Chapter 25 – Cristofano
Bellarosa Estate
She’s kneeling on the bed, naked. Her long hair spills over her shoulders in soft waves, brushing against the curve of her breasts.
Her back is straight, chin tilted just slightly down, but her eyes—those wide, bright eyes—are locked on mine like they’re searching for something deep inside me.
Her skin glows in the low light, the rise and fall of her chest pulling my gaze lower, tracing the soft lines and curves I’ve wanted to call mine for so long.
I walk toward her slowly, my steps feeling heavier than they should.
She doesn’t look away, not even when I stop in front of her, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath against me.
I lift my hand and cup her chin, my thumb brushing along the edge of her jaw.
She tilts her head into my touch, and the corners of her mouth curve upward in the slowest, smallest smile—one that somehow unravels me completely.
God, I’m nervous. It’s ridiculous, I think, considering she’s my wife now. I’ve finally married her. She’s here, in front of me, exactly where I’ve dreamed of having her for years. And yet…there’s so much we still haven’t said. So much we need to tell each other.
I glance down—and that’s when I realize how hard I am. The tightness in my pants is impossible to ignore, my cock straining as if it’s been waiting for this moment forever.
Her voice breaks the silence, soft but steady. “Let me take care of you.”
Before I can answer, her hand reaches up. I feel her fingertips first—warm, delicate—then the slow press of her palm against me through the fabric. She strokes once, twice, and the sensation punches straight through me.
It’s maddening, the way the heat of her touch seeps through the thin barrier of my pants, the way every drag of her hand sends a throb right to the base of my spine.
I can feel myself twitch under her touch, my heartbeat syncing with each stroke.
The softness of her hand and the deliberate pace she keeps make it impossible to think about anything else—about words we should say, about the vows we’ve made.
All I can think about is how good she feels already…and how much better it’s going to be when there’s nothing between us at all.
Her lips glide down the length of me again, cheeks hollowing, tongue pressing in just the right way. My grip tightens in her hair, not to control her, but to keep myself grounded.
I watch her like I’ve been starved for this view my whole life. The flush in her cheeks. The way her lashes dip for just a second before she looks back up at me, eyes shining. She’s beautiful—achingly so—and the kind of beautiful that makes you want to promise her everything.
I move my hips, pushing deeper, groaning when she doesn’t flinch, just takes me and gives me that tiny, knowing smile around my cock.
I’m right on the edge, and I know if I stay in her mouth another second, I’m done.
I pull out, breathing hard, and lean into the bed where she’s still kneeling.
I cup her face, kiss her deep, tasting both of us, and the world just narrows to her.
My arms slide around her, pulling her close, and I guide her back until she’s lying beneath me.
Her legs open without a word, like she’s been waiting for this, and I fit myself between them. I hold her there, still kissing her, my cock brushing against her until I can’t take it anymore. I push in, feeling her stretch around me, warm and tight, and it’s like my whole body exhales at once.
Being inside her is….not just the heat, or the way she grips me so perfectly—it’s the way it hits me in my chest. Like I’m not just moving into her body but deeper, into something I can’t name.
My forehead rests against hers, our breaths mixing, and I start to move, slow, steady, just to feel every inch of her around me.
She sighs into my mouth, her hands running up my back, and I can’t stop the low groan that slips out. Every time I pull back and slide in again, it’s like she draws something out of me I didn’t even know I had. And all I can think is, I’m not letting this go. Not now. Not ever.
My hands slide up her sides until I’m cupping her breasts, filling my palms with them. I knead gently at first, thumbs brushing over her nipples, and her sharp little inhale makes me push a little deeper. The way her body reacts to me—arching up, tightening around me—feeds that hunger in my gut.
I keep molding her breasts in my hands, feeling them move with every thrust. My hips start to find a quicker rhythm, not rough, but with more need now, each stroke sinking me all the way in before pulling almost out.
Her pussy clings to me, wet and perfect, and every time I drive back into her, it’s harder to hold back.
Her nails scrape lightly along my back, and the sound she makes—half moan, half whisper of my name—shoots straight through me.
I grip her a little firmer, loving the way her breasts fill my hands, and quicken my pace again.
The bed shifts under us, her breath coming fast, and all I can think about is giving her more, pushing her right over the edge with me.
I kiss along her shoulder, up the side of her neck, catching the taste of her skin between breaths I can’t quite catch.
“God…I love you,” I gasp against her ear, my voice breaking on the words. She moans in response, pushing back into me, and it makes me lose my rhythm for a beat because it’s so much—her body, her voice, the way those words feel leaving my mouth.
I kiss her again, messy and desperate, catching the corner of her mouth as I thrust deeper, my hips slamming into hers with the kind of need I can’t hold back anymore. “I love you…fuck—” I choke out, kissing her harder, like the only way to get the feeling out of me is to pour it straight into her.
