nancy’s fingers dug into the edge of the counter, her body aching with the need to be filled.

“Touch yourself,” Anthony growled, his hand still moving over his cock. “I want to see you play with that pretty pussy while I fuck my hand.”

Nancy didn’t hesitate this time. Her fingers slid between her folds, her touch slick with oil and her own arousal. She circled her clit, her breath coming in sharp gasps as pleasure coiled tighter inside her. The scent of rosemary and olive oil filled the air, mingling with the musk of their desire, every sensation heightened, every touch electric.

Anthony’s strokes grew faster, his jaw clenched as he watched her. “That’s it,” he groaned. “Just like that. Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Nancy’s fingers moved faster, her hips rocking into her touch, her body chasing the release she could feel building inside her. But before she could tip over the edge, Anthony’s hand closed around her wrist, stilling her.

“Not yet,” he growled, his voice rough with command. “You come when I’m inside you. Not before.”

She whimpered in protest, her body trembling with the effort to hold back. Anthony didn’t give her time to argue. In one swift motion, he gripped her hips and pulled her to the edge of the counter, his cock pressing against her entrance.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

Nancy forced her eyes open, meeting his gaze as he pushed inside her in one deep, claiming thrust. The stretch was delicious, the slickness of the oil making his entry effortless. She cried out, her head falling back as he filled her completely, his cock hitting that perfect spot deep inside her.

“Fuck—Anthony—”

“Eyes on me,” he snapped, his hands gripping her thighs as he began to move.

She obeyed, her gaze locking onto his as he fucked her with long, punishing strokes. The marble counter was cold beneath her, the contrast making every thrust feel more intense, every sensation sharper. The scent of herbs and oil filled her senses, the slick sounds of their bodies moving together obscene in the quiet kitchen.

Anthony’s jaw was clenched, his breath coming in sharp gasps as he drove into her. “You feel that?” he growled. “You feel how fucking good you are? How perfect?”

“Yes—” The word came out as a broken moan, her body tightening around him. “Don’t stop—please—”

“Never,” he promised, his hips snapping faster, his cock pistoning in and out of her with relentless precision. “You’re mine, Nancy. Say it.”

“I’m yours—” The words spilled from her lips without thought, her body coiled tight, her orgasm building like a storm inside her. “Only yours—”

“That’s right,” he groaned, his voice rough with satisfaction. “Now come for me. Now.”

The command sent her crashing over the edge. Her back arched off the counter, her body clenching around him as pleasure tore through her, her cry filling the kitchen. Anthony didn’t stop, his thrusts growing erratic as his own release built.

“Fuck—Nancy—” His grip on her hips bruising, he buried himself deep and came with a guttural groan, his cock pulsing inside her as he spilled himself. The heat of his release sent another wave of pleasure through her, her body milking him for every last drop.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the kitchen were their ragged breaths, the scent of sex and herbs thick in the air. Anthony’s forehead dropped to hers, his skin damp with sweat, his body still trembling with aftershocks.

Nancy’s fingers found his, their hands intertwining as she tried to steady her breathing. The marble beneath her was warm now, heated by their bodies, the cool edge of the counter digging into her back a grounding contrast.

Anthony lifted his head, his dark eyes searching hers. There was something raw in his gaze, something vulnerable beneath the usual fire. “Stay,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Just… stay a little longer.”

Nancy swallowed hard, her heart pounding. She knew what he was really asking. Knew that “a little longer” would never be enough.

But for now, in this moment, with the scent of him surrounding her and the weight of his body still pressed against hers, she couldn’t bring herself to say no.

“One more hour,” she whispered.

Anthony’s lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile as he pulled her closer, his cock still buried inside her. “Liar,” he murmured, his breath warm against her skin.

And she knew he was right.

Chapter Eight: Honey and Heat

The warmth of Nancy’s body still pressed against him, Anthony exhaled slowly, his chest rising and falling as he withdrew from her. His cock, slick with their combined release, twitched against her thigh, already stirring back to life despite the intensity of their last climax. The golden afternoon light spilled across the marble countertop, painting their sweat-dampened skin in hues of amber and rose. Nancy’s fingers traced lazy circles over his collarbone, her breath still uneven, her lips parted as if she wanted to say something—but then her expression shifted. A slow, wicked smirk curled her mouth.

