Chapter 24 #3
One hand leaves my hip to slide up my spine, fingers finding the back of my neck. He cups it—firm, possessive, careful—and draws me down.
The kiss is slow.
Not lust.
Something deeper.
Something that doesn’t end when our mouths part—it just keeps burning under my skin.
His mouth moves over mine with the reverence reserved for prayers you actually believe in. My fingers tangle in his hair—not to control, just to feel. To anchor. To prove I’m here. That this is real. That I’m not strapped to a chair somewhere hallucinating a life I’ll never see.
The room breathes with us, alive in a way that feels like an extension of our own skin.
The exposed beams above us cast long shadows that stretch and bend with the flicker of the battered lamp in the corner, its light pooling in the hollows of Santino’s collarbone, the dip of his throat, the sharp angle of his jaw.
It’s the kind of light that turns everything to gold, that makes his dark hair look like it’s threaded with fire when I run my fingers through it.
I’m half-curled against him again, my body molded to his like we’ve been poured into this shape together.
Santino’s hand, back on my hip, tightens imperceptibly, his fingers flexing against the curve of my waist. He doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t have to. The way his thumb traces a slow, deliberate circle against the bare skin just above the waistband speaks volumes.
I tilt my head back, pressing my lips to the underside of his jaw.
His stubble is rough against my mouth, the kind of abrasion that makes my skin tingle.
He turns his face toward mine, his breath warm against my cheek, and when his hand leaves my hip, I already know where it’s going.
His fingers slide up my spine, each vertebra a stepping stone beneath his touch, until he reaches the nape of my neck.
He cups it—firm, possessive, his thumb pressing into the pulse point beneath my ear—and I melt into him, my body going pliant, my breath hitching.
He draws me down, and I go willingly, my lips parting as our mouths meet.
The kiss is slow. Not the kind of slow that’s cautious or hesitant, but the kind that feels like the world has stopped spinning just to let us catch up.
His lips move over mine with a reverence that makes my chest ache, like I’m something precious, something he’s afraid of breaking.
His tongue slides against mine, deep and unhurried, tasting me like I’m the last drop of water in a desert.
I moan into his mouth, the sound low and needy, my fingers tangling in his hair, not to guide him, but to ground myself.
To remind myself that this is real. That I’m here.
That I’m not lost in some fractured memory, some half-remembered dream.
His other hand finds my waist, his fingers splaying wide, pressing into the softness there like he’s memorizing the shape of me.
I arch into his touch, my breasts brushing against his chest, the thin fabric of my dress doing little to hide the way my nipples tighten under his attention.
He groans, the sound vibrating against my lips, and his hand slides upward, his thumb brushing the underside of my breast. I whimper, my back arching, pressing myself into his touch, and he rewards me by cupping my breast fully, his thumb flicking over my nipple through the fabric.
The sensation is sharp, electric, and I gasp, my fingers tightening in his hair.
“You’re so sensitive,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice rough, like gravel under slow footsteps. “Every time I touch you, it’s like the first time.”
I can’t answer. My breath is coming in short, sharp gasps, my body humming with need.
His mouth leaves mine, trailing down to my jaw, his lips pressing against the sensitive skin just below my ear.
I tilt my head to give him better access, a shiver running through me as his breath ghosts over my pulse point.
His teeth graze my collarbone, just enough to make me gasp, and his chuckle is dark, knowing.
“Cold?” he asks, his lips brushing against my skin.
I shake my head, my fingers clutching at his shoulders. “No.”
His hand slides up my thigh, his fingers brushing against the hem of my dress, pushing it upward slowly, inch by inch.
The air hits my bare skin, cool against the heat of his touch, and I shiver, my body arching into him.
His fingers trace the lace edge of my panties, teasing me, his touch feather-light.
“So wet for me already,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl that sends another shiver through me.
I nod, my hips shifting restlessly, seeking more contact. “Always.”
His fingers hook into the waistband of my panties, pulling them down my legs, leaving me bare to him.
