Chapter Thirteen #2
“Beg,” he murmurs, unbuckling his belt with that deliberate arrogance that makes my stomach twist. My mouth goes dry as he pulls off his black shirt, revealing hard lines and sharp muscle.
He’s thinner, months of torment carved into him, but it only makes him look more ruthless, more dangerous, more mine.
“I can finish myself, it’s fine,” I lie, even though every inch of me is shaking with need for him.
“Then do it,” he says, stroking his cock lazily, watching me with hungry eyes.
I try to circle my clit, but my belly makes it nearly impossible to reach properly, and frustration burns hot in my throat. I’m too sensitive, too swollen, too desperate.
He tilts his head, smirking.
“Need some help?”
The lust in his eyes is molten. He’s tormenting me on purpose, but the way his jaw tightens tells me my desperation tortures him too.
I meet his gaze, and the truth spills out of me like a sin.
“Please. . .” I whisper, breathless, needy, shameless.
His cock is at my entrance instantly, sliding through my slick folds, coating himself in me. Up and down, up and down, stroking where I need him most but refusing to give in. Keeping me trembling on the edge.
“Look at your pussy,” he growls, voice thick with hunger. “So fucking needy for me. Welcoming me home.”
Then he snaps his hips and thrusts into me in one brutal, perfect stroke.
My head falls back, a broken sound ripping from my throat.
“Oh, Lorenzo—” I gasp, hands grabbing at anything I can reach as he starts to move.
Slow, deep thrusts that punish and worship at the same time, rocking through me, making my eyes roll back. Every inch of him aches like I’ve been waiting months to be filled, to be claimed, to be ruined again.
“Like always, you take me so well, baby.”
His voice is a low, sinful growl against my skin as he drives into me harder, deeper, stretching me open around him until I feel the orgasm clawing up my spine. I clutch the edge of the table like it’s the only thing holding me together.
“Oh, please don’t stop. . .” The words spill out of me in a desperate moan, helpless, needy, completely undone as he hits that spot inside me that makes my vision blur and my mouth fall open. My moans get louder, raw, shameless.
He bends and takes my nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, nipping it with his teeth while his hips slam forward, fucking me with brutal precision. Pleasure crackles down my nerves so violently I swear I see light.
“Anyone, huh?” he murmurs, slowing his thrusts just enough to torment me, his tone cruel and devastatingly controlled. “Tell me, baby. . . how do you want me to fuck the truth back into that pretty head of yours?”
He snaps his hips forward, one deep push that rips a cry from me.
“Lorenzo!” I shout, pleasure tightening viciously in my belly, spiraling fast.
I’m right there. I’m right there.
And then—
The door swings open.
I freeze.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Sienna.
I want to die. I want the floor to swallow me whole. I disappeared for three months, and this, this, is what she walks in on: me spread open on a kitchen table, being railed by my ex-boyfriend who also happens to have murdered my father.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
“Eyes here,” Lorenzo orders, grabbing my jaw and turning my face toward him like Sienna doesn’t exist. His dominance sears through me. He thrusts again, hard, relentless, and the pressure inside me detonates.
“Oh,” I scream, the orgasm ripping through me, violent and blinding. My back arches off the table as the pleasure crashes over me in waves that steal every thought.
He groans, deep and broken, and spills inside me, hot, thick, his hips grinding through every last pulse of pleasure. The feeling of him filling me sends another shudder through my body.
Before I can recover, he captures my mouth in a kiss, claiming me completely, tongue sliding against mine as if Sienna isn’t three feet away witnessing the most mortifying moment of my life.
“Did you guys forget I’m here?” Sienna snaps, disgust dripping from her voice. “Or did you just decide to ignore me and continue your hate-fuck or whatever the hell this is?”
Lorenzo doesn’t even bother looking at her. He presses one more slow thrust inside me, a possessive aftershock, before finally stepping back.
“What can I say? My woman asks, I deliver.” he says, totally unbothered.
I cannot believe I’m blushing.
After everything I’ve survived, three months locked in a room, starved, isolated, stripped of my sanity, the first thing I do in my own home is get fucked senseless by my ex-boyfriend on the kitchen table.
Shame curls through my stomach like smoke, hot and humiliating.
I want to blame the pregnancy hormones. .
. and maybe I should, because nothing else explains how easily I let myself fall apart under him.
“Sienna,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
She rushes toward me immediately and wraps her arms around me.
The image must be ridiculous: me half-naked, sitting on the kitchen table in nothing but panties, hugging my best friend while her hair brushes against my bare breasts.
But none of that matters. Having her arms around me feels like remembering what real, human warmth is.
“I love you so much,” Sienna cries into my neck, gripping me tightly. When she pulls back, her eyes finally drop to my belly. She freezes. Her mouth falls open. Her face pales.
Before she can say anything, Lorenzo’s voice cuts through the room.
“I’ll give you two some time.”
I look over, and somehow he’s already fully dressed, completely put together, like he didn’t just fuck me into oblivion two minutes ago. His hair is perfect. His shirt is straight. His belt is buckled. The man is infuriating.
He heads toward the doorway with that calm, unmistakably dominant walk of his.
“I’ll be in my bedroom,” he adds casually.
I blink. “What do you mean?”
He pauses, glancing over his shoulder with that slow, devastating smirk that always manages to tighten something low in my stomach.
“The staff should arrive soon,” he says.
A cold confusion washes through me. Staff? My house? What staff?
And then, as if reading the exact moment my brain short-circuits, he turns fully toward me.
“I’m moving here, love,” he says with the audacity of a man who knows damn well he’ll get his way.
My jaw drops.
He lifts a brow, the smirk deepening. “We’re going to be roommates.”
He winks at me like this is the funniest, sexiest idea he’s ever had.