Chapter 26
26
MICHAEL
Gianna sits up, reaching for the buttons of my shirt, her eyes dark with desire. But I’m teetering at the edge of my control and can’t risk losing it, so I slap her hand away and push her back on the bed. She falls without much resistance.
Twisting and turning her the way I want is as easy as manipulating a rag doll. Her limbs move fluidly under my direction. I position her on her knees, facing the headboard, and kneel behind her, raising her hands up until she’s holding onto the little hooks carved artistically into the wood. The sight of her—posed, waiting, vulnerable—sends a surge of possessive heat through my veins.
“Under no circumstances are you allowed to let go. Understand?” I ask, and she nods eagerly, her breathing already quickening.
Good girl.
I move away from behind her just long enough to take out the blindfold from the nightstand. The moment she realizes what I’m doing, she inhales sharply, her body sinking back into mine.
I tie the fabric over her eyes, making sure it’s snug but comfortable. “Okay?” I ask quietly and she nods again. “Good.”
My hand curves around her throat, tilting her head back. Then I devour her lips. I kiss her hard, deep—inhaling her like air. Keeping her distracted with my lips, I let my other hand roam, gliding over her hip, around the tempting curve of her ass.
I nudge her thighs apart, stretching them wide, and she breaks the kiss to glance down at my cock. The hard organ weeps precum as I take in the swollen, glistening lips of her pussy. I did that to her.
Spreading her thighs even wider, I move into the space between them, notching my cock at her tight hole from behind before slowly pushing in. Her pliant body welcomes me warmly, and in one smooth, hard thrust, I sink into her to the hilt.
Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. The word hammers through my skull as pleasure rockets up my spine, tingling, burning, searing through my veins like wildfire.
I grit my teeth, muscles locking as the urge to just thrust and thrust and thrust until I pour out my essence into her overwhelms me. But I breathe through my nose, forcing control, and snake my hand across her belly, up to her tits, squeezing the soft flesh as my cock goes even deeper inside her.
In this position, I’ve got her caged in, completely mine. I lift my hands to the headboard, framing hers, and drop my head to her neck, my breath hot against her skin as I slowly thrust in and out of her.
“ Jesus Christ, ” she moans, her head falling back to rest on my shoulders. A black cloud of soft hair spills over my face, stealing my vision for a moment.
“No. Michael ,” I correct as I gently push her hair aside. “Say my name, love.”
She lets out a feverish groan and tries to shift back into me, trying to get me to move faster inside her, but I’ve got her well and truly pinned— at my complete mercy .
I withdraw until just the tip remains, then pump back into her with deliberate slowness, drawing a long, keening moan from her lips. I keep fucking her like that in shallow, teasing thrusts that feel incredible but aren’t enough to take either of us to our climax.
She loses herself completely.
“ Michael, Michael, please, Michael, ” she whimpers mindlessly, and my chest expands, blood roaring in my ears as my eyes half-close in ecstasy. When she chants my name in that gasping, needy tone—one I’ve discovered she only uses when I’m driving her mad with pleasure—it does unholy things to me.
She keeps calling for me, begging with my name, and the thin thread of control I’ve been clinging to snaps.
I forget why I wanted to go slow and steady.
I forget everything except the need to claim, to possess, to mark.
My hands drop from the headboard to her hips, holding her in place as I drive into her with all my strength. The force of it sends her head knocking against the headboard with an audible thud, but all she does is scream my name, her voice raw with pleasure.
Cursing under my breath, I quickly lift one hand and brace it against the headboard in front of her so her head hits my palm instead of the hard surface as I maintain the punishing pace. The ache in my knuckles from absorbing each impact barely registers—drowned out by the pleasure building at the base of my spine.
My vision blurs as the slow, inevitable trickle of my sperm winds its way up my cock, every relentless thrust forcing it higher.
Not yet. Not until she falls apart for me first.
