24. Andrea
CHAPTER 24
Andrea
Mistral gagnant - C?ur De Pirate
I f I hadn’t stopped praying a long time ago, I’d pray now.
My words affect him.
Thank God!
They have him releasing a slow, shuddery breath before, finally, he brings his mouth to mine.
The sounds of our breathing are loud in the otherwise silent room. Noises from the Eternal City drift in, but they can’t break this moment.
Nothing could.
His heat surrounds me, triggering beads of sweat to dot my temples. He’s warmth. Spice. Alive. Mine. The words ricochet around my skull like a bullet gone wide.
But it’s his eyes that torment me.
He’s staring at me with such wonder, such promise, such hope that any fear this will end prematurely fades.
This is reciprocal.
This madness. This need. This passion.
He feels it too .
I could sob, but I don’t.
Instead, I just Watch him.
For the first time in my life, it’s selfish.
“Savio,” I whisper, his name an invocation. My salvation. My revelation.
A soft groan rumbles from him, but then he bridges the gap.
He’s hesitant at first, but so am I. I’ve never been kissed. Never made love. Never done anything. This is all my firsts going down at once, and he’s gentle with me, like he knows that too. Maybe I’m a shit kisser. Maybe I’m?—
His tongue thrusts between my lips, and all thoughts escape me. I let him take charge, but he coaxes me into kissing him back.
It’s awkward and wet . It steals my breath and is hot and… everything.
He’s everything.
Just like I always knew he would be.
I rock my hips up, loving the feel of his dick rubbing against my softness, and then he retreats so that he can press kisses to my cheekbone, down my chin, to my throat, and to my ear.
My nails dig into his sides, not clawing at him, just holding him in place.
As he nibbles my earlobe, he mutters, “I need to move, gioia mia .”
The endearment settles in my soul.
His joy .
Then, he breaks me.
“I need you not to make any noise, Andrea.”
Comprehension strikes, and it’s like a hammer blow.
The women.
The last time he heard sounds of sex, it was rape. Gang rape. Of a child.
My pleasure sounds must be different, but he’s traumatized.
So I nod.
Even though I know it’s going to be hard.
“Do you want me to gag you?”
My mouth trembles at the thought, and I want to say no because I want him to kiss me, but also, I know I won’t be able to stop myself from moaning.
Now that I think about it, the reason he woke up last night was because I whimpered.
Fuck .
“O-Okay.”
It’s a concession I didn’t expect to have to make. I already know it’s going to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever agreed to do.
But he releases a relieved breath, rasping, “Thank you.”
When he clambers off the bed, I see the shirt he’s wearing is soaked through once more. I don’t understand what he does to make himself bleed so heavily. I’ve seen things during my research. Watched a lot of BDSM porn for a book I was writing—the skin never breaks that much.
I vow to destroy the barb-laced whip he uses on himself because I fear that even with me at his side, he’ll never not be able to self-harm.
With his back turned, and just in case he changes his mind while he’s over there, I strip off my cami and my panties. I move quickly, too fast really. It makes me see spots, but after I lie back down, they soon disperse.
When he turns around, something balled in his hand, his eyes alight upon me.
And he freezes.
But his erection slips out of his boxer briefs, pushing at the elastic, throbbing until it frees itself.
My lungs freeze until I do as I did last night—touch myself.
His mouth snags into a snarl.
For the first time, I see him as the predator he is.
And I bask in it.
I’m his willing prey, begging to be claimed by him.
I thrust a finger inside myself, unused to the touch and achy because of it. Knowing it will incite him further, I go ahead with my plan.
Somehow, he looks bigger. Harder.
Meaner.
And I love it.
I want the sinner and the saint.
I want both.
In me.
On me.
With me.
I almost groan, but I remember just in time. I have to be quiet. I have to be quiet. I have to be quiet. I have to be quiet —it’s a litany in my head.
I must have released a noise, though, because it pushes him into action. For a second, I fear he’ll leave me, but he doesn’t. He storms over and takes a seat at my side. Carefully, he raises my head, letting his fingers brush over my hair and my scars, then as he tips it up, he bites out, “Open your mouth.”
I obey, and he pops what I see is a handkerchief into it.
The cotton feels funny against my tongue, but it’s worth it when he rumbles, “Good girl.”
I like that.
I don’t know why I do, but I do.
He gently lowers my head to the pillow, then he lets go and trails fingers over my shoulders and down to my breasts.
One hand moves between my legs where he runs his fingers over my outer folds, and the other goes to my nipple. He pinches it hard, and when I squeal, the noise is dampened by the cloth but not fully, triggering him to tap my pussy.
I jerk at that, not having anticipated it, but somehow it’s like a fire has combusted in my veins.
It’s roaring through my body, raging through my system.
Inferno.
“You like that. I can see you do.”