Before Anthony could react, she pushed him back with sudden force, her palms flat against his chest. The cool marble met his bare skin as she drove him against the countertop, her strength surprising for someone so much smaller. His wrists were seized in her grip, fingers digging in just enough to make him groan. The roles had reversed in an instant—no longer the one in control, he was now at her mercy, and the realization sent a jolt of heat straight to his groin.

Nancy leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear as she whispered, “You think you’re done with me, Tony?” Her voice was low, rough with lingering pleasure, but edged with something darker—possession. “I haven’t even started.”

His breath hitched as her mouth trailed down his jawline, her teeth grazing the stubble of his beard before her tongue flicked out to soothe the sting. Every kiss was deliberate, maddeningly slow, as if she were savoring the taste of him. Anthony’s muscles tensed, his cock thickening against the confines of his trousers, but he didn’t fight her hold. Instead, he tilted his head back, giving her better access, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Fuck, Nancy—”

She cut him off with a sharp nip to his bottom lip, her free hand sliding down his torso, fingers teasing the waistband of his pants. “Shh. You talk too much.” Her breath was hot against his skin, her words a command rather than a request. “I want to taste you. Every. Fucking. Inch.”

Anthony’s pulse spiked, his cock straining painfully now. He had never seen this side of her—so bold, so demanding. It was intoxicating. “Then do it,” he challenged, his voice rough. “But don’t expect me to stay still.”

Nancy chuckled, the sound dark and knowing, before she finally released his wrists. She stepped back just enough to let her gaze rake over him, her chef’s coat still unbuttoned, the fabric clinging to her curves. The scent of sex and herbs hung thick in the air, but beneath it, Anthony caught the faintest hint of something sweeter—honey. His brows furrowed in confusion as she turned toward the pantry, her hips swaying with deliberate slowness.

She returned with a small jar, the golden liquid inside catching the light as she unscrewed the lid. “You ever been fucked with dessert before, Tony?” Her fingers dipped into the honey, the thick syrup clinging to her skin as she brought it to her mouth, her tongue swirling around her fingertips with a slow, obscene precision. Anthony’s cock jerked, pre-cum beading at the tip.

“Jesus—”

Nancy didn’t let him finish. She stepped closer, her free hand pressing against his chest to hold him in place as she drizzled the honey in a slow, zigzagging path from his collarbone down to his navel. The syrup was warm from her fingers, sticky against his skin, and the moment it touched him, Anthony’s abs clenched. “Fuck—”

“Mmm. Patience.” Her mouth followed the trail, her tongue flat and broad as she lapped up the sweetness, her lips sealing around his nipple to suck hard. Anthony’s hands flew to her hair, fingers tangling in the loose waves as she bit down just enough to make him hiss. The contrast of the honey’s cloying sweetness and the salt of his skin was maddening, every nerve ending alight.

Her hands weren’t idle. As she worked her way lower, her fingers traced the outline of his cock through his trousers, her palm pressing just enough to make him buck into her touch. “You like that?” she murmured against his stomach, her breath hot. “Or do you want more?”

“More,” he growled, his voice barely recognizable. “Give me fucking more.”

Nancy smirked against his skin before straightening, her fingers deftly unbuttoning his trousers. The sound of his zipper was obscenely loud in the quiet kitchen, and then his cock was free, thick and flushed, the head already glistening. She wrapped her fingers around the base, her grip firm, and leaned in to press a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the tip. “Such a good boy,” she purred, her thumb swiping over the slit to gather the pre-cum there. “Always so eager for me.”

Anthony’s hands fisted in her hair, his hips jerking upward instinctively. “Nancy, I swear to god—”

She cut him off by taking him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the crown before she pulled back with a wet pop. “You’ll wait,” she ordered, her voice husky. “And you’ll beg before I let you come.”

