Chapter 6 Pia #3
Santino presses me back against the wall, the alley swallowing us whole.
The brick scrapes my spine through my clothes—cold, rough, unyielding—but I barely feel it.
He’s flush against me, solid and burning, blotting out the night, the danger, the unconscious body on the ground.
Everything dissolves except the weight of him and the way he moves like he’s claiming something he has no right to take.
His mouth trails fire down my throat.
A gasp breaks out of me the second his lips brush the curve of my neck. Heat sinks into my skin like he’s branding me, marking territory he shouldn’t even be touching. His breath is hot, uneven, frantic. His stubble drags along my pulse, each scrape sharp enough to make my knees weaken.
A sound slips from me—quiet, broken, involuntary.
My hands pull him closer.
I don’t remember reaching for him, but my fingers twist into his shirt, dragging him in like I’m terrified he’ll vanish if I let go. His chest vibrates with a low growl, the sound rumbling through me like a warning and a promise.
We’re breathing as if we’ve been drowning for years.
Because we have.Because this—whatever this is—feels like breaking the surface after being held under too long.
“I should confess this,” he whispers against my skin.
The words ghost down my throat, sinful and trembling.
“You should,” I breathe.
My voice barely exists, more plea than answer. My head tips back against the brick, exposing my neck completely, giving him access, giving him everything without thinking or caring. Letting him see exactly how undone I am.
“But you won’t.”
His lips brush my jaw as he says it, and the truth punches straight through me. He’s right. He won’t confess this. He won’t push me away. He won’t pretend after what just happened.
And I don’t want him to.
He lifts me by the hips — reflexive, powerful.
The motion steals the breath from my lungs. His hands grip my thighs like he already knows my body. He hoists me up without effort, pinning me higher against the wall, heat and strength locking me in place.
A gasp tears out of me.
My legs wrap around him before I can stop myself.
Instinct.Need.Panic.Desire.All tangled together in something I can’t control.
The moment my ankles lock behind his back, Santino inhales sharply—like the contact is a sin he feels all the way in his bones.
“I can’t stay away from you,” he confesses.
His voice breaks on the words. Breaks. And for a split second, the world stutters. This isn’t just lust or adrenaline or fear. This is something deeper. Darker. Something he’s been fighting since the moment I walked into his church.
“You already proved that,” I whisper.
My lips brush his ear as I say it. I feel the shiver rip through him, violent and unguarded, the way his hands tighten on my hips like he’s seconds from losing whatever control he pretended to have.
The night air is thick with the scent of damp stone and something darker—metal, sweat, the musk of violence still clinging to the alley like a second skin.
My back hits the brick wall with a rough thud, the cold seeping through the thin fabric of my dress, but I barely register the sting.
All I feel is him—Santino, pressed against me, his body a furnace against my skin.
His suit is still immaculate, even after the fight, even after the way he moved like a shadow given teeth, tearing through that gang member like he was nothing. Like he was mine to destroy.
His breath is hot against my throat, his lips tracing a path down the curve of my neck, and I shudder—not from fear, but from the way his mouth burns where it touches.
A gasp slips out of me, broken and raw, before I can stop it.
His teeth graze my pulse point, just enough to make me arch into him, and I hate how my body betrays me.
How it wants this. How it’s been starving for it.
“Santino—” His name is a warning, a plea, a surrender all at once.
My fingers dig into his back. I should push him away.
I should run. But my legs are already locked onto him, my thighs shifting restlessly against his hips.
The alley is too narrow, too dark, the only light coming from the sickly yellow glow of a rusted lantern further down the path.
It casts his face in sharp angles—his jaw clenched, his dark eyes burning into mine like he’s memorizing the shape of my surrender.
His mouth crashes into mine, and it’s not a kiss—it’s a claim.
Violent. Desperate. His lips are firm, demanding, his tongue sweeping in with a growl that vibrates against my teeth.
