Chapter 12 – Cristofano
Bellarosa Estate
"Stop right there."
The sound of her footsteps freezes.
Her figure stiffens by the far corner, barely lit by the thin silver slash of moonlight through the window. One hand still hovering mid-step, like she might vanish into the wall if she could.
I shift in the chair.
The half-empty bottle of lotion rests on the side table. A crumpled tissue sticks to my knee. My other hand drops lazily back to the armrest as I let the silence stretch between us.
She knows she’s been seen.
My voice cuts low through the still air. “You’re here late.”
No answer.
I lean forward slightly, eyes locked on the silhouette of her in her black skirt and pressed shirt, barely uncreased. The obedient little frame that’s been trailing through my halls for seven days.
“It’s not your cleaning hour, Elia,” I murmur. “So what is it? Couldn’t sleep?”
She bows her head low. “I—I wanted to make sure the office was cleaned properly, sir.”
My mouth lifts.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I’m sorry.”
I glance down at the lotion. The tissue. Then back at her.
“You interrupted me.”
She hesitates. Then her gaze flickers down for half a second—just enough to see it. The evidence of what she’s walked in on.
“I’m sorry,” she repeats, quieter this time.
I rise slowly. Her head stays lowered.
I take one step toward her.
Then another.
She doesn’t move, but her shoulders tense.
“Why don’t you help me finish?”
Her breath catches.
I see her hands clench at her sides.
“It’s not my place,” she says, soft.
“No?” I step closer. “We’ve kissed. Twice. And did more.”
She raises her chin slightly—enough for the light to catch the outline of her cheek, the tremor in her throat.
“So you weren’t drunk that night?” she asks, eyes meeting mine for the first time.
“I was,” I say plainly. “But I remember one thing clearly—how much you liked my finger inside you.”
Her eyes widen, and she stands abruptly. “I need to leave.”
She turns. I close the space with calm steps, not fast, just inevitable.
As she backs away, I pause.
Her eyes dart to the side.
I gesture downward—toward the hard, visible press in my trousers.
“Who’s going to help me now, hmm?” I ask, voice smooth. “You interrupted.”
She keeps stepping backward. Her spine almost brushes the edge of the doorframe.
“Call your fiancée,” she snaps, her tone sharp, trying to reestablish ground she already lost.
I stop directly in front of her.
My voice drops low.
“I don’t want her.”
A pause.
“I want you.”
I catch her by the wrist.
She stiffens instantly, but I don’t let go.
Her eyes are wide—almost startled. I can feel the rapid pulse under her skin as I guide her hand down, down between us, until her fingers press against the thick line of my cock through my pants.
She freezes.
I lean in close—my voice low, almost soft. “You interrupted me.”
Her lips part like she’s about to speak, to apologize, to deny. I don’t give her the chance.
“Help me finish,” I say, and guide her backward, step by slow step, until her back meets the wall.
She swallows. I lift the hem of her wrist with mine, curling her hand around me through my slacks. I hold it there, firm, making her feel the weight of what she’s touching.
My cock twitches beneath her palm.
“You want it, don’t you?” I ask, eyes locked on hers.
She doesn’t answer.
Her hand stays still. But her breath catches.
I lean in, lips brushing her ear—close enough that she can feel the heat of every word.
“Do you?” I murmur.
Then I drag my tongue along the edge of her ear.
She gasps.
Her fingers flex slightly.
I reach down, slowly, deliberately, and unzip my pants. The sound is quiet, sharp. I take myself out and guide her hand back to me, skin to skin now.
For a second, she doesn’t move.
Then, slowly, she tightens her grip. And begins to stroke.
The first movement is tentative—her hand slides up my shaft with a feather-light touch, then back down again.
My breath catches instantly. She’s not sure of herself, but her inexperience makes it worse for me—better.
My cock twitches in her hand, thick and throbbing, already leaking at the tip from the tension winding low in my gut.
“F-fuck…” I breathe, voice barely there.
She does it again.
A little firmer this time. Fingers wrapping around my length, stroking up in a slow drag, her thumb brushing the underside on the way down. My eyes flutter closed. The pleasure is sharp, hot, crawling up my spine with every slick pull of her hand.