His breath came in sharp gasps as she turned her attention back to the honey, drizzling another line lower this time, over the defined ridges of his abs, down to the base of his cock. Her tongue followed, slow and thorough, her lips wrapping around the head of his cock to suckle just as she reached it. The dual sensations—her mouth on him, the sticky sweetness on his skin—had his thighs trembling.

“Please—” The word tore from him, raw and desperate.

Nancy hummed in approval, her hand stroking the length of him as she lapped at the honey pooling in his navel. “There it is,” she murmured. “Just like that.” Her fingers tightened, her pace deliberate as she worked him, her mouth never leaving his skin. “You taste so good, Tony. Sweet and salty and mine.”

Anthony’s vision blurred at the edges, his body coiled tight, every muscle straining. “I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come—”

She released him instantly, her hand vanishing as she pulled back, leaving him panting, his cock throbbing in the empty air. “Not yet,” she whispered, her lips glistening. “You come when I say so.”

His chest heaved, his fingers digging into the marble behind him. “You’re killing me.”

Nancy’s laugh was low, triumphant, as she reached for the honey again. “Oh, caro,” she murmured, her voice dripping with dark promise. “We’re just getting started.”

Chapter Nine: Taste of Surrender

The golden afternoon light spilled across Anthony’s loft, painting their naked bodies in warm amber and rose as Nancy finally pulled back from his lips, her fingers still wrapped around the base of his throbbing cock. The honey she’d drizzled over him earlier had long since been licked away, but the stickiness lingered between them—on his skin, in the air, in the way his breath hitched every time she touched him. His chest rose and fell in ragged bursts, his muscles tense beneath her palms, his dark eyes burning with frustration and need.

“You’re dripping,” she murmured, dragging her thumb along the slick head of his cock, gathering the bead of pre-cum that had formed there. She brought it to her lips, her tongue flicking out to taste him, her lashes fluttering at the salty-sweet flavor. “And we’re not even close to done.”

Anthony groaned, his hips jerking involuntarily toward her touch, but she tightened her grip, holding him still. “Nancy—fuck—”

“Shh.” She pressed a finger to his lips, smudging the last traces of honey there before replacing it with her mouth, kissing him slow and deep, letting him taste himself on her tongue. When she pulled back, her lips were glossy, her voice a low, commanding purr. “You wanted to see what I could do. Now you’re going to find out.”

She didn’t give him time to respond. Instead, she grabbed his wrist and tugged him toward the dining table, where the spread she’d prepared earlier waited—bowls of whipped cream, fresh berries glistening like jewels, slices of ripe peaches, dark chocolate sauce still warm from the stove. The table was a feast for the senses, but it wasn’t the food she was hungry for.

Anthony’s cock twitched as she guided him backward until his thighs hit the edge of the table. “Sit,” she ordered, and when he hesitated—whether from stubbornness or the sheer overwhelming need coursing through him—she pushed his chest just hard enough to make him obey. The wood was cool against his bare ass, the contrast making his skin prickle. He watched, breath shallow, as Nancy stepped between his legs, her fingers trailing up his inner thighs before she reached for a strawberry.

She held it up, turning it slowly in the light, the red flesh dark and inviting. “Open.”

His jaw clenched. “You’re killing me.”

“Good.” She leaned in, brushing the fruit against his lower lip, then his tongue, before pressing it into his mouth. He bit down instinctively, the juice bursting over his taste buds, sweet and tart. But before he could swallow, she kissed him again, her mouth claiming his, her tongue stealing the fruit from between his teeth. She chewed slowly, deliberately, her free hand sliding up to grip the back of his neck, holding him in place as she swallowed.

“Your turn,” she whispered, plucking another berry from the bowl. This time, she didn’t offer it to his mouth. Instead, she dragged it down his chest, over the defined planes of his abs, leaving a trail of juice in its wake. Anthony’s breath hitched as she circled his navel, then lower, the berry cool against his overheated skin. When she reached the base of his cock, she paused, her hazel eyes flicking up to meet his.

