Chapter Ten #4
I need him to move. “I like your cock so much better when you give it to me.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, he rotates his hips.
Every tiny sensation he ignites is a bond around my soul.
And I come again, this time, though, I feel my body convulse against him.
Rapture, bliss, and rainbows barrel through me so powerfully my soul floats above me for a long moment before it gets sucked back in. Another dry orgasm. How the fuck?
“Jesus Christ, the raw taste of your hole creaming around my dick is intoxicating,” I hear him hiss as he continues pounding my trembling body, making me feel echoes of my orgasm with every powerful thrust.
He’s so filthy. So rough. So wonderfully unapologetic.
His body tenses before he shudders over me with enough force that the entire bed shakes. His cock throbs, his warmth is filling me again as he calls me his cumslut. His whore. His fuck toy. His. Zaps of pleasure hit my guts as I suck in more jizz.
He suddenly pulls out and jerks his dick, dumping hot, gooey cum over my soft shaft, chest, and chin. I imprint his moans and blissful face inside my mind for safekeeping.
When he’s done, he begins rubbing his jizz over my skin.
Is that satisfaction filling his eyes? After a long moment he finally collapses on top of me, bracing his arms to hold his weight off my chest. His lower half, though, has my hips pinned down tight to the bed.
He rolls us to our sides and wraps me in his embrace, his face buried in my hair, his chest heaving against my face.
My arms are aching, still cuffed behind my back. My hole feels hot, still wet with cum, still stretched from his dick. Ready to take him again. His cock slides into the crease of my ass as if it belongs there. Cum is still dripping down.
I struggle to remember how to open my eyes, and when I finally do, I see only him. My brain, temporarily offline after the soul-floating orgasm, fires back up again and doesn’t leave me alone. It forces me to remember that he doesn’t want me here. I’m just a convenient hole.
We come from the same ugly, unforgiving world. The Mafia prince who never wanted the bloody crown and the mobster who craved his sanguinary revenge. My family hurt him in ways I could never fully understand. He will never forget, never accept me. Fucking bitch. This is going to hurt.
His dick starts moving against me, back and forth, rubbing over my hole.
“You are gaping.”
I shove all those thoughts away. “Dick huge. Hole small.” I sound like a caveman.
He responds, low and husky, “Your ass seems to be fine with it.” Two fingers slide inside, very easily, meeting no resistance from my pucker whatsoever.
“If I keep coming inside you like this, you’ll always be wet and ready,” he seems to ponder out loud. Always is all I hear. I’m trying to wrap my head around his words when he hikes my leg on his waist.
I feel the press of his tip against my entrance but he doesn’t push inside. I moan anyway, filling my chest with his scent.
“Can you un-cuff me?” I clip. I want to stroke a hand over his hairy pec.
“No,” he has the balls to say.
I relax my jaw and then sink my teeth into his biceps, pec, collarbone, and then neck.
“Fucking stop!” he roars, yanking my head back. “Unhinged chipmunk.”
I snap my teeth a couple of times, making him huff, then smile. He’s so goddamn handsome when he does it. That crooked kick of his lips only on one side, will I ever see it again?
He removes the cuffs and starts massaging my arms and wrists, something he’s never done before. Now that I think about it, even the sex today was less kinky than usual. Is he getting fed up with me?
He moves my right hand over his pec. I can feel his heart beating under my palm. His fingers feel good between mine, thick and strong. Seconds pass, making it clear he has no intention of moving as we both catch our breath.
“Are you a succubus or something? Fuck.” He groans, giving a shallow thrust of his hips and stroking his hard shaft against my balls. It makes me smirk and gasp, one after the other. He isn’t fed up at all. I almost giggle.
He suddenly raises his head and throws a pillow at the floor. I hear Nacho whimpering, his little nails scrambling away.
“If your dog doesn’t stop humping my stuff, I’ll turn him into tomorrow’s paté. Damn it!”
“Hey!” I pull the hair on his chest.
He groans. “Your dog is a menace just like his owner,” he chides, pulling my head back by the nape.
Our eyes meet, and in that moment, as I look at the hilarity mixed with exasperation on his face, I know. It’s not about liking him or not. I’m…his. The air gets stuck in my lungs, and my heart gives a jump as I bathe in the feeling of belonging. To Luca. Even though he doesn’t want me to.
