43. Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Two
Olivia
A door clicks and my eyes spring wide, the pitch black of the bedroom falling in on me as I sit up and try to get my bearings. A light beneath the bathroom door has relief chasing any momentary fear of grasping hands in the dark, the sound of a tap running settling my flamed nerves. Alessandrio. The urge to fall out of bed and run to the bathroom is so strong, and yet there is some residual resentment at his earlier behaviour that makes me hesitant.
Lucia received text messages from Emilio throughout the evening, brief messages that made both our hearts stop and our faces tighten as we fed into each other’s anxiety. As she read the messages and her face melted into a warm mask of loveliness, I felt a twitch of jealousy. I’ve never owned a phone, never had need of one, but for the first time in my life I wished I did, just so I could feel a pinch of what she felt in those moments. Instead, I had to wait for this moment, for him to come back so I could feel the full intensity of his absence.
It’s that intensity that has me sliding from the bed, toes curling in the plush carpet as I make my way across the room. My hand falters as it reaches for the handle, uncertainty at what I will find behind the door making me hesitate. Dark thoughts tumble in, of a young boy on the other side of a bathroom door, banging on the wood, calling for his mother. My throat closes up painfully and I turn the handle, praying he hasn’t locked me out.
He hasn’t. The image he cuts has my knees buckling with his wild beauty and his obvious despair. He is a fallen god sitting on the edge of the bathtub. His powerful body is a beautiful image of curled defeat, head bent low, horns glinting, long legs kicked out before him, the muscles of his thighs cutting curving angles along their length. He is naked completely, and it’s my stumbling steps that draw his attention, raising his head, blue baleful eyes rising to watch me. It’s then I notice the dark stain marring the fur on his upper arm, his hands coated in more dark stains. I hesitate for only a beat before reaching for that arm.
“You’re hurt,” I whisper, but he moves away from my grip.
“A flesh wound,” he hisses.
All my anger comes spilling back in. I spent the entire night stressing over and worrying about him and still he’s choosing to shut me out. I glare back at him and fold my arms over my chest, ready for this war.
“Do you want me to take the other room?” I hate the way my voice wavers, but if he is going to treat me like the enemy, he can do it from the next room.
“Don’t even think about it,” he replies through gritted teeth, fingers tightening on the lip of the tub.
I could ask him what’s wrong, but I know that there are too many things. Even now, I see the weight of it all pressing down on his broad shoulders. He looks lost, angry but lost, and I know that feeling so well. Turning away, I turn the shower on, feeling him watching me as I adjust the taps and check the spray. Satisfied, I face him again and raise the sweatshirt—his sweatshirt over my head and shimmy my panties off. All the while, his eyes watch as I strip naked before him and pin my hair up.
This time when I reach for him, he doesn’t pull away. He lets me tug him to his feet, gaze narrowed as I draw him into the shower, where he towers over me. His fur instantly clings to his body in the downpour, but I see his face soften as the warmth of it works into his body.
“Let me take care of you,” I plead and he only nods in response, eyes closing.
I use the shampoo to lather his fur, working my fingers into the muscles beneath and learning each curve anew as I go. When I get to his arm, I notice with relief it is just a flesh wound, but the fur has been singed around the cut, the skin beneath raw and angry.
“You were shot at?” I get out around the rock rising in my throat and again, he only nods.
I press my lips to his shoulder, just above the wound, and feel him tense. When I reach for his hands, he pulls away. I let him when I see how the water dripping from them runs red. Whose blood is that? The question is on the tip of my tongue, but from the way he scrubs mercilessly at his long fingers and claws, I know he’s not ready.
When he’s done and the water runs clear, I shut off the taps before stepping out to grab us both a towel. While drying myself, I watch him vigorously rub at his fur, face a tense mask of sharp angles. We don’t talk as we work and soon the only sound is a toothbrush cleaning his deadly teeth while I watch him through the reflection of the mirror. When he’s done, he still says nothing and my patience seems to have reached its end.
