Caught in a mess

9- Little Temptress

Flattening my hands against his shoulders, I tensed, ready to push his imposing form away from me as I felt the bulging pressure of his head against my most intimate part. But before I could react, he abruptly stopped, his sudden change surprising me.

"What the fuck do you want?" His voice was harsh, cutting through the charged atmosphere like a blade, and I trembled, but not in a way that signaled pleasure.

Caught off guard by his outburst, I recoiled slightly, my heart pounding erratically in my chest. His words hung heavy in the air, a harsh contrast to the heated atmosphere that had enveloped us moments before.

It took me a moment to register that his anger wasn't directed at me, but at the figure standing behind him.

Flushed with embarrassment at being caught in such a compromising position with a stranger, I squirmed, desperate to release myself from his grasp. Yet, my futile attempts only seemed to fuel his desire, intensifying the friction between us as I unwittingly pressed against his arousal.

I couldn't help but wonder how we had found ourselves in such a precarious situation, teetering on the edge of both pleasure and disgrace.

"Stop squirming, unless you want to be fucked while he's here," he groaned, his voice strained with the effort of restraint, as if he were hanging on by a thread of control.

His words struck me like a lightning bolt, igniting a mixture of fear and excitement within me. I froze, my movements ceasing as the gravity of his threat sank in.

Beneath his looming form, I felt a surge of relief that my nakedness was shielded from the prying eyes of whoever stood behind him. His large body provided a protective barrier, providing a thin veil of privacy in the midst of our indiscretion. But even as relief washed over me, I couldn't shake the nagging sense of vulnerability that lingered just beneath the surface, a reminder of the precariousness of our situation.

"Vaffanculo," he grunted, the Italian expletive slipping from his lips like a curse. (fuck off )

The man took off without a second glance, disappearing into the crowd. I felt a surge of relief wash over me.

"Here and now isn't the right time," he muttered, his words tinged with a hint of resignation, as if he were trying to convince himself as much as me. But even as he spoke, the lingering desire between us crackled in the air like electricity, refusing to be extinguished.

"Where's the pleasure in fucking you if I can't hear you scream my name," he breathed, his voice low and husky with need, his grip tightening on my ass as if to emphasize his point.

"When I fuck you—and I will fuck you, gattino," his voice dripped with a potent blend of lust and dominance, sending a thrill down my spine. "There are only going to be two rules," he continued, his breath hot against my ear.

My heart raced in anticipation as I waited, hanging on his every word, knowing that whatever followed would bind us together in ways I could scarcely imagine.

"One, there will be no condoms," he stated firmly, his declaration sending a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins. I could only nod in response, my voice caught in my throat, the intensity of his gaze leaving me unable to form coherent words.

Fear mingled with desire as I dared not speak, afraid that any sound escaping my lips would betray the longing that coursed through me.

"Two," his hot breath fanned against my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "Don't you dare fucking stop screaming my name till you lose that voice of yours, gattino, understood?"

His command hung in the air, heavy with expectation, and I struggled to comprehend the intensity of his demand. How was it even possible when I didn't even know his name?