Chapter 30 Rafael
RAFAEL
I’m blown away when Aisling reaches orgasm with my very first thrust.
She was always so responsive, so eager, so alive with desire. But her words hit me like a wrecking ball as I slide inside her from behind, claiming her lips at the same time.
Because I’m reliving one of the best nights in my entire life with her.
A night when I opened her eyes to my world of pleasure—and found that she was as fearless as they came.
She turns me on to a dangerous degree.
But god, it nearly undoes me to realize that night might have just meant as much to her as it did to me.
Of course it would, knowing that she was practically a virgin.
But feeling her come on my cock just from the memory of it—from discovering that I remember it—I’ve never felt more alive. And we haven’t even started.
“Did you just come without permission?” I growl, nipping her full lower lip to warn her of what’s coming.
“Yes,” she gasps, her walls clenching around my cock at the same time.
Christ, so damn fearless.
“You know I have to punish you for that, right?”
Aisling moans, her ruby lips rolling as she squeezes her eyes closed, looking terrified. But I can feel her rippling along my length, the anticipation of her punishment overriding any anxiety.
“Yes,” she breathes, a shiver rattling down her spine.
The urge to kiss each vertebrae settles deep in my gut, but that will have to wait.
“Count to five, focosa. And don’t even think about coming while you take your punishment.”
She whimpers but manages a nod, her rich red locks fanning across the pillow beneath her cheek as she quivers beneath me.
And when I lean back to spank her creamy white ass cheek, I can feel her spasm around my rock-hard length.
“One,” she moans, her voice husky with need as I smooth my palm over the quickly reddening flesh, quickly soothing the pain.
Then I add a twin mark on her other ass cheek.
“Two!” she yelps, her hips jerking forward before slamming back, and I can feel the gush of arousal that floods her tight little pussy at the same time.
“Three!”
She’s not going to make it. She’s definitely going to come, and the knowledge makes my balls tighten and my cock throb.
“Are you getting greedy, focosa?” I tease, reaching around her to lightly graze her clit with my fingers.
Aisling sobs, her walls clenching around me with impressive force.
“Please, Raf,” she moans.
Because she knows it too. I own her pleasure.
I can make her come whenever and however I want.
And I’m teasing her to pretend that she won’t come again before I’m done with her.
It’s intoxicating, this power I have over her.
And at the same time, I know that this woman could bring me to my knees with a single look.
I rock inside her, urging her toward her climax as I swirl my fingers around the sensitive peak of her thighs, and Aisling shudders, the vibration rippling all the way up to my teeth.
I can’t help myself. Leaning down, I press a kiss between her shoulder blades and slowly work my way down her spine.
She pants beneath me, her quivering slowly subsiding as she eases back off the ledge just enough to regain a semblance of control, even as goosebumps rise in the wake of my mouth and tongue.
It’s a dance, a silent language between two bodies, and I love that I can walk her right to the edge of her climax and still bring her back. It will make her final release that much more intense, and the buildup in between will be enough to drive me crazy.
“Ready?” I tease darkly, and close my eyes, swallowing hard as she ripples around my cock in response.
“Mm-hmm,” she whimpers, her hands tightening around the bars of the headboard.
Sitting tall, I bring my hand down without warning, slapping her perfect ass hard enough that it makes my palm sting. Aisling groans wickedly, her back arching as she rocks against me.
“Count, Aisling,” I remind her.
“Four,” she moans, and I smooth my hand over her smarting skin in response.
“Good girl,” I murmur. “Last one.” I spank her a final time, and she cries out the number, her walls pulsing dangerously around me—but she doesn’t quite come.
I snarl with unbridled pride as I pull out of her, flipping her back over in one fluid motion, and then settle on top of her as I plunge into her depths once more.
Our lips collide, our tongues tangling, and deep satisfaction rocks through me as her arms strain against my belt, wanting to take control but entirely at my disposal.
