Chapter 12 Francesco #2
I grab her waist with both hands.
“Then prove it,” I murmur, stepping closer. “If it’s Marco you want, if he does it for you, why haven’t you let him touch you?”
Her lips part.
“Then why didn’t you let him kiss you for up to thirty seconds?
Hmm?” I slide one hand down to her ass, my voice dropping to a whisper.
“Why haven’t you let him fuck you yet?” I whisper, brushing her hair off her neck.
“Why does your body go tense every time I walk into the room? Why do you hold your breath around me?”
Her chest rises and falls rapidly but she doesn’t answer.
“That’s what I thought.” I reach out, brushing my fingers over her lower lip. “Because it’s not him you dream about, is it?”
She shoves my chest and slaps me across the cheek, her eyes flashing. “You’re disgusting.”
I laugh before stepping forward again and grabbing both her hands, pinning them above her head. She gasps as I hold both her wrists together with one hand, using my second hand to pull down her lower lip.
“You want this.”
“I hate you,” she breathes.
“But you want this.”
I press one knee between her legs. Her mouth falls open in a quiet gasp, and I slip two fingers inside. Her body betrays her, and she knows it.
“Suck.”
Her eyes are fiery, glaring daggers at me. But she closes her mouth and swirls her tongue around my fingers.
I groan, and that emboldens her. Closing her eyes, she pushes her head down on my hand, slightly scraping her teeth along my flesh as she sucks my fingers like a popsicle.
When I can’t take it anymore, I pull them out of her mouth and kiss her.
There’s no gentleness or patience in the kiss. Just the pent-up desire and fury we’ve both been swallowing for weeks. My tongue slides over and inside her lips, urging them to open further. I pull her bottom lip between my teeth, and she moans.
And I know this is it. The unraveling.
The line between hate and hunger shatters.
I feel my dick throb in my pants as she starts to rock her hips over my knee.
“Fuck,” I groan, and her body trembles as my free hand slides down her side to pull her dress up.
I push my hand under her dress and curse low in my throat when I feel the wet heat through her panties.
She’s soaked. For me.
She lets out a pleased sigh as I release her wrists, but the sound turns into a sharp gasp as I use both hands to tear what little fabric separates us. Her panties rip in my hands, and the sound drives me insane. I don’t drop them. I keep them fisted in one hand like a fucking trophy.
Grabbing her waist, I lift her body and press her against the shelf. Her legs wrap around my waist, her fingers clawing at my hair and shoulders as I tug my fly and pull my pants down.
My cock is aching, pulsing, already slick from how ready she is.
But then—
A breath catches in her throat.
Not fear.
Not regret.
Just that tremble… that slight hesitation.
I pause.
And I know.
She’s never done this before. Of course she hasn’t. She walks around this house like she’s untouchable, like no one’s ever had the right to reach inside her, to ruin her. She’s held herself above everyone—above me—and now I’m the one she gives this to.
Me.
She should’ve known better.
And I should’ve let her go. But I’m too much of a conceited prick to do that.
Because if she gives herself to me now—like this—then no other man will ever be able to touch her without her remembering what it felt like to come apart on my cock.
I want her to remember this, to feel me in every step she takes tomorrow, to ache for me when she’s alone. I want her ruined, so no other man can ever compare.
Not Marco. Not anyone.
I press my forehead to hers, breath ragged. Her fingers tremble on my shoulders, but she doesn’t pull away.
“You drive me fucking insane,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “Since the day you stepped into this house. Since you looked at me like I was a monster and didn’t flinch.”
She blinks up at me, lips parted.
“You don’t get it, do you?” I growl. “You don’t see what you’ve done to me.”
I rub my tip against her slick entrance, coating myself in juices.
“I could’ve had anyone. I’ve had anyone. But all I want—all I fucking see—is you.”
And then, I push inside.
All the way.
Hard.
Her gasp is sharp and real—more than surprise, more than pain. She clutches me like she’s drowning, her nails digging deep. I hold still, every muscle in my body locked tight as I feel her stretch around me. Tight. Raw. Mine.
She doesn’t say stop. So I don’t.
I move slowly at first, letting her adjust, but inside I’m unraveling. Every thrust feels like a claim. Every moan I rip from her throat feels like victory.
She’s mine now.
I let out a grunt as she clenches around me.
It takes all of ten seconds for me to lose control.
