9. Rocco
9
Rocco
She’s starved for touch, for me.
I hear it in every shaky exhale, feel it in the way her body arches into my hands like a flower tilting toward the sun.
Too long apart. Too many nights spent pretending we’re not drowning in this hunger.
From the way it looks, I’m the one who is better at hiding the struggle of keeping a distance.
My palms slide up her ribs, claiming the weight of her breasts.
A possessive squeeze—just this side of rough—and she rewards me with a moan so soft.
Washing her body was nothing more than a flimsy excuse to map every dip and curve of her with soap-slick hands.
Every shift of her hips against mine is torture—the sweet, slow kind that has my cock dripping like a leaky faucet, catching just enough friction to make my teeth ache.
I’ve never been a man ruled by lust. Never chased pleasure like some starving dog.
But her?
She rewires my instincts with every gasp.
When my palms slide down her waist, she’s already arching, thighs falling open to give me the room I need without any hesitation, like she’s been waiting for this moment.
Petting won’t cut it.
Not with how her breath hitches when my fingers glide over her swollen lips.
Not with how her back arches, a silent plea written in every trembling muscle.
Fuck gentle.
She doesn’t want gentle.
She wants release.
Stepping her toward the stream to wash away the suds, my fingers remained tucked between her thighs.
As the water hits her breasts and nipples, my other hand slides toward her throat.
Giving it a light squeeze, she arches against me.
“You’re soaked, angel.” My fingertips graze her swollen clit and the next moan that leaves her lips pushes me to stroke her sensitive nerves.
“Fuck, will my fingers be enough?”
She shakes her head and my cock jumps in joy at the thought of taking something so precious away from her.
Aurora wants me—even now, after all these days together, after seeing the darkest corners of who I am.
She still chooses me to be the one to touch her like this.
She’s not the first, but she’s the only one who matters.
I’ve played games before, never letting anything last, never risking feelings.
But then she appeared, and everything changed.
Now, the thought of another man touching her, claiming her, twists something vicious inside me.
Aurora is mine. I crave her just as fiercely as she craves me.
All I have to do is prove it to her—then there’ll be no turning back.
She makes this low groan when I pull away from her, not touching her as thoroughly as I’d like.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” I murmur, tracing a thumb along her flushed skin.
“Then I’ll give you a reason to need another shower.”
Dazed, she nods, fingers gliding through the suds between her thighs—slow, distracted.
I watch, jaw tight, until the water runs clear.
Only then do I reach past her to shut off the shower.
The moment my hands are free, I’m on her again, making her gasp as I scoop her up.
“Rocco!” Flushed so pretty and pink, she clings to me like I’d let her fall.
Not a chance.
“I’ve been dying to see your room,” I confess to her as I leave the bathroom, not caring about the watery trail we’re leaving behind.
“I knew if I ever stepped inside, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands to myself. Look how right I was.”
Reaching the door separating us from her personal space, I push it open with my foot.
Her bedroom is a blur of soft lilac walls, bedsheets, all fading into the periphery as I move through the room.
The plush white rug beneath my feet is a fleeting distraction, its fibers teasing my skin with each step.
For a heartbeat, I consider laying her across it instead of the bed—pinning her right there, where the contrast of her body against the pale fabric would be obscenely perfect.
But no. The bed will mold to her body, making it more comfortable for her.
I’ll only have her feel pleasure today.
The moment we reach the bed, I’m already guiding her down, my hands sliding beneath her thighs before she can even catch her breath.
Her scent—clean, intoxicating—hits me like a punch to the gut, and I have to swallow hard as my mouth waters in anticipation.
Spreading her thighs apart, I’m mesmerized by her pink folds.
Glistening with anticipation, I see she’s as ready for this as I am.
Last time, I only teased her with my fingers.
But tonight? Tonight, I’m going to savor her properly—tongue, teeth, and lips worshiping her until she’s trembling.
Only then will I let her ease the ache she’s left me with.
“Rocco—”
My name—a weapon in her mouth, a plea and a provocation all at once.
She arches, fingers already working between her thighs, pressing, spreading, as if she can’t stand another second without touch.
A low, broken whimper spills from her lips—the sound alone has me hardening to the point of pain.
Fuck. She’s rubbing herself now, slow, teasing circles over her clit, like she’s mocking my restraint.
Like she wants me to snap.
She knows exactly who she’s dealing with, knows what I’m capable of if I’m pushed too hard.
When I grab her wrist, she whines, even more when I drag my tongue along her fingers.
“Greedy little thing, trying to keep this all to yourself.”
Aurora doesn’t argue, only jerking her hips when I release her to lick her inner thigh.
