Why don't you get a taste?
Golden girl Alison Rivers has it all: brains, looks, money, a father who adores her, and any man she wants... Or so she thought.
When she sets her eyes on Lorenzo Visconti, her academy's Italian, irresistible principal, sh...
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The delicate touch of his fingertips awakens my senses, making my skin erupt in goosebumps as adrenaline starts coursing through my veins. My breathing turns shallow from the anticipation, so much that it's making me lightheaded.
He reaches the hem of my panties and lets his fingers play with it in a teasing manner, glancing at me with a smirk, asserting his dominance. He's aware of the power he has over me.
I spread my legs in a silent plead, hoping that he would end this sweet torture and rip my last piece of clothing off my body. I ache all over as every single one of my cells craves a different sort of touch, a much more intense one.
The dazzlingly handsome man hums instead, showing me just how careless he is, how much patience he has left, unlike me.
A pathetic whimper leaves my lips as I roll my hips upwards, and I can feel myself getting restless. Tears of frustration would soon begin to fall down my cheeks.
"Just beg for what you want, princess." He's mocking me with the use of that nickname. He knows just how spoiled I am and how I never have to beg for anything, and he wants to prove just how bloody powerful he is.
As of now, pride can go to hell for all I care. Certainly, I'm not one to dislike submission in bed, it's actually what I'm best at. It just irks me that I already have to do it, he doesn't deserve it that easily. But it's either pride or pleasure. "Mr. Visconti, please..."
His smirk gets wider, turning into a rather satisfied grin, but that's not enough for him. "Please what?"
"Put it in, please... I need you... I need to feel you inside me..." My voice is so breathy that my words barely sound coherent, but he understands me.
One long finger slides across the crotch of my panties and ends up being pressed against my inner thigh. With one hand, he moves the lace to the side and that one finger settles on my little nub of nerves, slowly drawing small circles around it. "Maybe later, if you get your act straight."
I protest childishly, whining and squirming, and a surprised gasp claws up my throat after his hand comes down onto my wet flesh in a harsh slap.
"You need to learn how to fucking behave." He hisses in my ear, right before biting the lobe. "Or else I'll have to teach you, and it will be painful."
I am about to tell him just how much I like pain, but I suddenly hear another voice, seemingly far away from us, yet so clear. It's my dad.
"Ali? Ali, sweetie." His hand was on my shoulder, gently shaking me. "Wake up."
The 3-hour-long shopping session must have knocked me out. My eyes fluttered open and an immediate feeling of annoyance enveloped me, both because it had been all just a dream and because I hadn't been able to at least finish it. "What?"
"Come out of the car. It's time for lunch."
A delighted smile formed on my face when I noticed that we were at Per Se, the best French restaurant in New York— at least in my opinion. "Oh, so this is why you chose elegant slacks for Christmas shopping." I encircled his left arm with mine and leaned against him as we walked to the entrance.
