Chapter 2: Moonlit Temptation
The distant jazz faded to a murmur as Rina led Pedro down a narrow, ivy-covered path, away from the glittering throng spilling out of the ballroom doors. Cobblestones, worn smooth by centuries, gleamed silver under the moon. The scent of night-blooming jasmine thickened the air, almost cloying, mixed with damp earth and the faint mineral tang of the old stone fountain ahead. Fairy lights strung through ancient olive trees cast dancing, fragmented shadows.
She stopped by the fountain’s edge, the sound of splashing water louder here. Moonlight caught the diamonds at her throat and ears, scattering sharp, cold sparks against the warm glow of her skin. Pedro’s hand, still firm on the small of her back from guiding her off the main path, slid lower, possessive and heavy, spanning the curve of her hip beneath the scarlet silk. His knuckles brushed the bare skin revealed by the gown’s low back.
"You planned this, didn't you?" he murmured, his voice a graveled rumble against her temple. His breath was warm, smelling faintly of the French whisky he’d been sipping.
She tilted her head, turning her face towards him. Her eyes, sapphires catching moonlight, glinted with pure, unapologetic mischief. A slow, knowing smirk curved her lips as they brushed the sensitive shell of his ear. "I always plan for us, Papi."
His other hand came up, rough fingers tracing the delicate gold embroidery at her shoulder. "This dress," he said, the words thick. "All night… watching you in this fucking dress. Knowing it’s just… silk. Knowing what’s underneath."
"Mmm," she hummed, leaning back slightly into his solid frame, feeling the hard planes of his chest and abdomen against her spine. "Aren’t you glad I wore it?"
His response was to dip his head, his lips finding the pulse point hammering in her throat. Not gentle. A claiming bite, sharp enough to make her gasp, followed by the soothing rasp of his tongue. His hand on her hip tightened, pulling her flush against him. She could feel the rigid outline of his cock straining against the fine wool of his trousers, pressing insistently into the small of her back. Heat pooled low in her belly, immediate and liquid.
"Yes," he breathed against her skin, the single word vibrating through her. "Glad you wore it. Glad I get to take it off."
"Pedro," she gasped as his free hand slid around her front, palm flattening low on her stomach, fingers splaying possessively. He pushed her hair aside, exposing the length of her neck and shoulder, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the sensitive column. His rough stubble scraped deliciously.
"Fuck the premiere," he growled, his voice muffled against her skin. His hand on her stomach slid lower, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of her panties, seeking the heat between her legs. She arched back against him with a sharp cry as his fingers brushed through slick, soft curls.
"So wet," he groaned, his voice thick with hunger. "Fucking soaked for me already, Rina?" Two fingers slid easily into her, deep and knowing, curling deliberately against that spot inside that made stars burst behind her eyelids. "Jesus. Just from walking? From me touching you like this?"
"Yes! Oh god, Pedro!" Her head fell back against his shoulder, her hips rocking instinctively against his hand, fucking herself on his fingers. The silk gown felt unbearably heavy, trapping her heat. His thumb found her clit, rubbing tight, insistent circles. Pleasure, sharp and electric, shot up her spine.
"Gonna make you come right here," he promised, his breath hot and ragged in her ear. His fingers pumped deeper, faster, his thumb relentless. "Against this fountain. Dress on. Let them all hear you scream my name."
She was close, so close, the tension coiling unbearably tight. But she needed him. Not just his hand. She gripped the wrist of the hand moving between her legs, stilling it. "No. Not yet. Inside me. Now, Papi. Fuck me. Right here."
He let out a harsh groan, withdrawing his fingers. Swiftly, almost violently, he spun her around to face him. The hunger in his dark eyes was primal, almost feral. He gripped the neckline of the Ferré gown, not tearing it, but pulling it roughly down her shoulders, baring her breasts to the cool night air. The diamonds at her throat swung wildly. He bent his head, sucking a tight, hard nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking roughly over the tip, teeth grazing.
She cried out, fingers tangling in his dark hair, holding him there. "Pedro!" His name was a gasp, a plea.
He lifted his head, lips wet, eyes burning. He fumbled with the fastening of his trousers, freeing his cock. It jutted out, thick and rigid, the tip already slick. He pushed the silk of her gown and the flimsy lace of her panties aside with impatient hands, bunching the fabric at her waist.