So close to her pussy, I can easily breathe in her arousal.
“You keep squirming like that, angel, and these sheets won’t survive.” My voice is rough, fingers digging into her hips to still her.
“Wait for me. If you don’t, I can’t give you what you really need.”
To drive the point home, I wrench her thighs apart—wide, unyielding—until she’s spread bare before me.
“And don’t even think about touching yourself,” I growl, dragging a thumb over her heat just to feel her shudder.
“Not when I’m the only one who gets to.”
Her breathy nod is all the permission I need.
With a dark chuckle, I lean in and taste her, slow and deliberate, savoring the way her back arches off the bed at the first flick of my tongue.
So sensitive, I’m not surprised by the way she gasps at every point of contact.
Doesn’t make me enjoy myself any less as she allows a continuous amount of moans to continue to spill from her lips.
I drag my tongue up her slit in one slow, filthy stroke, groaning at the taste.
Mine. Her thighs tremble when I circle her clit, teasing just enough to hear that broken little whine she tries to swallow.
“None of that,” I growl against her.
“Let me hear you.”
Then I suck—hard—and her back arches off the bed, a gasp tearing from her throat.
Fuck, the way she grinds down on my tongue like she’s starving for it…
I pin her hips to the mattress, forcing her to take what I give her.
“You taste like fucking heaven,” I growl, driving two fingers inside her while my tongue flicks ruthlessly.
She’s so tight, clenching around me, her walls already fluttering like she’s ready to come undone.
I curl my fingers, finding that sweet spot, and her moans turn desperate.
“That’s it, Aurora. Let your body fall apart and come. Right on my tongue.”
And when she does, I don’t let up.
Not until she’s shaking, letting her cries bounce off all four walls.
Lost in a feverish haze, I shift onto my hands and knees, looming over her trembling body.
My mouth descends to her chest, worshiping every inch of skin as she rides out the aftershocks of her climax.
I can’t stop tasting her—don’t want to—not when she’s this responsive, this perfect beneath me.
Her breath hitches as my teeth graze a peaked nipple while my fingers claim her other breast, kneading possessively.
Every shudder, every whimper feeds the hunger burning through me.
A guttural groan rumbles from my chest as I grind against her, coating myself in her arousal, marking myself with her essence.
Fuck, I want inside.
I can’t think about anything else.
Her body trembles beneath me as I slide my hand between us, guiding the aching pressure of my cock to her entrance.
Even now—twitching, breathless—she’s so fucking warm, so soft, that the first slow press inside has me gritting my teeth.
Tight. For just a moment, I forgot the whole reason behind taking this slow.
A ragged curse tears from my throat as I fight the urge to sheath myself in one brutal thrust. Instead, I force my hips to still, my control fraying with every shallow inch she takes.
Fuck. Fuck .
Her flushed face drags me back—lips parted, eyes hazy with want.
I close the distance between us, brushing my mouth over hers in a teasing graze.
Hesitant, she mirrors me, her inexperience igniting something possessive in my chest.
When I slip my tongue past her lips, she sucks on it like she’s starving.
“This won’t feel good at first,” I murmur against her jaw, my voice rough with restraint.
“But I’d rather die than hurt you.”
Her laugh is brittle, her fingers tightening in my hair as she pulls back just enough to meet my gaze.
“You don’t get to say things like that. Not now.”
The words hit like a bullet.
She’s right—before her, I didn’t care if I lived or burned.
Now? Look at me, clinging to the threads she’s created by existing.
And I’ll be damned if I let go.
I’ll live—for her.
“I’m strong,” she continues, lifting her hips to take in another inch, proving her point.
“I’m even more forgiving.”
Chuckling against her throat, I kiss her fluttering pulse.
“I’ll be slow.”
I’m as slow as I can be.
Each drag of my cock feels like suffocation through my shallow thrusts.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur against her lips, swallowing her sharp gasp as I sink deeper.
Every inch is torture—her tight heat strangling me, my own restraint fraying with each ragged breath she takes.
Her nails score down my back as she gets a good grip on me, but I don’t hurry.
Can’t. Not when her eyes gleam in the dim light, not when her thighs tremble around my hips like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.
“Look at me.” My thumb brushes away the tears collecting against her lashes.
“Only me. Just this.”
When her body finally yields, when her whimper melts into a sigh against my mouth, it’s worth every second of agony.
Worth the streaks on my back from her grip, worth the way my own vision whites out from holding back.
When I sink in the rest of the way and her body accepts everything I have to give, I’m left sighing in pure relief to see that I’ve finally found something I can touch without breaking it. Finally.