I moan into him, the sound swallowed by the way he devours me, like he’s been starving for this for years.
Like he’s been waiting. My back scrapes against the brick as he pins me harder, his hands gripping my hips, fingers digging in until I know there’ll be bruises tomorrow.
The thought sends a fresh wave of heat pooling between my thighs.
I kiss him back just as fiercely, my nails raking down the back of his neck, tangling in the short, dark hair at his nape.
The salt of his sweat is on my tongue, the taste of him — something his—filling my senses.
His facial hair scrapes against my chin, rough and delicious, and I whimper when his teeth sink into my bottom lip, just enough to sting. Just enough to make me ache.
His hands slide up, palms rough through the thin silk of my dress, and when his thumbs brush the sides of my breasts, I jolt, a broken sound tearing from my throat.
My nipples are already hard, straining against the fabric, and the way his fingers tease them—flicking, rolling—has my hips jerking forward, seeking friction. Seeking him.
“Fuck,” he growls against my mouth, his voice a dark, hungry thing.
His hips rock into mine, and I feel him—hard, thick, the ridge of his cock pressing against my stomach through his slacks.
My legs still around his waist on instinct, my dress riding up, the cool air hitting my bare thighs.
The skirt bunches at my hips, the fabric straining, and I don’t care if it tears.
I don’t care if the whole fucking world sees.
His hands grip my ass, lifting me like I weigh nothing, and I moan as he grinds against me, the friction maddening.
The wall digs into my spine, but all I feel is the heat of him, the way his cock throbs against my core, separated by too many layers of fabric.
My panties are already soaked, the lace clinging to me, and I hate how much I want him to rip them off. To take.
“You’re dripping,” he snarls, his lips trailing down to my ear, his breath hot and filthy. “I can smell you, Pia. Fucking soaked for me.” His teeth graze my earlobe, and I whine, my hips rolling against him, chasing the pressure. “Tell me you want this. Tell me to fuck you right here.”
A shudder wracks my body, my nails digging into his shoulders. I should slap him. I should tell him to go to hell. But the words that come out are a broken, breathless “Yes.”
His growl is feral. Triumphant. One hand tangles in my hair, yanking my head back just enough to expose my throat, and his mouth is on me again, biting, sucking, marking me like he owns me.
Like he’s been waiting to do this for years.
His other hand slides between us, fingers finding the waistband of my panties, and I gasps as he tears them aside, the lace snapping under his force.
“Santino—!” My protest is cut off by the first rough drag of his fingers through my folds, and oh god—I’m drenched. Slick and hot and aching, my clit throbbing under his touch. He groans, low and dark, as he circles it, his fingers slipping easily through my wetness.
“So fucking wet,” he murmurs, his lips against my jaw.
“All for me.” His fingers press deeper, two of them sinking into my pussy without warning, and I cry out, my back arching off the wall.
He curls them inside me, stroking, finding that spot that makes my vision white out, and I’m moaning, my nails raking down his back, my thighs trembling around his hand.
“Please—” I don’t even know what I’m begging for. More. Everything. His thumb presses down on my clit, rubbing in tight, relentless circles, and my hips buck against his hand, my body moving on its own, chasing the pleasure coiling tight in my belly.
“You’re gonna come for me,” he orders, his voice rough, his breath hot against my ear. “Right here. Right now. And then I’m gonna fuck this tight little cunt until you scream.”
His words send me spiraling, my body tightening, my breath coming in sharp, broken gasps.
His fingers pump into me, his thumb working my clit, and I can feel it—the orgasm building, crashing over me like a wave.
My muscles lock, my back bowing, and then I’m coming, my pussy clenching around his fingers, my cry swallowed by his mouth as he kisses me through it, drinking down my moans like he’s starved for them.
I’m still trembling, my body oversensitive, when he pulls his fingers free with a wet, obscene sound. He brings them to his mouth, his dark eyes locked on mine as he sucks them clean, tasting me. “Fuck, you’re sweet,” he growls, his voice thick with hunger. “I could eat this pussy for hours.”