I brace my palm on the wall beside her head.
And then I rest my weight into her—my chest leaning into her shoulder, my hips gently rocking with the rhythm she’s setting. My head dips lower, mouth brushing the curve of her neck.
Up…slow, tight…then down again, letting her fingers skim the sensitive head. The way her palm curves around me, the way her hand slides through the pre-cum slicking the head—it’s perfect.
I groan and let my forehead press to her bare shoulder.
My breath fans across her collarbone. Her other hand stays awkwardly pinned between us, but the one wrapped around my cock is steady. Her thumb flicks gently over the slit at the tip.
I gasp. My hips jerk. “Shit—just like that….”
Her strokes speed up, not rushed, but confident now. She’s watching me. I can feel it in the heat of her stare, in the way her breath shortens to match mine.
Her grip tightens just slightly at the base, and she twists on the way up. My knees threaten to give out. I moan again, mouth open against her skin.
Her hand moves faster now.
The friction is perfect. She strokes up with a twist, down with pressure, her palm sliding over the swollen head of my cock with just enough teasing to make my hips jerk forward helplessly.
I groan again—louder this time, a deep sound torn from my chest.
My lips find her neck.
I kiss the curve of it right below her ear. I can feel her pulse racing under her skin, her breath catching when I drag my tongue across the spot I know will make her shiver.
Then I bite. She moans softly. Her grip tightens.
She starts pumping me faster like she’s trying to force every last reaction out of me. And I give them to her. My hips roll into her fist, my stomach tightens, the base of my spine burning.
“I’m close…” I grit, mouth still at her throat. “Fuck, don’t stop.”
She doesn’t.
Her hand jerks over the head, again and again. I throw my head back, muscles locking tight. My cock pulses, swelling in her grip.
And then I come.
With a groan that rips from deep in my chest, my body seizes forward.
The first spurt is thick and hot—shooting over her knuckles, her wrist. Another follows, then another—ropes of come stripping her skin as I pump into her fist, hips flexing, every nerve on fire.
I gasp through it—my hand gripping her hip tight, my mouth brushing her neck as I ride it out, panting, shaking, emptied by her hand.
****
She stands just a few feet from me, fingers moving in precise, disgusted strokes as she wipes herself with a tissue—like she’s cleaning off motor oil instead of what she just coaxed out of me.
Her jaw’s tight. Shoulders locked. Eyes flat.
She doesn’t look at me as she finishes and drops the crumpled tissue into the bin beside the chair.
My shirt clings a little to my chest, sweat cooling under the fabric. My breathing has already evened out, but the heat she dragged out of me still lingers under my skin.
God, she’s beautiful when she’s pissed.
She turns at last, eyes sharp, mouth a hard line.
“Happy now?” she asks, tone dry as ash.
I lean back in the chair, slow and satisfied. Let one hand rest on my knee. The other brushes lazily over my thigh.
I smile—nothing too wide, just enough to answer her. “Very.”
She nods once, like that confirms something dark she already believes about me.
“Well,” she says, brushing her palms against her skirt, “enjoy the memory. That was the last time.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“I’m your maid,” she continues. “Not your personal fuckmaid. You want someone on call, call your fiancée.”
Her voice is low but sharp.
She starts to move past me. Shoulders high. Pride rigid in every line of her spine.
But I tilt my head and let the words slip out like silk.
“Do you want the favor returned?”
She stops.
Just one footstep short of the door.
Her back straightens like I slapped her with my voice alone.
She doesn’t look at me.
Not yet.
But she turns.
When our eyes meet, hers are cool steel.
“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”
I grab both her wrists in one hand and shove her down. Her back hits the couch cushions, and her legs part with a breathless gasp, her skirt riding high over her thighs.
She looks up at me, wide-eyed, lips parted, chest rising too fast.
I drop to my knees between her legs.
My hands push under her skirt. The fabric bunches at her waist as I yank her panties down, dragging them over her hips, past her knees, off completely. Her breath hitches.
I look up once her thighs are already trembling, lips swollen.