“Watch,” she commanded.

And he did.

She dragged the strawberry up the underside of his shaft, the juice mixing with the pre-cum already leaking from him, the fruit leaving a sticky, crimson path. His cock jerked, desperate for more contact, but she pulled back just as he thought she’d give in, bringing the berry to her own lips. She took a slow, deliberate bite, her teeth sinking into the flesh, juice dripping down her chin. Then she offered the rest to him.

Anthony didn’t hesitate this time. He leaned forward, capturing her wrist, and took the berry from her fingers with his mouth, their lips brushing, their breaths mingling. The taste of strawberry and Nancy—sweet, tangy, intoxicating—exploded on his tongue. But before he could deepen the kiss, she pulled away, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Greedy,” she teased, reaching for the bowl of whipped cream.

The cool metal of the spoon sent a shiver down his spine as she dipped it into the cream, lifting a dollop that quivered slightly before she brought it to his nipple. The first touch was a shock—cold and soft, the cream clinging to his skin. She swirled it in slow circles, her fingers following the path, spreading the cream over his chest before leaning in to lick it away. Her tongue was warm, her lips even warmer, and when she sucked his nipple into her mouth, Anthony’s hands flew to her hair, fists tightening in the waves.

“Fuck, yes—”

She hummed against his skin, the vibration sending a jolt straight to his cock. But just as he thought she’d give him more, she pulled back, her lips glossy with cream. “Not yet.”

Anthony growled, his patience fraying. “Nancy, I swear to god—”

“You’ll wait,” she cut in, her voice firm. She reached for the chocolate sauce next, the rich, dark liquid dripping from the spoon as she brought it to his other nipple. The heat of the sauce was a stark contrast to the cream, and he hissed as it hit his skin, the scent of cocoa and sugar filling the air. She followed the same path—spreading, licking, sucking—until his chest was a mess of cream and chocolate, his skin flushed, his cock aching.

Then she stepped back, her gaze raking over him with satisfaction. “Lie down.”

Anthony’s muscles locked. “You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” She arched a brow, her fingers trailing down her own body, over the swell of her breasts, her stomach, before dipping between her thighs. She let out a soft, breathy moan, her eyelids fluttering. “Or would you rather watch me play with myself while you sit there like a good boy?”

That did it. With a curse, Anthony shifted back on the table, lying down on the smooth wood, his cock jutting up obscenely between his legs. Nancy’s lips curled in approval as she climbed onto the table, straddling his hips. The heat of her pussy pressed against his stomach, her thighs bracketing his waist, and he groaned, his hands flying to her hips.

“Ah-ah,” she chided, grabbing his wrists and pinning them above his head. “You don’t get to touch unless I say so.”

Anthony bared his teeth, but the fight in him was fading, replaced by something darker, needier. He wanted her hands on him. Her mouth. Anything. “Please.”

Nancy’s breath hitched at the word, her grip on his wrists tightening. She loved hearing him beg. Loved the way his pride crumbled under her touch, the way his body trembled with restraint. “Since you asked so nicely…”

She reached for a peach slice, the juice glistening on the fruit. Holding his gaze, she dragged it down his chest, over his abs, then lower, tracing the vee of his hips. Anthony’s breath came in sharp gasps as she circled the base of his cock, the peach leaving a trail of nectar in its wake. When she finally—finally—brushed the fruit against the underside of his shaft, he jerked, a guttural sound tearing from his throat.

“Easy,” she murmured, pressing the peach to his lips. “Taste.”

He obeyed, biting into the fruit, the juice sweet and thick on his tongue. But before he could swallow, she kissed him again, her mouth claiming his, her tongue sweeping in to steal the peach from him. She chewed slowly, her hips rolling against his stomach, the wet heat of her pussy leaving a slick trail on his skin. Anthony groaned into the kiss, his cock throbbing, his body desperate for more.

Nancy pulled back, her lips swollen, her eyes dark with lust. She reached for the whipped cream again, this time scooping a generous dollop onto her fingers. Without breaking eye contact, she brought her hand to her own breasts, smearing the cream over her nipples, her breath hitching as the cold touched her heated skin.

