Chapter Seven #7
I can’t talk, too busy tasting him, so I nod with enthusiasm.
It pays off. He pulls on the necktie, and my weeping dick is finally free.
It hurts and feels good at the same time.
His fingers change the angle inside me, and like a tsunami it hits me.
I see fireworks behind my eyelids as I start convulsing.
I hear myself moaning long and loud. He had me come so many times already that my jizz has turned clear.
I’m still shaking when I feel my ass being lifted, and then Luca slams inside me. Bareback. Oh shit! He’s fucking me raw. My eyes roll back as more cum shoots out of my dick. He gives me four thrusts, a loud growl, then he pulls out and flips me on my back.
“Open your fucking mouth,” he snarls, straddling my torso while pumping his length.
Gaze locked on mine, he grits his teeth before warm cum falls inside my mouth, on my tongue, over my cheeks and chest. I close my eyes to enjoy it fully, spreading my lips to make space for more.
There’s so much of it, and it keeps coming as he swears and grunts in bliss.
I wish I could feel that cock pulsing inside me, no condom, all this juice filling my hole, dripping down my thighs. What the fuck happened to me?
When he’s done. I open my eyes, and he grips my chin and pushes more cum in my mouth before ordering me to swallow. It’s creamy and salty. I scoop more from my face under his blazing gaze, and even put on another small show, sucking and licking it off my fingers.
His cock is finally soft. He’s stayed inside of me for around twenty hours.
That’s a fucking record. We are both breathing hard.
I wait for him to walk out, but he doesn’t.
He continues looking at my chest, his fingers stroking the skin on my neck and pecs, and I belatedly realize that he is admiring his dickwork.
Pretty sure he gave me a pearl necklace.
“It suits you,” he whispers.
Driven by curiosity, I lift my head, pushing myself slightly up to look down at my torso, but Luca is quick to move. He slides down until we are almost face to face, one hand grabs my hair while his thighs cage my body between them.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, his hoarse voice rumbling inside my belly. “I’m not done with you yet.”
I shiver, goose bumps erupting over my whole body. My hole clamps down—probably looking for his dick—but I wince and hiss. My ass is all raw and ragged. I thought I had pretty good stamina but not against an alien stallion.
He raises a questioning eyebrow.
“I think my ass has had enough for today, bunny,” I let him know.
Expecting him not to give a shit, I’m already thinking of asking him for some ointment at least, but he rolls off me.
He leaves the room and comes back a few seconds later holding something.
He places one knee on the mattress and, grabbing my hand, he pulls me up and onto his lap, sitting on the bed.
“Legs around my waist,” he instructs me.
Still buzzing in my afterglow, I comply.
A moment later, I feel his fingers rubbing something cold over my red pucker and then sliding inside.
I jerk at the burning sensation, but he holds me still and keeps moving his fingers until I realize it’s cream.
He’s applying an ointment of some sort. The act of gentleness scrambles my head for a moment.
I look at his face while he does it. Really look.
His green eyes are truly beautiful, with dark eyelashes and thick brows that make the color pop even more.
His lips are masculine, but I know how soft they feel against mine.
His stubble seems impossible to shave off, but it suits him, and it feels amazing on my chest when he toys with my nipples.
I push my finger in the dimple on his chin—like he needed a more macho touch—liking the feel of his beard under my skin.
His hair is long and wavy, dark with lighter locks—he seems to hate when I touch it.
Touch him in a non-sexual way. The scars on his forehead, nose, and cheek are the last things I focus on.
They look thick this close, like whatever cut him went deep.
Of its own volition, my hand moves up, my fingers about to touch the jagged line when he grabs my wrist and lowers it on his shoulder.
He doesn’t sound upset when he says, “Today is just the beginning. You wanted my cock so fucking much and now you’ll get it.”
My eyebrows hit my hairline. “Just how many times does it want to fuck me in the ass?”
“Whenever it feels like it,” he counters, finishing with the ointment.
I remain on his lap. My head drops on his shoulder. There’s a spot here—I found it during the shooting, when I was curled around him—a small pit between the hard bone and a ridge of thick muscle, it fits my forehead and nose so fucking perfectly.
“You need a dildo while you are here, and my dick needs an ass,” he adds, cleaning his fingers with a wet tissue.
So crude, was he raised by beasts?
“My fairy kidnapper is making all my dreams come true!” I declare sarcastically. But in reality, it feels like my inner desires are betraying me and bringing my dirtiest fantasies to life.
He grabs one of his slim cigars from the drawer in the nightstand and lights it up.
“You fucking dig the hate-fucking,” he states, daring me to say otherwise.
He certainly matches my kink with his own, and that edging thing he brought to the table? Woo-hoo. Feels like we are fighting a lusty battle that, in the end, might result in one of us losing.
“I do,” I confess, waving the smoke away from my face and bury my nose into his neck. It’s incredible how he is letting me stay this close to him.
“What perfume do you use?” Maybe I can buy it and smell it even when we part ways—hopefully without blood involved.
“I don’t use perfume.”
I pull my head back. “So, you are telling me that this is your natural gangster musk?” I tease him. His skin feels so warm.
“Your mouth is big for someone so tiny.” He glares, and this close it’s quite intense.
“I could still grow,” I clip back.
“Like weed?” Is he joking? Who is this guy, and what did he do with Luca “The Wacko” Nero?
“How do you always smell like fucking apples?” he asks next.
Apples? Do I? “It is my favorite fruit.” I shrug.
His thumb moves over the inked words on my pec, To Live is to Bleed.
“Like tattoos.” I sigh, enjoying the touch of his rough fingers.
“No. But I can carve my name backward on your chest for free.” His tone is flat and unemotional, the way a serial killer would sound.
“Brag much.” I sniff and cross my arms.
He hasn’t asked about my scars. I should feel relieved, but the fact that he doesn’t care…stings. For fuck’s sake, I want to grab this useless emotion from the balls and crush it until it forms a shiny diamond—a big-ass one—and then hurl it at the fucker’s head!
I push away the insane thought. “I’m beat. I’ve been railed within an inch of my life. Can someone die from sex, muffin?” I muse.
“I can help you find out.” He smirks, stubbing the half-smoked cigar in the ashtray.
Not a fleeting twitch or a closed-mouth hint of a smile.
Oh. My. Fucking. God. This is a lips-parting, teeth-showing, eyes-crinkling, full-on sharp smirk.
It brings him to a whole new level of handsomeness.
It takes everything in me not to lean over and feast on that smile. Shit, I’m fucked.