“Come for me, dolce,” I purr, thrusting inside her, meeting the rhythm of her hips.
And she falls apart around me, her head falling back, lips parting on a silent cry as she explodes around me with astonishing force. I nearly grind my teeth to dust, holding back as I ride out her throbbing orgasm.
But I don’t stop, and I refuse to slow down until she’s utterly spent and limp beneath me.
Only when she collapses onto the mattress in a puddle do I pull out.
And I come so hard, I paint her full, perfect breasts with my cum.
“Christ, Aisling,” I rasp, chest heaving as it feels like my heart might burst.
The warm laughter that bubbles from her is enough to melt me completely, and I can’t help but join her, even as I rake in ragged breaths. Dropping forward onto one palm, I reach up to unbuckle my belt, releasing her.
Then I rise from the bed to get a washcloth and clean her up.
She lets me, watching with vibrant azure eyes as I run the damp cloth over her milky, angel-kissed skin.
But instead of letting me pull her back into my arms when I climb beneath the sheets with her, Aisling turns, wrapping her long, bare legs around my waist and pulling me back on top of her.
“Just kiss me,” she murmurs, her voice so soft and inviting, I can’t refuse her.
Our lips meet, soft and disarmingly sweet as she sets the pace this time.
And it doesn’t matter that I just came harder than I’ve ever come in my life.
I still want her.
Everything about Aisling hammers at my defenses, unraveling me stitch by stitch until I’m certain I’m going to lose myself completely.
I want her so badly it makes my bones ache. I want her body, mind, and soul.
And now that I’m not driven with desire, owned by temptation and lust, the familiar sense of conflict, the deep, unsettling confusion starts to ebb in once again.
I don’t know how to do this right.
That thought keeps circling as Aisling curves beneath me, warm and responsive, her breath hitching every time my mouth finds a place that makes her gasp.
I know how to take her apart.
That knowledge is etched into muscle memory, into instincts I never truly lost.
But knowing how to touch her isn’t the same thing as knowing how to move on.
Genevieve’s face flickers through my mind, not sharp or accusing, just soft.
The way she used to smile at me when I overthought everything.
The way she’d cup my face and tell me I was allowed to live my own life.
Sandro’s words echo too, low and blunt and delivered like truth. Genevieve wouldn’t want me to be miserable forever.
He’s right.
I know he is.
Genevieve was too kind for that, too full of warmth and laughter to ever wish this emptiness on me.
She loved me, and loving her taught me how precious joy is. How fleeting.
Still, guilt coils tightly in my chest, even as desire burns hot and undeniable.
Maybe it’s selfish to be here with Aisling like this, to want her, to feel something other than grief when I’d convinced myself grief was all I deserved. But the truth presses in, impossible to ignore.
I’ve wanted Aisling for as long as I can remember.
I’ve wanted her all along.
I just buried it, sealed it away the day I walked out of that club and left her behind, convinced I was doing the right thing. But I never really got over her.
My hand slides along her side, feeling the familiar curve of her waist, the way her body arches instinctively into my touch.
She makes a soft sound, something between a sigh and a laugh, and it hits me straight in the chest.
God, she’s intoxicating.
She always was.
Her fingers trace my back, nails dragging lightly, and the sensation pulls a memory loose.
Her straddling my lap years ago, eyes bright with challenge and heat, daring me to keep up.
The way she laughed when I matched her pace instead of controlling it.
Playful. Fierce. Alive.
She’s still all of that—and so much more.
I kiss her slowly, deliberately, tasting her like I’m trying to convince myself she’s real.
That this moment isn’t just a trick of nostalgia and longing.
Her mouth opens under mine, welcoming, familiar, and the way she melts into me tells me she feels it too.
I don’t know what this means. I don’t know where it ends. But I know burying what I feel for her didn’t kill it.
And now that it’s awake again, alive and burning and real in my arms, I don’t think I’m strong enough to put it back in the ground.
Maybe that makes me selfish.
Or maybe it just makes me human.