Anthony’s gaze dropped, his cock twitching as he watched her. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

She smirked, pinching her nipple between her fingers, the cream clinging to her skin. “You want a taste?”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he surged upward, capturing her wrist and pulling her down until her breast was level with his mouth. Nancy gasped as his tongue lashed out, lapping at the cream, his lips closing around her nipple. The contrast of the cold cream and the heat of his mouth sent a jolt of pleasure through her, her back arching, her fingers tangling in his hair.

“That’s it,” she breathed, her hips rolling against him, her pussy grinding against his stomach. “Just like that—”

Anthony groaned around her nipple, his free hand sliding down to grip her ass, pulling her tighter against him. The cream was long gone, but he didn’t stop, sucking hard, his teeth grazing her sensitive flesh until she was whimpering, her nails digging into his scalp.

“Anthony—fuck—”

He released her with a wet pop, his lips glossy, his voice rough. “Let me taste the rest of you.”

Nancy’s breath hitched, her body trembling with need. She wanted to deny him. Wanted to make him wait, to draw this out until he was begging, until he was * hers*. But the way he was looking at her—dark, hungry, desperate—broke something inside her.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Anthony didn’t waste a second. He flipped them in one swift motion, pinning her beneath him on the table, her back pressing into the scattered fruit and cream. He grabbed her thighs, spreading them wide, and dove between her legs, his mouth crashing against her pussy like a man starved.

Nancy cried out, her hands flying to his hair, her hips bucking against his face. He didn’t give her time to adjust—his tongue speared into her, fucking her with deep, relentless strokes, his lips sealing around her clit to suck hard. The table creaked beneath them, the bowls of fruit and cream rattling with each thrust of his tongue, each grind of her hips.

“Oh god—” Her voice was a broken whimper, her fingers tightening in his hair. “Anthony, I’m—I’m going to—”

He growled against her, the vibration sending her over the edge. Her orgasm crashed through her, her back arching off the table, her thighs clamping around his head as she came with a sob, her juices coating his chin, his lips, his tongue. He didn’t stop, lapping at her, drawing out every last tremor until she was boneless beneath him, her chest heaving, her skin slick with sweat and cream.

Only then did he pull back, his lips swollen, his beard glistening with her release. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his dark eyes locked on hers. “Your turn.”

Nancy’s heart pounded, her body still humming from her climax. She reached for him, her fingers wrapping around his cock, stroking him slow and firm. “You’re sure you can handle it?”

Anthony’s jaw tightened, his hips jerking into her touch. “Try me.”

She didn’t need to be told twice.

With a wicked smile, Nancy sat up, pushing him back until he was lying on the table again, his cock standing thick and proud between his legs. She grabbed the bowl of whipped cream, scooping a generous amount onto her fingers before reaching for his cock. The cream was cold against his heated skin, and he hissed as she smeared it over his length, her fingers twisting, spreading, coating him in white.

“Fuck, that’s—Nancy—”

She ignored his protests, leaning down to lick a slow stripe up his shaft, her tongue gathering the cream, the taste of sugar and man filling her mouth. She hummed in approval, her lips wrapping around the head of his cock, her tongue swirling to clean every last bit of cream from him.

Anthony’s hands flew to her hair, his breath coming in ragged bursts. “Your mouth—fuck—”

Nancy pulled back with a pop, her lips curved in a smirk. “You like that?”

“You know I do,” he growled.

“Good.” She reached for the chocolate sauce next, drizzling it over his cock, the dark liquid mixing with the remnants of the cream. Then she took him into her mouth again, her tongue lapping at the chocolate, her lips sealing around his shaft as she bobbed her head, taking him deeper.

Anthony’s hips lifted off the table, his fingers tangling in her hair, guiding her movements. “Just like that—fuck, Nancy, just like—”

She hollowed her cheeks, taking him to the back of her throat, her nose pressing against his skin. The taste of him—chocolate, cream, Anthony—was intoxicating, and she moaned around his cock, the vibration making him curse, his thighs trembling.

