Chapter 9 Cassio #2
I circle her with my tongue, finding the swollen, hypersensitive nub of her clitoris.
She tastes incredible, a heady, intoxicating mix of her natural sweetness and the metallic tang of her innocence.
I worship her, swirling my tongue, applying gentle suction, feeling the way her hips begin to buck uncontrollably against my mouth.
Her hands tangle in my dark hair, but she isn't pushing me away anymore. Her fingers grip the strands, holding me exactly where I am as her breathing turns into ragged, desperate gasps.
"Cassio," she moans, the sound is completely unfiltered, stripped of her usual sharp edges.
"Tell me who you belong to," I demand, lifting my head just enough to watch her face.
She is tossing her head side to side, her eyes are glazed over, she is entirely at my mercy. "Please," she begs, completely ignoring the question.
"Tell me," I repeat, dipping two fingers into her slick heat, slowly stretching the tight, torn entrance that just halted my advance.
She whimpers at the slight sting, but the overwhelming pleasure of my thumb returning to her clitoris drowns it out. I pump my fingers in and out of her, preparing the tight sheath for the massive size of my erection.
"You," she moans, her back arching off the bed. "I belong to you."
"Fucking right you do," I vow.
I pull my fingers free and move back up her body. I am fully, painfully hard, a desperate ache radiating through my groin, but I force myself to maintain absolute control. I align myself with her slick entrance once more.
I brace my weight on my forearms, hovering over her, looking directly into her eyes.
"Deep breath, Noemi," I whisper.
I press forward. The resistance is still there, the tightness is almost excruciating for both of us, but this time, I don't force it. I slide into her with agonizing slowness, letting her body stretch to accommodate me, inch by inch.
She cries out, her nails digging into my back, her eyes squeezing shut.
"Open your eyes," I rasp, my jaw clenched so tight the muscles in my neck strain. I am halfway inside her, encased in a heat so tight it feels like a physical vice. "Open them. I want you to look at me while I make you mine."
Her eyelashes flutter open. Tears blur her vision, but she holds my gaze.
I push the rest of the way in, burying myself to the hilt.
A guttural, primitive groan tears from my chest. The sensation of being completely encased inside her, knowing that no other man has ever occupied this space, that I am the architect of her ruin and her pleasure, is a high that no drug on earth could ever replicate.
We hold still for a long, agonizing moment. I let her body adjust, feeling the frantic flutter of her internal muscles gripping me.
"Does it still hurt?" I ask, my voice is tight with strain.
"It’s full," she whispers, her hands sliding up my chest to wrap around my neck. "It feels... so full."
"It’s mine," I remind her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
I begin to move.
I pull back slowly, almost sliding completely out, before driving forward again with careful precision. The tight friction is absolute torture, dragging a hiss of breath through my teeth with every stroke.
At first, she is tense, her face is drawn in slight discomfort.
But as I set a steady, rhythmic pace, the pain begins to recede, replaced by the heavy, building pressure of the pleasure I prepared her for.
Her hips begin to lift, chasing my thrusts, a natural, instinctive reaction that makes my control begin to violently fracture.
"That's it, moglie," I encourage her, my pace quickening. "Take it. Take your husband."
Her breath hitches, the whimpers turning into soft, breathy moans that fill the silent bedroom. I slide one hand beneath her lower back, tilting her pelvis up to deepen the angle, hitting a spot inside her that makes her entire body jolt.
"Cassio!" she cries out, her eyes flying wide open.
"Right there?" I ask, a dark smirk pulling at my lips. I hit it again, harder this time.
She dissolves into a mess of desperate sounds, her nails leaving deep red scratches down the expanse of my back. The sharp-tongued, defiant woman who argued with me in the kitchen is completely gone, replaced by a creature of pure heat and submission, entirely responsive to my touch.
The friction is too much. The mental high of claiming her, combined with the physical perfection of her tight, wet body, is pushing me to the absolute edge.
"Look at me," I order, my voice a harsh, guttural rasp. My thrusts become harder, faster, the careful reverence giving way to a primal, driving need to finish the claim.
She locks her dark eyes with mine.
"You are Cassio Vellutini’s wife," I vow, each word punctuated by a deep, brutal thrust. "No one else looks at you. No one else touches you. If Dario Lombardi so much as breathes in your direction, I will cut his fucking head off."
"Cassio, please, I’m going to—"
"Come for me, Noemi. Now."
She shatters around me. Her internal muscles clamp down on my cock with a vice-like grip, milking me, pulling me over the edge with her. She screams my name, a beautiful, broken sound, as the climax rips through her untouched body.
Her release shatters my final thread of control. I groan, driving my hips forward one last time, burying myself as deep as physically possible, and I let go.
The orgasm hits me like a freight train, violent and completely consuming. I empty myself inside her, a hot, pulsing flood that cements the biological reality of my claim.
My lungs are burning, my heart threatening to beat its way out of my ribcage. I collapse against her, burying my face in the crook of her neck, my heavy chest is heaving against her soft breasts.
For a long time, the only sound in the room is our ragged, synchronized breathing.
She doesn't push me away. Her hands, small and delicate, tentatively stroke the damp hair at the nape of my neck.
I roll to the side, pulling her flush against my side, tucking her head under my chin. I look down at my hand. There is a faint smear of her blood on my knuckles from when I touched her.
I stare at it, a terrifying certainty settling over my soul like iron.
Orlando sent her here as a pawn. He sent her to be a casualty of our war. He thought I would break her and toss her aside.
He was wrong.
I pull Noemi tighter against my chest, wrapping my arm securely around her waist. She is no longer just collateral damage. She is my possession. She is my wife.
And heaven help the poor, stupid bastard who ever tries to steal her from me.