I fuck Gianna even harder and snake my free hand around her hip, down to her soaked folds, then up to her clit. But I don’t touch yet. I hold my hand there, letting the thought of the pressure I might exert over the nerves at any time drive her crazy as I twist my hips, angling my thrusts upwards towards her g-spot.
Her body shudders violently, arching before curving down as her hands slip from the headboard to slap the bedsheets. And despite my hand cushioning her head, she still manages to knock the damn board again.
I stop fucking into her to ask a strained, “Are you okay?”
“Don’t you fucking stop you fucking bastard you— arrghh! ” she yells, the words dissolving into a guttural cry as I thrust into her before she can finish her rant.
I drop my head to her curved spine, nipping at her sweet flesh before dragging my lips up, up, up to the side of her neck. My hand leaves the board to wrap around her throat, fingers pressing just enough to make her gasp.
And then?—
I lose control.
I fuck into her hard and fast, without finesse or restraint, the sharp slap of our bodies and our ragged moans filling the air like a symphony of sin. My grip tightens around her throat, and I press the pad of my palm to her clit, pinning her between two unbearable sensations just as my body goes white-hot with my orgasm.
My brain fizzles out as her hot cunt clenches around me, her throat convulsing beneath my palm as she gasps through her own climax, struggling for breath. I barely register letting go of her throat before my hand slaps down on the bed beside her head. And fuck—she squeezes even tighter, her orgasm wringing me dry as she lets out a muffled shriek, her head buried in the mattress.
Heat, tightness, her muffled cries—it all slams into me at once, seizing every nerve in my body.
My neck snaps back, and I yell to the ceiling as spurt after spurt of cum shoots into her hot cunt. I pound into her through it all, drawing out our shared pleasures, growling her name like an incantation that keeps me tethered to this moment, to her.
And then, finally, I slow—but I’m not done.
As the intensity begins to ebb, I press a soft kiss at the top of her spine and shift back, careful not to let my cock slip out of her as I crawl further up the bed. Her head lifts heavily, and she blinks back at me in confusion, her eyes glazed with satisfaction and exhaustion.
“Shhh.” I press my palm between her shoulder blades, easing her back down until her cheek rests on the sheets, then raise her ass slightly higher. Perfect .
I need my cum to go where it needs to go—to implant in her womb with my child and bind her to me in the most permanent way possible.
I keep her ass in the air as my cock softens inside her, my palm gliding over her warm, supple flesh in slow, soothing strokes.
Surprisingly, she doesn’t put up a fight, and my heart expands as I realize what it means. She wants my seed to take root inside her as well, whether subconsciously or not. That has to be why she didn’t ask me to go look for a condom before I fucked into her, and why she’s not complaining now about the risk.
She wants me. She wants us. She wants this.
Victory is an intoxicating drug.
I stare blankly at the headboard for a minute, my mind fracturing with flashes of a future—of a child with her dark hair and golden eyes. A perfect mini version of her—beautiful, fierce, ours.
I’m going to have that. Damn it, I will . Nothing and no one will stand in my way.
Leaning down, I nuzzle her cheek, and my heart softens as I take her in.
She’s fallen asleep, her luscious lips parted, dark hair spilling over her face. She’s so beautiful, so everything.
And she’s all mine.
I push the hair off her face and plant a gentle kiss on her lips. She murmurs my name in her sleep, shifting slightly, and her movement stirs my cock still nestled in her cunt, making me groan under my breath.
I stay like that, watching her for long moments, unwilling—unable—to draw my gaze away from her.
Then, softly, regretfully I pull out of her warmth and drag her into my chest, burying my face into her neck, inhaling the scent that’s uniquely hers. For a fleeting second, perfect contentment washes over me.
Until I remember her duplicitousness earlier this evening.
Why the fuck did she tell me she was on her period? Does it have anything to do with Elira’s unexpected visit?