“Gonna come,” he warned, his voice rough, his grip on her hair tightening. “Nancy, I’m—fuck—”

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her lips wrapped around the head of his cock, her tongue flicking against the slit. “Come for me.”

That was all it took.

With a guttural groan, Anthony came, his cock pulsing in her mouth, his release hot and thick on her tongue. Nancy swallowed every drop, her throat working, her lips sealed around him until he was spent, his body trembling beneath her.

She pulled back slowly, licking her lips, her gaze raking over him with satisfaction. Anthony’s chest heaved, his skin slick with sweat, his eyes dark and dazed. “You’re trying to kill me.”

Nancy smirked, crawling up his body until she was straddling his hips again, her pussy pressing against his softening cock. “Who said we were done?”

Anthony groaned, but his hands found her waist, pulling her down against him, his lips capturing hers in a deep, hungry kiss. The table creaked beneath them, the remnants of their feast forgotten, their bodies tangled together in the golden light.

And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Ten: Champagne and Silk

The golden afternoon light still spilled through the loft’s expansive windows, gilding the scattered remnants of their feast—bowls of melted whipped cream, crushed berries staining the tablecloth, the empty chocolate sauce bottle lying on its side. Anthony’s chest rose and fell in slow, satisfied rhythms, his body still humming from the way Nancy’s mouth had wrung every last shudder from him. His cock, spent but not yet soft, rested against his thigh, glistening with the remnants of whipped cream and her saliva. The air smelled of sex and sugar, thick with the musk of their arousal.

Nancy remained straddling his hips, her thighs slick with her own release, her breath still uneven. She traced a lazy finger through the sticky residue on his chest, a smug curve to her lips. “God, you taste even better when you’re—”

Her words cut off into a gasp as Anthony’s hands shot up, gripping her waist before flipping her onto her back with a single, powerful motion. The table groaned under the sudden shift, bowls clattering as her shoulders hit the wood. Before she could react, he had her wrists in his grasp, pressing them above her head. His mouth crashed onto hers, swallowing her surprised moan as he kissed her hard, his tongue sweeping inside to claim her. She tasted like chocolate and sin, and he growled into the kiss, nipping her lower lip before pulling back just enough to murmur, “My turn.”

Nancy’s hazel eyes darkened, her chest heaving as she tested his grip. “Anthony—”

“Shhh.” He cut her off with another bruising kiss, then reached for one of the silk napkins from their abandoned feast. The fabric was cool and smooth between his fingers as he wrapped it around her left wrist, tying it securely to the table leg. She tugged experimentally, but the knot held fast. His cock twitched at the way her breath hitched, at the flush spreading across her chest as he repeated the process with her other wrist. The silk bit gently into her skin, the restraints forcing her breasts to lift, her nipples already tightening under his gaze.

“You’ve been in control long enough,” he murmured, dragging his knuckles down the underside of her arm, over the swell of her breast, then lower, tracing the dip of her waist. His fingers hovered just above the thatch of curls between her thighs, close enough that she could feel the heat of his skin but not quite touching. “Now you’re going to let me worship you properly.”

Nancy arched into the teasing promise of his touch, her hips lifting off the table before she could stop herself. “Fuck, Anthony—”

“Patience, chefa.” He grinned, the word rolling off his tongue like a caress, and pushed off the table. The loss of his warmth made her whimper, her bound wrists twisting against the silk. He moved to the kitchen, the muscles of his ass flexing with each step, and she bit her lip at the sight of him—tall, broad-shouldered, his cock already stirring back to full hardness as he bent to retrieve something from the fridge.

The pop of a cork echoed through the loft, followed by the fizz of bubbles. Nancy craned her neck, watching as Anthony returned with a bottle of champagne, the label dewed with condensation. He didn’t speak, just tilted the bottle over her collarbone, letting the icy liquid spill onto her skin. She hissed at the sudden cold, her body jerking against the restraints as the champagne pooled in the hollow of her throat before trickling down between her breasts.