“Why are you being so cold?” I throw the words out, their sound harsh as they disrupt the quiet of the night.
“Because.”
He doesn’t expand, and I lose it. “That is not an answer.” I try to keep my voice down, but cannot hide my disdain. “I, for some silly reason, thought we were a team. You know, me a Mafia boss, you my fake fiancé and protector.” I poke him in the shoulder blade and watch his eyes become glacial in the mirror.
He whirls on me then, “What do you want me to tell you, Olivia? Want me to tell you all the nasty little details of how I killed men tonight? The fate Marco Galdano met at my hands? Because it wasn’t fucking pretty. That we didn’t find your brother? Is that the shit you want to hear?” He steps closer. “This is what I am, who I am. I am capo of my family first and foremost. And I may be your fake fiancé, but shit is very real right now.”
“I know that,” I snap as we stare each other down. “I know it’s very real, knew it the moment you found a man murdered in our home because of the choices we made.”
His entire face changes at that, lips curling in a smile that makes my chest constrict.
“Say that again.” The way his voice shifts to something rough and delicious that confuses my senses has me frowning up in uncertainty.
“What?” I gasp as his hand rises to my throat.
“That thing about our home,” he murmurs, pulling me in close.
I press a hand against his chest, a half-hearted attempt at deflecting him. “Don’t distract me.”
“I am not distracting you. I am trying to cling to some light in the darkness that is my fucking life. Call it selfish, but I want you kept separate from all that, because when I am with you I feel like I have a moment of peace in the chaos.” His eyes rove over my face as his words wrap around my heart and squeeze, the pain very real.
“I can weather your storms, Alessandrio Greco.” So many emotions claw up my throat as he leans in.
This time I don’t deflect. I let this storm carry me, his mouth painfully soft as he sucks and flicks my lower lip, sending jolts of molten heat right to my core. Realizing that I need this as much as he does. Our towels fall away as he forces me back, tiles become carpet, until I find myself sitting on the edge of the bed. His form blots out the light, the contrast of the dark room coating his monstrous features in shadow, so he is just a mass of devilish darkness towering over me.
“I don’t think I can manage gentle tonight.” Something about his admission makes my toes curl.
Bridging the gap, I take his hand and place its soft warmth against my left breast, just over my heart.
“I’m not afraid of you, Alessandrio.” It is both the right and wrong thing to say.
Even in the dark, I see his eyes alight with the challenge and his answering growl of satisfaction. He drops slowly to his knees on the carpet before me and I hold my breath as powerful horns glitter in the light from the bathroom. Firm hands pry my knees apart, baring my heated flesh as he hooks my hips and drags them to the very edge of the bed. I can’t take my eyes off him, the hunger on his low lit face.
“I love this fucking pussy,” his words skitter over my drenched heat and I whimper, bucking my hips as he places my thighs on his shoulders.
The first stroke of his tongue is long and leisurely, catching me by surprise, dragging up and parting me. I lift my hips, covering my face to stifle my moans. So fucking good. His tongue feels so good as it traces small circles around that sensitive bud of nerves.
“Does that feel good Liv?” he murmurs, mouth teasing with each word.
“So fucking good,” I whimper as he lashes at my clit.
Soon I am grasping his horns, trying to lift my hips to grind against his tongue as it taunts and circles me. The noises in my throat are a garbled mess as I bit down on my tongue.
“Greedy girl.” To my absolute horror, he forces my hands from his horns, making me cry out in frustration as he stands.
“Monster,” I whine.
“Your monster.”
When did we become so possessive? When did his apartment become ours? When did he become my monster? Even the thought of him being mine drives me wild. I glare up into his shadowed face as he towers over me.
“That was just the taster. I want you in ways I am not sure you can handle.” His voice is strained and my chest tightens. “Do you trust me?”