His gaze drops between my thighs, and I can feel myself flush under his attention, my body aching, my skin prickling with anticipation.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “So fucking perfect.”
I reach for him, tugging on his sweatpants.
He helps me, lifting his hips so I can pull the fabric down, freeing his cock.
It’s thick and heavy in my hand, the skin soft over the hard length of him, and I stroke him once, twice, my thumb brushing over the slick head.
He groans, his head falling back against the wall, his hands gripping my hips.
With a sultry smile, I lick a slow, deliberate path up Santino's cock, savoring the taste of his pre-cum before taking him fully into my mouth.
I use my hands to cup his balls, massaging them gently as I suck him with a steady, intoxicating rhythm, feeling his body tighten and his cock twitch in response.
“Pia,” he growls, his voice strained.
As I pull back, my lips glide up his shaft, leaving a trail of wet kisses, and I whisper, 'Is this good?
' My voice husky with desire. I shift, pressing a kiss to his hip, then trail my tongue along the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, watching his body arch with anticipation, before finally returning to his cock, taking him deep once more.
I shift, positioning myself over him, my thighs trembling with need.
I guide him to my entrance, the head of his cock brushing against my slick folds, and we both groan at the contact.
I sink down slowly, inch by inch, my body stretching to accommodate him, the burn of it sweet and sharp.
His hands grip my waist, his fingers digging into my skin as I take him fully, my breath leaving me in a rush.
“Fuck,” he groans, his forehead pressing against mine. “You feel so good.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. I’m too lost in the sensation of him inside me, filling me, stretching me.
I start to move, rolling my hips in slow, deep circles, my body finding a rhythm that makes us both gasp.
His hands slide up my back, his fingers tangling in my hair as he pulls me into another kiss.
Our mouths move together, slow and deep, our bodies rocking in time, the friction building between us with every roll of my hips.
His cock drags against something deep inside me with every movement, sending sparks through my body, my nerves alight with pleasure.
I moan into his mouth, my fingers clutching at his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin.
He groans, his hips lifting to meet mine, his cock sliding deeper inside me.
“Harder,” I whisper against his lips, my body aching for more. “Harder.”
He growls, his hands gripping my hips tighter, his fingers bruising my skin as he lifts me slightly, then slams me back down onto his cock.
I cry out, the sound torn from my throat as pleasure arcs through me.
He does it again, and again, his hips pistoning upward as I ride him, our bodies slapping together, the sound wet and obscene in the quiet room.
“Yes,” I gasp, my head falling back, my body trembling. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”
He doesn’t. He can’t. His hands grip my ass, his fingers spreading me open as he drives into me, his cock hitting that spot inside me over and over, sending me higher, closer to the edge. I can feel it building, the tension coiling tight in my belly, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
Santino's fingers explore my most sensitive areas, his middle finger hovering over my anus before pressing firmly.
The touch is deliberate, possessive, and it sends a wave of pleasure-pain through me.
I gasp, my body arching into him, the forbidden stimulation blending with the fullness of his cock inside me, creating a symphony of sensations that leave me breathless and yearning for more.
I shatter, my body clenching around him as pleasure crashes over me, wave after wave of it leaving me breathless, trembling.
He groans, his hips stuttering as he follows me over, his cock pulsing inside me as he comes, his release hot and thick.
I can feel him filling me, marking me, and the thought sends another wave of pleasure through me, my body clenching around him, milking him for every last drop.
I collapse against him, my body boneless, my breath coming in ragged gasps. His arms wrap around me, holding me close, his lips pressing against my temple. “I love you,” he murmurs, his voice rough.
I smile against his skin, my body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. “I love you too.”
We stay like that for a long time, our bodies tangled together, the room warm and quiet around us.
The lamp still burns in the corner, casting its golden light over our skin, our breaths slowly evening out, our hearts beating in time.
It’s perfect. We’re perfect. And for the first time, I don’t question it.
I don’t overthink it. I just let myself be here, in this moment, with him.
Because this—this quiet, this warmth, this love—is real. And I never want to let it go.