“Oh, fuck—” The word tore from her as Anthony leaned in, his tongue hot against the chill of the champagne. He lapped at the rivulets, following the path of the bubbles down her sternum, his beard scraping delicately over her sensitive skin. The contrast—cold liquid, warm mouth—made her nerves sing, her nipples pebbling so hard they ached. She squirmed, her thighs pressing together as the champagne seeped lower, over the soft swell of her stomach, into the dip of her navel.

Anthony hummed against her skin, the vibration making her gasp. “You taste even better like this.” His breath fanned over her belly as he poured another stream, this one aimed at the inside of her thigh. The liquid ran in a thin, fizzy line toward her core, and she whined, her hips bucking uselessly. “So impatient.” His chuckle was dark, amused, as he caught the champagne with his mouth before it could reach her pussy, swallowing audibly. “But we both know you love being teased, don’t you?”

“Bastard,” she breathed, but her voice lacked heat. Her thighs trembled, her inner muscles clenching around nothing as he traced the path of the champagne with the tip of his tongue, inching closer, closer—

Then veering away.

She groaned in frustration, her bound hands curling into fists. “Anthony, please—”

“Please what?” He poured more champagne over her other thigh, watching as it beaded on her skin, catching in the fine hairs before sliding toward her aching center. “Use your words, amor mio.”

Nancy’s breath came in sharp, desperate pants. The table creaked as she arched, her body a taut bowstring of need. “Lick me. Fucking lick me.”

Anthony’s cock jerked at the demand, pre-cum beading at the tip. He set the bottle aside with deliberate slowness, then gripped her thighs, spreading them wide. The champagne had soaked into the curls above her pussy, the scent of it mixing with her arousal—sweet, tart, intoxicating. He blew a cool stream of air over her, watching as she shuddered, her clit already swollen and glistening.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

His mouth descended, but not where she wanted. Instead, he pressed his lips to the inside of her thigh, right where the champagne had pooled, and sucked gently, his tongue swirling. Nancy cried out, her hips jerking, but his grip on her thighs was iron. He worked his way upward, inch by torturous inch, sipping the champagne from her skin like a connoisseur savoring fine wine. The bubbles tickled, the cold a stark contrast to the heat of his breath, and she was panting by the time he reached the crease where her thigh met her pelvis.

“Anthony, I swear to god—”

He cut her off by finally, finally dragging his tongue through her folds. The champagne had diluted her arousal just enough to make the taste sharper, brighter, and he groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her clit. Nancy’s back bowed off the table, a broken sob tearing from her throat as he lapped at her, slow and thorough, like he had all the time in the world.

But he didn’t give her what she craved.

Instead, he mimicked the act of sipping, pressing his lips to her entrance and pulling back with a wet, obscene sound, as if he were drinking her. The sensation was maddening—just enough pressure to make her clit throb, but not enough to push her over. He repeated the motion, his tongue flicking out to trace her opening before sealing his mouth over her again, sucking lightly.

“Oh, fuck—” Nancy’s voice was raw, her wrists straining against the silk. “More. Give me more.”

Anthony chuckled darkly, his breath ghosting over her soaked lips. “You’re not in charge anymore, remember?” He pressed another kiss to her inner thigh, then nipped the tender skin, making her gasp. “But since you’re being such a good girl…”

This time, when his mouth covered her, he didn’t stop. His tongue speared inside her, curling to stroke the sensitive flesh just behind her clit, and Nancy screamed, her bound wrists yanking futilely at the napkins. He fucked her with his tongue, deep and slow, then pulled back to circle her clit with the flat of it, applying just enough pressure to make her thighs shake.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his lips brushing her folds as he spoke. “Let me hear you. Let me taste you.”

She was so close, her body coiled tight, her breath coming in ragged sobs. He could feel her pulse against his tongue, her hips rolling in desperate little circles as she chased her release. But just as her muscles began to flutter, he pulled back, blowing a cool stream of air over her drenched pussy.