I only nod, the weight of that question sitting directly on my chest. He moves to the side of the bed and flicks the small lamp on, illuminating us more. My eyes hungrily sweep over him, the strong mass of muscles covered in fur, the thick, hard length of him. This is better. I want to see him when we do this. Watch those muscles flex as he works my body. He strolls leisurely back to the spot where he left me, on the edge of the bed with my thighs splayed and my pussy on display. My eyes rove over his face, noting the tick in his jaw and the narrowness of his eyes. I gasp as he lifts my feet up and plants them on the bed, spreading me wider and making my pink sex bloom beneath his gaze.
I watch mesmerized as he fists his length and strokes himself from root to tip, his claw tipped hands expertly wrapped and careful.
“You are so fucking pretty like this, spread out for me.” My core clenches at his words.
“Please.” I would beg for this man, crawl on my knees and offer myself up to him.
He only nods and leans down. I expect him to slide his thick cock into me, but it’s his two clawless fingers that slowly dip into my warmth, stretching and filling. Groaning wantonly, I rise on my elbows to watch his hand between my thighs. With one gentle slide, they withdraw almost entirely and the sound that escapes my throat is a plea, but I don’t even need to bother as they slam back in, the heel of his palm colliding with my clit and making my head roll back.
“Fuck,” I gasp, drawing out the word at the delicious feeling.
His fingers begin to fuck me, each slide of them in and out, resulting in a slap against my primed clit. Alessandrio is a master, his fingers building a rhythm that has me gasping and sucking down air like I could drown in this feeling. A warm palm falls onto my abdomen, just below my navel, pressing down. My eyes focus in confusion on his face, which has become a knowing smile as his fingers curl deep inside me, his thrusts becoming more shallow as the friction on that delicious bud becomes insistent, demanding even.
“Oh my God.” I can’t tell if I have whispered those words or said them aloud, but my mouth has seemed to form them either way.
Oh God, what is he doing to me? I grip the sheets and try to back away, but he presses me down with that hand on my abdomen.
“Trust me,” Alessandrio mutters, his eyes becoming narrowed as he works his sorcery.
The pressure of his hand, the curling of those fingers and the rub of his cupped palm has me grasping at the sheets, frantic.
“Please.” Please what? I don’t really know. I don’t want him to stop, but know if he forges on, I would have to give myself over entirely. This building pressure is so intense, so deep that I am not sure I trust myself. Trust me. His words are my anchor and I do trust him. The pressure builds, coiling me tighter.
“Let it go Olivia,” he commands, as if feeling the hesitance in my body. “Give me everything.”
It’s a lot, my fingers become claws against the cotton of the sheets, my heels pressing into the mattress as if preparing to pull push away from those hands and this feeling. All of it is something new, something that I know if I let go of, I might not be the same. The sounds coming from my body are becoming obscene. I am so fucking wet. And still his fingers curl, pressing into my insides with each thrust, massaging something I didn’t even know existed. I collapse back, giving into him, letting the tendrils of my control slip as I press my hand to my mouth, trying to contain my scream.
“That’s it. Good girl.” It’s those words that send me over the edge.
The dam of my pleasure cracks wide and breaks over me. There’s a gush of warmth and the sound of true wetness as I come with a force that has my back arching off the bed, knuckles pressed to my teeth as I drown in this feeling.
“Yes,” his triumphant declaration is my tether. “You did so fucking well baby.” His lips press against my clit, jolting me as the pressure eases, but the aftershock makes my legs quiver as I slam them closed on his hand.
“Oh my God,” I gasp and realize I’m crying—from pleasure.
What he just did to me was beyond the limits I thought possible. I feel the bed shift beside me and his soft lips on my cheek, forehead, and neck.
“What was that?” I cry, clutching his shoulders to hold myself steady.
“I just made you squirt,” he whispers in my ear, kissing the lobe. “But that was just the beginning.” Just the beginning? That was life changing. Squirting, whatever that was, was something else entirely. “I want your body to be ready for me.” He rolls me onto my side, pulling my back against his chest.
“I am ready for you.” Always ready. Just the sound of his voice makes me burn for him.