The last traces of the sexual haze evaporate from my brain, replaced by a slow, creeping suspicion. I let go of her sleeping form and roll out of the bed, careful not to wake her.
Whatever game she’s playing, I’ll uncover it. I always do.
I pull on my pants without bothering with underwear and run a hand through my sex-mussed hair as I walk out of the bedroom. With each step, my still-sensitive cock rubs against the rough material, sending little aftershocks of pleasure through my body. I ignore it, focused on a more pressing need—the need for truth.
When I get into my office, I go straight to my computer, logging in and pulling up the camera feed. I replay the feed from earlier this evening, rewinding to the moment Elira walked into our house.
On the screen, Gianna leads her up the stairs and into her room. My jaw clenches as I switch cameras to see what happened inside.
The footage shows Elira sitting on the edge of the bed, rummaging through her bag before extracting what looks like a pill. She hands it to my wife, who takes it into her palm and walks into the ensuite.
What the fuck?
I don’t have a camera in there—even I have limits—so I can only wait, fingers drumming impatiently against the desk.
When she gets back, Elira hands her a whole blister pack of medication, and I narrow my eyes as Gianna replies, her lips moving in words I can’t hear. Damn it, I should’ve installed audio recording devices in the house. I would kill to hear what she’s saying.
What drugs is Elira giving to my wife? And why the hell is she taking them so diligently?
Maximo’s wife gets to her feet, and mine hugs her tightly—too tightly. Like she’s grateful for something. They talk a while longer, embrace again, then leave the room together. I follow the footage as Gianna walks Elira to the front door, sees her off, then quickly rushes back inside.
Up the stairs. Into her bedroom.
My eyes narrow to slits as I watch her strain to lift the mattress and hides the pills underneath.
I’m on my feet before the mattress even drops back onto the bedframe, rage propelling me towards Gianna’s bedroom to discover exactly what she’s hiding from me.
I swing the door open with such force that it slams against the wall. I wince momentarily but don’t pause to wonder if it woke Gianna or not.
Let her wake up. Let her try to explain herself.
I make my way straight to the mattress and lift it with one hand, revealing the blister pack exactly where she hid it. I snatch it up, my lips curling into a snarl as I read the label with growing disbelief.
Birth control pills.
Why the fuck would Elira give my wife this? And more importantly—why the hell would she accept them? Especially when she responded so eagerly to me earlier, when it was so obvious how much she wanted me inside her, how much she wanted my child?
No.
No.
She won’t use them. The thought comes with absolute certainty, my fury cooling slightly. She can’t possibly want this.
She probably only took the one pill earlier to placate Elira. I nod to myself. Yes, that’s it. That explains it all. I don’t know much about Maximo’s relationship with his wife, but I know for a fact they’re not ready for kids yet. Did Elira try to impose her own choices on my wife? Did she convince her that motherhood wasn’t in her best interest?
As if she has any right to interfere in our marriage, in our future.
For a moment, the urge to storm back to our bedroom and confront Gianna is overwhelming—to shake her awake and demand answers, to make her choose between her friend’s advice and my desires. But I fight against the impulse. We just barely made up; I’m not about to stir the pot over something I can fix quietly myself.
And besides, after tonight, she’s probably already pregnant.
It will be dangerous for our unborn child if I leave these pills here.
I pocket the blister pack and drop the mattress back into place, smoothing out the bedding to conceal any evidence of my discovery. I know deep in my bones that Gianna wants our baby as much as I do, but just in case she has a moment of doubt…
I’ll remove the temptation entirely.
Pulling out my phone, I call the pharmacist on my payroll. “Hey,” I say as soon as he picks up. “I have some medication I need you to swap for me,” I explain what I want, and he assures me he’ll have it ready in two hours.
Good.
Wasting no time, I pop out every last pill from the blister pack and flush them down the toilet, watching with grim satisfaction as they swirl and disappear down the drain.
Then, with the empty pack in hand and a lightness to my steps, I head out to meet him.