“No—!” The denial was a wail, her body trembling with the effort of holding back. “Don’t you dare stop—”

Anthony didn’t answer. Instead, he reached for the champagne bottle again, tilting it so a thin stream poured directly onto her clit. The cold shock made her jerk, her back arching off the table as the bubbles fizzed against her most sensitive flesh. Before she could recover, his mouth was on her again, his tongue lapping up the champagne, the chill of it mixing with the heat of her arousal.

And then he sucked.

His lips sealed over her clit, his tongue pressing flat against it as he pulled back, the suction so intense it bordered on pain. Nancy’s vision whited out. Her orgasm crashed over her like a wave, her body convulsing as she screamed his name, her wrists straining against the silk bonds. Anthony didn’t let up, his tongue working her through it, drawing out every last shudder until she was a boneless, trembling mess beneath him.

Only then did he pull back, his lips slick with her, his beard glistening. He crawled up her body, bracing his hands on either side of her head as he loomed over her. His cock, thick and leaking, pressed against her stomach, and she could feel the heat of him, the way he pulsed with need.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough with desire. “Say it.”

Nancy’s hazel eyes locked onto his, her chest heaving. For a moment, he thought she might resist—her pride, her fear of surrendering too much, warring with the raw, open need in her gaze. But then her lips parted, her voice a broken whisper.

“Yours.”

The word was barely out before his mouth crashed onto hers, his tongue sweeping inside to claim her, to let her taste herself on his lips. She kissed him back desperately, her bound wrists twisting as she tried to touch him, to pull him closer. He reached between them, gripping his cock, and guided himself to her entrance, the head already slick with pre-cum.

“Again,” he demanded, pressing just the tip inside her. “Say it again.”

“Yours,” she gasped, her hips lifting to take more of him. “I’m yours, Anthony, now fuck me—”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

With one deep, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, swallowing her cry with another searing kiss. The table groaned beneath them, the silk napkins straining as she wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his ass. He set a punishing pace, each snap of his hips driving her back against the wood, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the loft.

Nancy was still sensitive from her orgasm, her inner walls clenching around him with every thrust, milking him. He could feel her nails digging into her palms, her bound wrists trembling as she fought for purchase, for control. But there was none to be had—not here, not like this. She was his, and he was going to make sure she remembered it.

“Look at me,” he ordered, gripping her chin to force her gaze to his. Her eyes were glazed, her lips parted and swollen from his kisses. “You’re mine, Nancy. This perfect, greedy cunt is mine. Your moans, your screams, your fucking orgasms—”

“Yes—!” The word broke into a sob as he angled his hips, his cock dragging over that spot inside her that made her see stars. “Yours, only yours—”

His release crashed over him like a tidal wave, his cock pulsing deep inside her as he came with a guttural groan, his seed filling her in hot, thick spurts. Nancy followed him over the edge, her second orgasm wrung from her by the sheer force of his possession, her body clamping down around him as she screamed his name.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing, the scent of sex and champagne thick in the air. Anthony collapsed onto his elbows, his forehead pressing to hers, their bodies still joined. The table creaked ominously beneath them, but neither cared.

Slowly, he reached up, untangling the silk napkins from her wrists. The skin beneath was pink, marked from the restraints, and he pressed a kiss to each wrist before rubbing them gently. Nancy let out a shaky breath, her fingers finally free to tangle in his hair, to trace the sweat-slicked planes of his back.

“We’re so fucked,” she murmured against his lips, her voice raw.

Anthony huffed a laugh, rolling them onto their sides on the table, their bodies still tangled together. The remnants of their feast stuck to their skin, the champagne bottle long since empty, the loft a mess of scattered food and rumpled silk. But none of it mattered.

“Yeah,” he agreed, pressing a kiss to her temple. “But I think we’ve been fucked for a while now.”

Nancy let out a watery laugh, her fingers tightening in his. Outside, the golden light of afternoon had begun to fade, the shadows stretching long across the floor. Neither of them moved to get up. Neither of them mentioned the lie they’d been telling themselves for weeks—one more hour.

Because the truth was, they both knew.

There was no going back.