His fingers trail over my hip, cupping my butt cheek, and I gasp when he spreads me wide, the length of him sliding against my drenched folds from behind, coating himself in my release.
“I want this.” I feel it then, his finger sliding up between my cheeks to that taut ring of muscles. I look over my shoulder at him, wide eyed as that finger circles me. It feels so wrong, yet so right, and a moan slips from my mouth. “Do you trust me?” he growls, blue eyes boring into mine over my shoulder.
“Yes,” I whisper back in a shaky uncertainty.
With that one word, he is rolling me onto my stomach. The bed shifts as he lifts his weight, pulling my hips back and lifting my butt high. He shamelessly circles a finger, soft and teasing, around the rim of my most private place. It dips in, pressing through the barrier of resistance, and I grip the sheets, gasping into them at this unfamiliar sensation, my body clutching at this new invasion. Oh God, why does this feel so good? My body is his to master and I have no wish to stop him as he swirls that finger, stretching and filling my asshole. I barely feel the bed shift, so distracted by this new level, his finger deep in my ass. I buck as something warm and ridged slides against my heated core, parting my flesh to glide against my swollen clit.
“Sweet mercy,” I gasp, biting the pillow to smother the throaty moan as I writhe on his length, thrusting back into that finger.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” that finger slips from my tight hole. “Look at you.” I raise my head in surprise as he parts my cheeks roughly, spreading me so wide that I know I’m open to him.
“Oh God,” I cry in disbelief as he spits into me, coating those inner muscles.
I won’t survive him, fairly sure that I will not leave this room the same person as his cock slides back along my dripping flesh, coating itself in the aftermath of my limits he’s already met. Gasping, I clutch at anything as the tip of his cock slides up, up and up.
“Shhh,” he whispers as he keeps me spread wide, and his cock tip teases the tight entrance. “I’m coated in your cum, lubricated to help me enter this tight little asshole.”
I bury my face in the pillow, my hair falling around my shoulders as I bite down on it. He spits again and I jerk at the feeling of it. The hands on my hips tighten, pulling them higher and the tip of his cock teases my tight hole.
“I’m going to fill you with my cock and cum until you can’t even remember your own name,” he murmurs.
Alessandrio presses in so slowly, the sensation so intense I am clawing at the sheets, clutching for a lifeline as he eases into me. Inch by desperate inch, I feel him fill me up, stretching my body to its absolute limit as I try to breathe through the intensity.
“That’s it, breath baby. You are taking me so well.”
His praise is my light in the darkness. It’s what spurs me on, why I grasp my cheeks in my hand and spread myself wide just to ease his passage.
“You are a natural,” he chuckles. “I’m going to fuck it now. Are you ready?”
No, but yes? This is next level, the intensity, the feeling. He thrusts slowly at first, my body clutching at him despite the invasion. His own grunts of pleasure mix with my gasps of oh God, and fuck yes. I was made for him, made to take him anyway he needs. He’s pushed me to the utter limits and yet when his thrusts become harder and faster, I let go of everything and give myself over. When his hand slides beneath my hips and begins toying with my clit again, the pleasure wraps around my throat. I press my face into the pillow to smother the sounds of this overwhelming feeling as he fucks my ass while strumming my body to the brink of no return. I am at his mercy, and not just because of the sex. There are too many new feelings, things I feel that scare me more than him owning my body.
“Your body is clutching my cock. Do you feel that?”
“Yes,” I cry out, the sound muffled.
He is a force. The way he fucks, the way he speaks, the way he moves. He is a religious experience and I cry again as his fingers work my clit while he impales me on his length. This time, my orgasm meets me with the inevitability of an unavoidable collision as he continues to fuck my ass, those ridges beginning to expand, his own release impending. A velvet hand trails up my spine to grip my shoulder and pull me back on his length.
“Fuck…. Liv…” his moan rips through my senses.
We are so fucking good together. We feel so fucking good together and it breaks my goddamned heart.