He pats me again, and I don’t moan, but I feel how wet I am. The tap is more of a splat, and before I can be embarrassed, he rolls onto his back.
Though I see the flash of pain cross his expression, he grates out, “Sit on my face.”
Sit on his face?
What—
Before I can hesitate too long, he growls and then hauls me into position.
Within seconds, I’m sitting over him, my knees on either side of his head.
This can’t be?—
This isn’t?—
Oh, God!
A scream throttles me, robbing me of air, choking me of breath as I struggle to contain it. His tongue lashing against my clit is like everything I expected and nothing I imagined.
It’s fire and ice, pleasure and pain. He sucks, he nips, he licks. He growls and grunts, the vibrations making me throb with delight and wonder, even as he makes me think this might be hell.
How can something be this good and hurt so bad?
How can I want it but need something that’s so far out of reach, I don’t know how to attain it?
The sounds he emits, the slickness of my flesh, the pleasure and the need and the desperate, soul-deep ache make my head pound. The spots return, dancing in front of my eyes, but I don’t fear them this time.
My hands hover at my sides as I try to figure out what to do with them, and in the end, I plunk them on the wall above the bed.
When I almost loosen the crucifix nailed there, I tense, but before I can worry if it’s going to fall and hit him, he sucks on my clit and makes the most delicious noise—like I’m the best fudge ice cream sundae he’s ever had.
That I have to be silent, mute , is a torture so exquisite, I don’t know if it makes this more enjoyable or less.
It’s painful not to be able to cry out, not to be able to shriek the glory of how he makes me feel, what he’s forcing me to experience.
I didn’t expect him to do this to me.
I thought the first time would be shameful for him, that he’d have sex with me in the shadow of night, under blankets and covers, and then roll away, abashed.
But he isn’t unwilling.
He’s not the priest right now. He’s the sin eater, and he’s eating me .
I almost melt into him as I’m bombarded with so many sensations, I don’t know where to turn. Then, a finger slips inside me, and that’s it.
Game over.
How I don’t scream, I’ve no idea.
It throbs in my throat until I feel like I’m suffocating, and for a few seconds, maybe I’m choking on air because the need to release all these wonderfully chaotic feelings is overwhelming me. I want to tear at my skin to release the sensation to the world. I want to cry and sob and?—
But then, just as this welter of emotion overtakes me, consumes me, it’s ratcheted up another level until I feel like I can fly for real.
When the orgasm slams into me, I crumble with the detonation. My bones melt and my body turns to goo. I flop into the wall, and still, he eats at me like he’s ravenous for my soul, and God help me, but I hope he is because I need to experience this again and again and again.
I can feel the crucifix knocking into my face, the cold gilt burning me for my sins, and I turn my face aside, but not enough. It digs into my cheek no matter which way I move my head.
A keening sound is torn from me as I’m forced up the mount to bliss once more, but he stops the second I make that noise, and I tense as the realization I fucked up hits me square in the heart.
His fingers dig into my butt, hard enough to mark, but I like the pain. I love that he’ll have marked me.
Out of nowhere, I’m pushed off him, and just as I fear he’s going to storm away, I’m thrown onto his lap. One of his legs swoops over both of mine, and his hand comes down on my butt.
He delivers sharp, hard slaps that have me squirming on his knee. Nine in total, each harder than the last. Then, he leans in, takes some of my flesh between his teeth, and bites—hard enough to make me squeal.
I almost choke on my tongue, but when he moves his leg, changing my position so only one of mine is held captive by his, I’m not surprised that he spears me on two digits, scissoring them wide, and with his other hand, spanks me once more.
The cold, hard slaps, the thrust of his fingers, it’s nothing like I thought my first time would be, and while there are tears in my eyes, they’re from happiness.
Each spank triggers a sweet release that has me creaming around his fingers.
Each hard thrust makes me squirm and rock back into his punishment.
I did the crime. I’ll more than gladly do the time.
When he pulls out then taps my clit, I barely refrain from groaning. I shudder instead, forcing the pleasure back inside me until my muscles turn to goo once more.
As another orgasm rips through me, I have no place to go, nowhere I’d rather be than impaled on a part of him.
When I fall lax, limp on his lap, his fingers, wet from my juices, drift over my butt and to my back.
They trace my wings, triggering a bone-deep shiver, the skin puckering with goose bumps, making me arch my spine, needing to move as that delicate touch forces me to respond.
When I’ve stopped panting, he rights me, propping me up so I’m sitting on his lap. Then, he twists me to straddle his thighs, and I spread my legs, shuddering when his cock nudges my pussy.
His hands snag mine as he moves them behind my back, holding my wrists together with one of his, restraining me like he read my mind.
How I want to worship him.
How I want to touch everything that’s been denied to me for so long—his heart, his body, and, more importantly, his soul.