Before I can recover, he lets my legs down, then spins me around, pressing my front against the wall.
The brick is cold against my cheek, my palms splayed against the rough surface.
His body covers mine, his cock a heavy, insistent pressure against my ass as his hands grip my hips, yanking them back.
“Hands on the wall,” he orders, his voice a dark command. “Don’t move them.”
I obey, my breath coming in sharp pants as I hear the sound of his belt unbuckling, the zipper of his slacks. The rustle of fabric, and then — the hot, thick press of his cock against my ass, the head slipping through my soaked folds, teasing my entrance.
“You’re mine,” he snarls, one hand fisting in my hair, yanking my head back as the other grips my hip, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. “Say it.”
I should fight him. I should lie. But the words spill out of me, broken and true. “Yours.”
His cock slams into me in one brutal thrust, and I scream, my fingers clawing at the wall. He’s huge—stretching me, filling me to the point of pain, and it’s perfect. His hips snap against my ass, his balls slapping against me with every thrust, the sound wet and obscene in the quiet of the alley.
“Fuck, you take me so well,” he groans, his voice rough, his breath hot against the back of my neck. His hand in my hair tightens, yanking my head back further, and his lips crash against the side of my throat, biting, sucking. “This cunt was made for me.”
I can’t think. I can only feel—the stretch of him inside me, the way his cock drags against my walls, the slap of skin on skin as he pounds into me. My tits bounce with every thrust, the fabric of my dress abrasive against my sensitive nipples, and I whimper, my body tightening around him.
“You like that?” he growls, his free hand sliding around to my front, his fingers finding my clit again. “You like being fucked like a little whore in this alley?”
“Yes—!” The word is a sob, a plea, my hips rocking back against him, taking him deeper. His fingers work my clit in tight, relentless circles, and I can feel another orgasm building, my body coiling tight.
“Come for me,” he demands, his voice a dark, filthy thing in my ear. “Come on my cock, Pia. Now.”
His command sends me over the edge, my pussy clenching around him, my cry echoing off the alley walls. He groans, his thrusts becoming erratic, his cock swelling inside me as he chases his own release.
“Fuck—fuck—” His grip on my hip tightens, his fingers digging in as he buries himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he comes, filling me with hot, thick spurts of cum. I can feel it, dripping down my thighs, marking me. Claiming me.
He stays inside me as we both pant, his body covering mine, his breath hot against my neck. His cock is still hard, still throbbing, and when he finally pulls out, I whimper at the loss, at the way his cum spills out of me, dripping down my thighs.
He spins me around, his hands gripping my face, his lips crashing into mine in a kiss that’s possessive, hungry.
I can taste myself on his tongue. I taste the salt of his sweat and darkness that is him.
When he finally pulls back, his dark eyes burn into mine, his thumb brushing over my swollen lips.
“Mine,” he growls, low and possessive. “No one else touches you. No one else gets to hear you moan like that. You’re mine, Pia. And I’m never letting you go. No one will hurt you.”
I should argue. I should fight. But all I can do is stare up at him, my body still humming, my skin marked by his teeth, his hands, his cock. My thighs are sticky with his cum, my panties ruined, my dress wrinkled and torn.
And I’ve never felt more alive.
His breath still tangled with mine, then it happens—
A soft click in the darkness.
The shift is instantaneous.
Santino’s entire body goes rigid. His head snaps toward the far end of the alley. My blood turns to ice.
The metallic sound of a gun being cocked.
I know that sound.I know it too fucking well.
It lives in the back of every nightmare I’ve had since the night everything was taken from me.
Then — a voice I prayed was dead whispers out of the dark:
“Found you.”
My stomach drops. Every ounce of heat drains from my veins.
The nightmare didn’t end with Rocco.It grows a second face.A second voice.
And this one—the one stepping out of the shadows—
is worse.