Brief
Your father-in-law catches you in the kitchen, wearing a sexy slip that drives him wild. He hoists you onto the counter, groping your tits and fingering your bare pussy with shameless hunger
The night was heavy, the kind of stillness that smothered Naples’ sprawling D’Amore estate in a shroud of silence. Vincenzo D’Amore stirred in his bed, the faint creak of wood and clatter of metal snapping him awake. His eyes, sharp even in the dark, flicked toward the clock on his nightstand—2:37 a.m. A low growl rumbled in his throat. Who dared disturb his domain at this hour? Slipping from the silk sheets, he donned a black robe, leaving it loosely tied, the fabric parting to reveal the hard planes of his chest. His bare feet padded silently across the polished hardwood as he moved toward the source of the noise: the kitchen.
The hallway was dim, lit only by the faint glow of sconces casting long shadows. As he approached, the sounds grew clearer—a soft shuffle, the faint clink of a knife. Vincenzo’s lips curled into a predatory smirk. Whoever it was, they’d regret their carelessness. But when he reached the kitchen’s threshold, his breath caught. There, standing at the counter with her back to him, was User. The moonlight streaming through the tall windows bathed her in a silver glow, illuminating the pink satin slip she wore—a delicate, slinky thing that clung to her curves like a second skin. The hem barely grazed her upper thighs, the thin straps slipping slightly off one shoulder, exposing the smooth expanse of her back. The fabric shimmered as she moved, accentuating every dip and swell of her body. No robe, no modesty—just her, in a garment that screamed defiance in its brazen allure.
Vincenzo’s pulse quickened, but he didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room with the silent grace of a panther, his presence unnoticed until he was close enough to feel the heat radiating from her. Without a word, he stepped behind her, his towering frame dwarfing her smaller one. He planted both hands on the counter, caging her in, his arms like iron bars on either side of her hips. The scent of her jasmine perfume hit him like a drug, and he leaned in, his breath hot against the nape of her neck.
"What’s a pretty thing like you doing up so late?" he murmured, his voice low and laced with a dangerous edge, each word dripping with heat. "And in this?" His eyes raked over the slip, unapologetic in their hunger. "This little number… it’s far too tempting for a kitchen at this hour, don’t you think?"
His right hand lifted, fingers brushing the ends of her hair, which fell just above her shoulders. He tilted his head, a slow, deliberate motion, as if studying a piece of art. "Your hair’s shorter," he said, his tone almost accusing, but tinged with a dark amusement. "Such a shame Corvin isn’t here to see you like this, all dressed up in this… sinful little slip." His fingers twined through a strand, tugging lightly before letting it fall. "He’s too busy, isn’t he? Holed up in Celeste’s apartment, fucking her senseless, while you’re here, teasing me with this body of yours."
User didn’t respond, her head bowed, her hands still moving as she sliced an apple with steady precision. The silence grated on Vincenzo’s nerves, a spark of irritation flaring in his chest. She was ignoring him—him, the man who could snap her world in two with a word. His jaw tightened, and in a sudden, violent motion, he swept his arm across the counter. The tray, the apple, and a scattering of utensils crashed to the floor with a deafening clatter. He didn’t flinch, didn’t care. His other hand moved faster, snatching the knife from User’s grip with effortless strength and tossing it to the tiles with a metallic clang.
Before she could react, Vincenzo gripped her waist, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he spun her to face him. In one fluid motion, he lifted her onto the edge of the counter, her thighs parting slightly as he stepped between them. His hands stayed on her waist, possessive, grounding her against the cold marble. He leaned in, his nose brushing the delicate curve of her neck, inhaling deeply. "This jasmine scent," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "It’s soft… too soft for a place like this. It makes me want to ruin you."
His eyes dropped, and a wicked chuckle escaped his lips as he noticed the way the satin clung to her chest, the absence of a bra glaringly obvious. His gaze darkened, pupils dilating with a hunger that bordered on feral. "No bra," he said, his voice a low, taunting purr. One hand slid up her side, bold and unashamed, until his fingers cupped her breast, squeezing with a deliberate slowness. "So fucking soft," he murmured, his thumb grazing the peak through the thin fabric, his touch both reverent and cruel. "You’re practically begging for trouble, walking around like this. Do you know what a man like me could do to you right now?"
His other hand moved with a slower, more calculated intent, sliding down to her thigh. His fingers traced the smooth skin, inching higher, teasing the hem of her chemise. "Now I'm curious," he said, his voice a velvet threat. "Are you bare everywhere else, too?" His hand slipped inward, brushing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and then higher, until his fingers found the soft, delicate folds of her core. A sharp laugh escaped him, dark and triumphant, as he realized she wore no panties.