“The first time I saw you,” he suddenly starts saying, our gazes still locked. His thumb brushes over my aching temple and the puffiness around my eye. “You were eating an apple. The juice was dripping all over your chin, and you wiped it away with your fingers and then licked them one by one.”
His eyes fall on my mouth, and I feel my heart racing. Is that why he always buys me apples?
“I think a little pre-cum came out the night I saw you in the smoking area of Red Tape, and then a little pee when you kidnapped me.” I say it like a joke, but it’s actually true.
He chuckles. His fingers become tender in my hair for a moment.
Then his grip turns commanding. In an arrogant way, like he isn’t asking, but just assuming.
My bones melt into his hold. His strong shoulders that can embrace me fully, his thick thighs steadying me, his large, warm hands holding me close. When did I start yearning for them?
His next words make me tense all over. “Talk to me.”
That again? God, he’s persistent. One of the traits I like about him. But I can’t do that. I can’t talk to him. I lower my chin toward my chest to hide my expression from him.
“Are you going to let me go?” I breathe out instead. Voice so low I don’t know if he heard me.
His arm tightens around me. Fingers sinking into my skin. And for a moment, hope surges inside my chest.
“Yeah. Soon,” he then utters with a voice devoid of any emotion.That flat tone is like a punch to the gut.
Everything, everything tears up inside me, except my eyes.
It hurts as if a scorching fire poker pressed directly to my chest. A trembling breath escapes my lips before I can stifle it.
What would he do if he knew he was the cause of my distress?
Nothing. Our lives are intertwined through events too ugly to be fixed.
So the only thing I can do is not talk. I’m such a fool. I can only ever count on myself.
I nod, not able to say a word. He seems satisfied with it and doesn’t ask me anything else. The afternoon light is hitting the edge of the bed, and I stretch my fingers trying to reach it, but it’s too far. Even more when he wraps himself around me like a snake.
“What kind of filthy sleep habit is this?” I say out loud without wanting to. At least I’ll be able to sleep alone again from tonight.
“The one that prevents you from running away,” he lets me know. I don’t give him a snarky comeback. I don’t give him anything else.
Instead, I nestle into his arms, trying to find that warmth within him.
Lying on our sides with his cock tucked between my legs feels bittersweet.
I’ve been empty for most of my life, and now I’m stuffed with his cum, so hot and precious inside.
His cock has softened but still feels impossibly thick and heavy against the crack of my ass.
My thighs spread to fit his large body in between, I had to adjust my body to accommodate him.
The slight discomfort of the position somehow makes it special. It highlights how stupid I am for him.
“Hungry?” he suddenly asks.
“No.”
“Really?”
I don’t want to move. I want to stay like this as long as we possibly can.
“Can I ask you something?” I whisper.
I take his silence as a yes.
“That necklace, the one that got broken—”
He sighs. “It was my father’s. My mother gave it to him the day they got married,” he rasps.
Wearing it every day, does it bring him comfort or misery? How is it to live with such weight around his neck?
Time passes in silence. I’m still awake, enjoying his slow breaths and low snore as he naps. I lift my hand to caress the scars on his face, wishing I could make the ones inside him disappear.
“I’m breaking the promise I made to myself many years ago.
But it’s okay because it’s for you.” I swallow, feeling so vulnerable and afraid.
But I keep whispering, “I’m yours, Luca Nero, even though I know you’ll never belong to me.
” I pause, pursing my lips as I try to stop the trembling.
“I know that hearing my apology means nothing to you. But I am so sorry. I feel like dying inside every time I think of what my family did to you. I wish I weren’t an Enzino.
I wish…I wish I was yours.” I can say all of it only because I know he’s asleep.
Eventually, I curl up against his shoulder and just look at him.
These feelings toward him, I will crumple them up and toss them away. But not yet. Not yet.
The word addio in Italian is loosely translated as goodbye, but it’s rarely used. Because it’s meant to be said to someone you’ll never see again.
I tuck myself against him. My eyelids droop as tears escape while echoes of addio keep resounding inside my head.