Then I lean in.
My tongue presses flat to her pussy. She gasps, her back arching, a moan slipping loose before she can stop it.
I lick her again, up through her folds, savoring every drop. Her wetness coats my mouth. My tongue curls at the top, flicking her clit just barely, and her hips jerk.
She groans.
One hand flies to my head, her fingers twisting in my hair. She doesn’t guide me—just holds on.
I grip her thighs and push them open wider, anchoring her in place. Then I thrust my tongue into her waiting hole. She chokes on a cry, hips rolling toward me.
Her pussy clenches around nothing as I fuck her with my tongue, each thrust slicker, wetter, more desperate. I can feel her thighs shaking.
She moans again, her hand strokes over my scalp, fingers trembling.
I lap at her entrance, tongue plunging in, dragging out, fucking her deep until her cries turn into whimpers and her breath breaks in gasps.
Then I shift higher.
My tongue slides up, licking through her soaked folds until I find her clit.
I press my mouth to it and suck. She cries out, and her hand clamps over her own mouth, muffling the sound.
I keep licking, sucking, circling her clit with the flat of my tongue, teasing and punishing. Her thighs quiver, her hips grind against my face, and I know she’s close—so close she can’t breathe.
Her body’s shaking. Her fingers tug at my hair.
Her hips roll up into my mouth. Her thighs press against my face, and she grinds into every flick of my tongue like she’s chasing the edge. I groan into her, licking faster, deeper.
Her hands fist in my hair.
She tugs—pulls me in—and I feel the desperation in her grip. She’s soaked. Her body isn’t asking anymore—it’s begging. My cock aches.
I pull back, just barely, breath hot against her slick folds. She whimpers at the loss, her hips still twitching, grinding for more.
I rise to my knees, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and reach for my belt. I unbuckle it fast, shove my pants down, and free myself, already throbbing.
I look down at her—face flushed, hair spread out over the couch cushion, lips parted, breath shallow. I grip her thighs and drag her to the edge of the couch. She gasps, but doesn’t stop me. Her legs fall open for me, wide and welcoming.
I press the head of my cock to her entrance. And I pause as we both breathe the same sharp breath.
Then I push in.
She cries out—a sound between shock and relief—and my groan matches hers, as I sink into her, inch by inch. Her pussy clenches around me, wet and hot and perfect. I bottom out with a sharp exhale, my hands gripping her waist as her body pulls me in.
“Fuck,” I whisper, forehead resting against hers.
She’s gasping beneath me, eyes fluttering, legs trembling. Her hands slide up my chest, then to my face.
Her lips find mine. Then they part.
I kiss her—deep and slow, tongue stroking hers, matching the rhythm of my hips as I start to move.
Her moan spills into my mouth.
I pull back just enough to whisper against her lips, “You feel that?”
She nods, whimpering, and I thrust again.
And she kisses me again—arms wrapped around my neck. Her lips cling to mine, mouth warm, breath shaky as I move inside her, thrusts that drag across every tight, wet inch of her.
I slide one hand beneath the bend of her knee and lift, guiding her leg up and over my hip. Her body opens wider for me, tilting her pelvis just enough, and I feel it the moment it changes.
The angle. The depth.
I thrust again—deeper.
Her mouth tears from mine with a gasp. Her head falls back, lips parted in a silent cry as I sink all the way in, bottoming out in one long, slow stroke.
“Shit,” I breathe, eyes closing, jaw tight.
She’s velvet heat, wrapped tight around my cock, squeezing me with every breath she takes. I stay there for a moment, buried inside her, feeling the tremble of her thighs against my hips, the flutter of her cunt clenching around me.
Then I start to move again.
Her raised leg gives me everything, that impossibly tight spot I hit now with every grind of my hips. I can feel her breath catching, her hands fisting in my shirt, her nails pressing into my shoulder blades.
I kiss her again.
Her lips part for me, and her tongue meets mine with heat and hunger as my cock drags in and out of her, deeper, fuller, pushing her to the edge with every stroke.
“You feel that?” I murmur again.
She nods, whimpers, her leg tightening around my waist as if she never wants to let me out.