Chapter 17: The Impulsive Kiss

POV: Beatrice

It was hard not to kiss him, it was hard to feel him, and yet not want his alcoholic breath on my cheek to mix with my uncontrolled breathing.

"I'm not just doing this for dignity's sake, ragazza. I don't need to force you, I'll still have enough time to enjoy every inch of you when you're in my hand." While he was still talking, my eyes found the desk where the white paper rested, face up. It was completely visible to Stefano if he leaned over a little and looked in that direction.

"Remember how you said my dress was acceptable? It seems to be much more than that now, while you're looking at me like that, Stefano." I said, trying to provoke him and get his attention.

While my hands remained firmly on his shoulders, the grip of his hands on my leg intensified, reaching its apex when he finally let go of me, suggesting that he wanted to move away. But Stefano was still caught in my gaze, just as I was in his eyes. I quickly found a way to prevent Stefano from seeing the photograph there. Without ceremony, I took him by surprise and pushed Stefano's body back a few steps until he was glued to the dresser. His eyes drifted cautiously towards my hands, noticing my bold fingers touching his skin. A twinge of irritation seemed to run through his face, about to echo in words that might have driven me away, but before it did, an impulsive boldness tamed me. My breath finally mingled with his, and my irises, once lost, were now hypnotically focused on a single point: his lips, which were slightly ajar, inviting, as if they were eager to meet mine. When his lips moved, and I came closer, touching my mouth to his, I didn't care about the photograph; I didn't even remember it. The soft, warm texture against my skin enveloped me for the first time. Instinctively, I asked for passage, caressing his lower lip with the tip of my tongue. Stefano's body was rigid, even though he seemed to respond to my touch. Stefano didn't touch me until that moment when he didn't give way and instead decided to move, taking my hands off his shoulder with a firm, quick touch on his forearm. In a matter of seconds, he spun me against the table, his arm around my waist, reversing the roles. He released me, wrapping one hand around my lower back, while the other lifted my face to his, his fingers gripping my collarbone, before sliding his thumb to my lower lip, which by now was ajar. He slowly moved his finger down until my lip lightly hit my gum, before leaning his body against mine, his tongue invading my mouth without even asking for passage, certain that he would have it anyway. My sweet taste mingled with the taste of alcohol in his mouth as our tongues danced in perfect rhythm.

Stefano guided the kiss deftly, exploring every corner of my mouth with an urgency that left me breathless. His lips were soft but firm, and the heat of his body pressed against mine made my skin burn with desire. My hands gripped the edge of the desk, seeking support as our bodies pressed even closer together. The feel of the cold wood against my skin contrasted with the burning heat radiating from us, especially when I noticed the texture of the paper in my hands, I finally remembered the point of it all. I held the paper tightly, trying to keep my concentration and ignore the explosion of sensations that Stefano's kiss provoked in me. As our lips continued to move in perfect harmony, I discreetly slid the paper back, moving it out of Stefano's sight.

At the same moment, I felt his hands tighten around my waist with a strength that denoted latent anger. Stefano was now sucking impatiently on my lower lip, and then his lips bit and pulled mine in a mixture of pleasure and possessiveness. The pleasurable pain was intertwined with lust, creating a symphony of contradictory sensations, and then he met my tongue again in a voracious way, increasing the pace and pressure of the kiss.

As our mouths met and pulled apart at an increasingly frantic pace, I could feel his anger at something trying to be vented, as if out of nowhere he hated me even more and needed to get rid of it by kissing me. Every touch of our lips seemed to overflow with urgency, and it was good, very good. My breathing became irregular, each inhale filled with the intoxicating scent of alcohol in his mouth, mixed with the fury in his posture.

Our tongues danced in battle, and Stefano explored every inch of my mouth. Soon I was lost in his lips again; a moan almost escaped my throat, but then he ended the kiss and pulled his face away from mine for good.

His dark, appraising eyes were fixed on mine as if he knew what I had just done as if he was torn between the need to push me away and the desire to keep me close right now. My panting echoed in the silent room as he kept his hand firmly on my waist, our lips still moist and swollen. I took a deep breath, trying to regain my composure, even though my heart was still pounding.

Stefano slid his hand from my waist, and in a matter of seconds, his fingers grasped the photograph, aware of what I was doing. He stared at the paper for a moment, his eyes scanning the image without showing any reaction, although his tense jaw, rigid body, and discreet sigh gave away the fact that the photo affected him. His gaze fixed on the figure portrayed, and I wondered if those features drawn on his face had something to do with nostalgia and regret, as if bitter memories were resurfacing in front of that image. But when Stefano slid his finger over the photograph as he seemed to stiffen more and more and simply tore the paper, I was sure they didn't. After several seconds, he finally looked at the picture, without showing any reaction. After several seconds, he finally looked at me, the torn object still in his hands. He didn't say anything to me, although he made sure that his countenance delivered a mixture of disapproval and coldness as he walked away.

When he was far enough away from me, my body was a mixture of nervousness and curiosity, since Stefano always seemed so inaccessible, unshakable, and emotionless. I stared at Stefano, knowing that perhaps I had crossed a line I shouldn't have crossed when I broke into his room, his dark eyes analyzed me again, and it all seemed almost suffocating.

"I know it was a mistake, Stefano... I shouldn't have done it," I muttered, looking away momentarily.

"What did you expect to find there?" His voice was low, and rough, but also indifferent, especially as he crumpled the object in his hand.