I grab her face between my hands and kiss her hard, pushing our bodies against each other.
I bounce her light body on my dick. The sounds of her moans mixed with my balls slapping against her soft ass fill the quiet room.
She throws her head back, her face contorting like she’s in pain.
Shit.
I stop thrusting, giving her time to breathe and recover. A girl like her needs someone slow, someone sweet. I don’t know how to be any of those things, especially with her.
My mouth latches onto the sensitive skin behind her ear where it meets her neck and jawline. She shivers in my arms and pulls her hips closer to mine.
“Don’t stop,” she breathes, grabbing my free hand and sucking two fingers into her mouth.
Fuck.
“You like it rough?” I grit, balancing her against my one arm and the shelf.
Her eyes glaze over as she nods with my fingers still in her mouth.
Blowing out a breath, I start thrusting faster and harder while simultaneously pushing my fingers down her throat. Her loud moans are muffled by my fingers. For a second, I wonder if someone will hear us, but I realize I don’t care. This… this is worth everything.
Worth every minute we’ve spent avoiding each other. Worth all the time I spent dreaming and fantasizing about her for two whole years. Every touch, every look, every argument we’ve ever had.
Everything.
I’m not gentle. I don’t have it in me to be, not when she’s pulling this madness out of me, this need to possess her completely.
I want her to feel every thrust, every ounce of my desire, my obsession.
I want her to know what it means to be wanted like this, to be taken by someone who’d burn the world down for her.
She’s mine, and I’ll make sure she never forgets it. Every other man who comes after me will be a pale imitation, because I’m carving myself into her soul right now. This is her first time, but it’s also her last with anyone who isn’t me. I’ll make sure of it.
She’s trembling in my arms, her body quaking as I drive into her, harder, deeper, like I can fuse us together, make her a part of me that no one else can touch.
Every thrust is a claim, a vow that she’s mine, that no one will ever have her like this.
I’m slamming into her cervix, burying myself so deep it’s like I’m rewriting her, erasing any future where I’m not the one she craves.
Her body bucks, wild and uncontrolled, as she comes, and the sight of her unraveling, the sound of her broken gasps, pushes me over the edge.
I bury myself inside her one last time, groaning through gritted teeth as I release. Her name nearly slips from my lips, but I choke it back and sink into the silence instead.
She sags against my chest, still panting. I stay there, breathing hard, burying my face into her hair like I’m trying to inhale something I know I’ll never deserve.
Then I feel it.
Wetness.
But not from the sex. It’s from her quiet tears that bleed onto my chest. There is no sound, just the soft, slow ache of them.
I lift her chin. And fuck me—those tears. They gut me.
I swipe one away with my thumb. I don’t ask why she’s crying. I already know. It’s not regret. It’s not shame.
They’re something more, something that makes me want to pull her closer and push her away all at once. It’s everything she lost the moment she gave herself to me. And everything I’ll never give back.
When her tears stop, I pull out and set her down gently, my hands lingering on her waist longer than they should.
Her dress falls around her like a shroud, trying to cover what I’ve done.
She gathers her torn panties in one hand, the other wrapped tightly around her ribs like she’s holding herself together.
I can’t look at her like this—small, vulnerable, like I’ve broken something I didn’t mean to. So I don’t. I pull my pants up, shove my dick back inside, and zip up, shutting away the part of me that still wants to hold her.
Then I head for the door, but something drags me back. So I turn and she’s still standing there.
Shattered. Beautiful. Mine.
“You can keep pretending, Lia,” I say, voice low. “Keep playing house with Marco. Next time, even sleep next to him, laugh like he’s enough, and like you two could have even a semblance of a relationship.”
I tilt my head, eyes locking with hers.
“But don’t forget who made you come like that. Don’t forget who broke you first. Who your entire body aches for.”
The words are meant to cut through any fantasy she might have about him. Marco can’t touch her like I do. He can’t make her shake, make her scream, make her mine. She’ll feel me every time she closes her eyes, every time she tries to move on. I’ve made sure of it.
I open the door and walk away, but the image of her from a few minutes ago burns into me. She’s driven me to this madness, pulled this obsession out of me since the moment she stepped into my world.
And now, even as I leave her behind, I know I’m not done. I’ll take her again, whenever I want, because she’s mine. But that ache in my chest, that unfamiliar sting, it follows me, whispering that maybe, just maybe, she’s taken something from me too.