I slam into her again, my cock buried deep, the wet heat of her gripping me so tight it steals my breath. I bend forward, mouth finding the side of her neck, kissing and biting, tasting the salt on her skin.
My chest is pressed hard against her back, my arms wrapping around to grab her tits, filling my hands with the warm weight of them. I squeeze, thumbs rolling over her nipples, and feel the way her whole body shudders around my cock.
She turns her head, and I catch her mouth with mine. The kiss is sloppy, all tongue and gasps, my hips still pounding into her, each thrust pulling another sweet, desperate sound from her throat.
I can’t stop touching her—one hand still on her tits, the other sliding down to her clit, rubbing hard as I keep driving into her. Her pussy clenches tighter with every pass, the slick squeeze making me groan into her mouth.
Her moans are getting louder, matching the quick, sharp snap of my hips. I hold her tighter, kiss her harder, fucking her like I need every inch of her wrapped around me, like I’ll never get enough.
****
Her back is to me when she says it—
“I’m sleeping in my room tonight.”
The words are simple, but the way her shoulders stay perfectly straight, the way her chin tips slightly higher, tells me she’s made up her mind.
My eyes track the curve of her neck, the knot of her robe tied too tightly, the way her fingers fidget once before going still again.
We just finished having sex, seconds ago. She just got off my body.
She’s leaving my bed, my room…maybe me. My gaze roams her face when she glances at me—her expression guarded, mouth set in something polite and noncommittal. Not cold, not warm. Just unreadable. And that’s worse.
I push myself up on one elbow, studying every flicker in her eyes like they might betray her. The pounding in my ears drowns out reason. If I told her to stay, would she? If I reached for her now, would she turn back—or pull away?
Instead, I nod. “It’s fine.” My voice is steady, but it tastes wrong, like I’m lying to both of us.
She walks to the door, each step neat and measured. My jaw tightens. Something in me refuses to let her go without one last tether.
“We can have a good life together,” I say. It’s almost a plea, almost a command.
Her hand pauses on the door handle for a fraction of a second, but she doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t give me anything—no look, no word.
Then the door closes with a muted click, and I’m staring at the wood grain like it just took her from me. My hands curl into fists in the sheets. My gut says she’s going to betray me, but my chest…my chest still wants to believe she won’t.
The click of the door is still echoing when I swing my legs over the side of the bed, pulling on my shirt in sharp, quick motions. The air still smells faintly of her skin. I’m buttoning my trousers when the door opens again—this time without a knock.
Matteo fills the frame, his usual smirk absent. He takes one look at me, then at the empty space where she was moments ago, and rolls his eyes.
“I followed your orders,” he says, stepping inside without waiting for permission. “Took your father to the safe house. He’s settled.”
I nod once, the movement clipped, my hands already reaching for my jacket.
His gaze sweeps the room again, narrowing. “Where’s your bride?”
I don’t answer. Not because I don’t know—but because I don’t like the truth.
Matteo’s jaw ticks. “She’s going to steal it, isn’t she?”
I meet his eyes then, cold and unwavering. “I’ll handle her.”
He studies me for a beat, his mouth pulling into something that’s not quite a smile. “I’ll keep watch.”
He turns to leave, and I catch the faintest trace of challenge in his voice. The kind that says he’s not convinced I can stop her. The kind that says he’s ready to do it his way if I fail.
I cross the room slowly, like my own body is stalling for time my mind doesn’t want to give.
The drawer handle is cool beneath my fingers. I pull it open.
The gun lies there, black steel catching the dim light like it’s alive.
I wrap my hand around it, feel the perfect fit against my palm, the promise of power in its weight. For a long second, I just stare at it—my reflection warped in the barrel, my pulse thrumming like a drumbeat in my ears.
It would be so simple. One shot, and this would all be over.
But not yet.
I set it back inside, the click of the drawer sliding shut louder than it should be in the silence.
My feet start moving before I think about it—pacing tight lines across the room, the floor creaking faintly under my steps. My mind keeps circling back to her face, her voice. The lies. The truth I’m holding in my chest like a blade pointed both ways.
I should go to her room right now. Tell her I know. Everything—her real name, why she’s here, about our daughter. Rip the mask from her face before she makes her move.
The buzz of my phone on the desk slices through the quiet. It vibrates once. Twice. Face down, humming like it’s warning me.
I already feel it in my gut—this isn’t good.
I flip it over. Matteo.
“What.” My voice is flat.
“I’m watching the surveillance,” he says, and there’s something in his tone that makes my jaw lock. “She’s walking to the study.”
I stop breathing for a beat.
Not sneaking. Not hesitating. Just walking.
Straight toward the heart of me, ready to put the knife in without blinking.
My chest tightens—rage and something else I don’t want to name.