"Hold onto the fountain," he commanded, his voice rough.
She braced her hands on the cool, damp stone ledge of the fountain behind her, arching her back, presenting herself. He stepped between her legs, one hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise, the other guiding himself to her entrance. He didn't tease. He pushed in, one thick, relentless thrust that stretched her, filled her completely, stealing her breath.
"FUCK!" she screamed, the sound echoing slightly in the secluded garden, masked only by the splash of water. "Oh fuck, yes!"
"Tight," he ground out, his voice strained as he buried himself to the hilt, pausing for a heartbeat, letting her feel every hard inch. "So fucking tight and wet. My god, Rina." He withdrew almost completely, then slammed back in, setting a brutal, demanding pace from the start. The sound of flesh meeting flesh, sharp and wet, mingled with the splashing water and her choked moans. His thrusts were deep, powerful, driving her against the stone edge.
She met him thrust for thrust, pushing back, taking him deeper. The rough stone scraped the backs of her thighs, the silk bunched at her waist. His hands were everywhere – gripping her hips, sliding up to palm her breasts, thumbing her hard nipples, then back to anchor her, pulling her onto his cock with every powerful drive of his hips. The air was thick with the smell of sex, jasmine, and sweat.
"Tell me," he demanded, his voice ragged, punctuated by grunts as he fucked her. "Tell me who you belong to."
"You!" she gasped, the word ripped from her throat. "Always you! Fuck! Pedro! Harder!"
He obeyed, his pace becoming almost punishing, the force of his thrusts knocking the breath from her lungs. One hand slid down her belly, fingers finding her clit again, rubbing hard and fast in time with his brutal strokes. The dual assault was overwhelming. Her inner muscles clenched violently around his cock, the climax tearing through her with shocking intensity. She screamed, a raw, uninhibited sound, her body convulsing, her nails digging into the stone.
"Christ, yes," Pedro groaned, feeling her clench and spasm around him. "Come all over my cock, baby. Fuck, that’s it." His own control shattered. With a final, guttural roar, he thrust deep and held there, his body shuddering as he emptied himself inside her, hot pulses of release flooding her depths. He collapsed forward, his forehead pressing against her bare shoulder, his breath coming in harsh gasps that fogged her cool skin.
They stayed locked together, trembling, the only sounds their ragged breathing and the relentless splash of the fountain. The fairy lights above spun lazily in her vision. Slowly, carefully, he withdrew, helping her stand upright as the silk gown slid back down her body. His hands were gentle now as he straightened the fabric over her hips, his touch unexpectedly reverent against the skin he’d just marked with such fierce possession.
He cupped her face, turning her towards him. His eyes, dark and intense, searched her moonlit face – flushed, lips swollen, mascara smudged beneath eyes still hazy with pleasure. He smoothed a stray tendril of blonde hair back from her damp forehead. "Mi vida," he breathed, his voice rough but tender.
She leaned into his touch, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. Her hand reached down, tucking him back into his trousers, fastening them with slow, deliberate movements. Her fingers brushed the dampness there – her slickness mixed with his release. She didn't flinch.
The distant jazz started up again, a slow, sultry number drifting through the garden. The sounds of the party seemed louder now, intrusive.
"Lipstick's wrecked," she murmured, her thumb tracing the smudged crimson at the corner of his mouth.
His grin was wolfish, unrepentant. "Worth it."
She pulled a small compact from the hidden pocket sewn into the gown's seam. Moonlight flashed on the mirror as she quickly, efficiently wiped away the worst of the smudges around her eyes and reapplied her lipstick, the familiar ritual grounding her. She offered the compact to him. He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief, watching her.
"Ready to face the vultures again?" he asked, his hand finding hers, lacing their fingers together.
She took a deep breath, the scent of sex and jasmine still clinging to her skin, the ache between her thighs a delicious, secret reminder. She looked towards the distant glow of the ballroom, then back at him, her eyes clear and sharp again, that familiar spark of command returning.
"Always," Rina Lincoln said. She squeezed his hand. "But they get the actress now. What just happened? That was just for us." She smoothed the creased silk one last time, adjusted the diamond necklace gleaming at her throat, and turned towards the light and the noise, pulling him with her. The garden, and the raw, desperate passion it had witnessed, receded into the fragrant, moon-silvered shadows behind them.