Chapter 18 - Emma
My pussy throbs with an ache that makes me gasp, proof that last night wasn’t a fever dream. Alessandro’s finger traces a bruise on my hip, pressing just hard enough to make me arch against him, and I realize with shocking clarity that I want him to press harder.
"Perseus," he murmurs against my shoulder, his breath making me shiver as his fingertips follow invisible lines across my bare skin, connecting paths from my shoulder blade to the curve of my hip like he's mapping constellations only he can see.
"Right here, where your freckles form the hero's constellation. "
His touch is featherlight but possessive, reminding me that even in tenderness, I'm still his captive, though after last night, I'm beginning to wonder who's really trapped.
Morning light streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, painting us both golden.
Including the marks he left on me: purple bruises blooming on my hips where he gripped too hard, the imprint of his teeth on my inner thigh, my nipples still swollen from his mouth.
I should be mortified by the evidence of what we did, what I begged him to do.
Instead, pride swells in my chest. These marks prove that last night happened, that the servant girl who scrubbed floors made Alessandro Rosetti lose complete control.
The silk sheets feel different against my oversensitive skin, every shift sending aftershocks through nerve endings I didn't know existed. Our combined scents—sex, sweat, his cologne—create an intoxicating perfume that makes my body respond despite the soreness.
"You're awake," Alessandro observes, his hand stilling on my hip, thumb pressing into the bruise again, deliberate this time, watching my reaction.
I keep my eyes closed for a moment longer, not ready for reality. But my body betrays me, arching into his touch without permission, seeking more pressure, more pain, more of whatever he wants to give me. The tiny movement makes him inhale sharply.
"Still so responsive," he growls, his cock already hard against my hip. "Even after I made you come you twice last night. How do you feel?" His voice carries genuine concern mixed with dark satisfaction.
"Different," I admit, finally opening my eyes to find him propped on one elbow, studying me with predatory intensity. His hair falls across his forehead, making him look younger, but those green eyes still burn with the same hunger that consumed me last night.
"Good different or bad different?"
I consider lying, keeping some power for myself. But what's the point? My nipples are already hard, my pussy already getting wet just from his proximity.
"Good," I whisper, then growing bolder: "Very, very good."
His smile turns dangerous. "Show me."
He takes my hand, guiding it between my legs. My fingers find wetness there, so much wetness, evidence that even sore and aching, my body craves him. The realization makes heat flood my face, but also makes me brave enough to explore deeper.
"That's it," he encourages, watching intently. "Feel how swollen you are from my cock. How wet you're getting just from my voice."
I press two fingers inside myself, shocked by my own boldness, gasping at how tender yet needy I am. My pussy clenches around my fingers, and I can feel where he stretched me, changed me, claimed me.
"Fuck, Stella," he breathes as I work my fingers deeper. "You're dripping. Listen to how wet your pussy is."
The obscene sounds should embarrass me. Instead, they make me bolder. I circle my clit the way he did, maintaining eye contact even as pleasure sparks through oversensitive flesh.
"Is this what you want?" I ask, adding another finger, fucking myself slowly. "To watch me touch what you claimed?"
"Christ." His cock twitches, a bead of pre-cum appearing at the tip. "You're going to kill me. After everything we've done, the charity luncheon, the rooftop, last night, and you're still surprising me."
His praise makes me wetter. I spread my legs wider, giving him a better view, watching his jaw clench as he fights for control. He moves toward me, but I stop him with a word.
“No. Just watch.”
He shivers, gaze glued to the place where my legs meet. This powerful man who commands armies is shaking because I won't let him touch me yet.
"Stellina," he groans when I pinch my nipple with my free hand. "My perfect little star. Look what my corruption has done to you."
Italian endearments pour from his lips—cara mia, bellissima, la mia vita—each foreign phrase making my pussy clench. But watching him struggle, seeing his cock leak pre-cum just from watching me, gives me an idea that would have terrified yesterday's version of me.
"Please," he begs, and hearing Alessandro Rosetti beg makes my pussy gush. "Let me taste you. Let me worship that perfect pussy properly."
"No." The word surprises us both. "Not yet. I want to explore you first."
His hands grip the sheets so hard the fabric starts to tear. This man who takes whatever he wants is trembling because I'm denying him.
"You're fucking killing me," he grits out. "Do you know what you look like? Spread out in my bed, three fingers deep in your pussy, covered in my marks? You look like every wet dream I've ever had."
The desperation in his voice gives me courage. I pull my fingers out, moaning at the loss, then shock myself by bringing them to my mouth, tasting myself the way he did that day at the charity luncheon. His cock jerks violently.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chants as I suck my fingers clean. "Stella, please. I need to be inside you. Need to feel that tight pussy gripping my cock."
I make my decision in a heartbeat, straddling him before I lose my nerve. The position puts me above him, in control, and the view is intoxicating: Alessandro Rosetti spread beneath me, his cock standing proud and thick, angry red and leaking steadily.
"Stella," he breathes with something like worship.
"My turn," I whisper, voice shaking with nervous excitement. "My turn to map every inch of you."
I start with his scars, tracing each one with fingers and tongue. The bullet wound near his hip makes him hiss when I suck on it. The knife scar across his ribs has him bucking up, his cock sliding along my wet slit, making us both moan.
"Please," he begs when I trace my tongue along his V-line, deliberately avoiding his cock. "Stella, baby, please. I'm so fucking hard it hurts."
"You made me beg that first time," I remind him, wrapping my hand around his shaft, feeling it pulse desperately. "Made me scream your name while you ate my pussy in that bathroom."
"And I'll spend the rest of my life on my knees for you if you just—FUCK!"
I've taken his cock in my mouth, just the tip, swirling my tongue around the head, tasting the salty pre-cum that immediately floods my mouth. His hips buck hard, trying to push deeper, but I pull back with a wet pop.
"Still," I command, drunk on power, and incredibly, he obeys.
I take him deeper this time, relaxing my throat. His cock is thick, stretching my lips obscenely, but I love the weight of him on my tongue, love the way he shakes beneath me.
"Holy fuck," he groans when I cup his balls, rolling them gently while taking him deeper. "Your mouth, Jesus Christ, that perfect fucking mouth."
I hollow my cheeks, sucking hard while working my tongue along the underside of his shaft. His hands find my hair, not forcing, just holding, trembling with the effort not to fuck my throat.
"Stella, baby, I'm going to—you have to stop or I'll come down your throat."
I pull off slowly, strings of saliva connecting my lips to his cock. "Maybe I want you to," I say, then take him deep again, moaning around his length.
"Fuck, no," he growls, pulling me up with surprising gentleness despite his desperation. "The first time you make me come today, it's going to be with my cock buried in that tight little pussy."
Before I can respond, he's kissing me deeply, groaning at the taste of himself on my tongue. His cock slides through my folds, the head catching on my clit with each pass, making me whimper into his mouth.
"Ride me," he commands against my lips. "Take what you need. Use my cock however you want."
I position myself above him, rubbing his cock through my wetness, coating him thoroughly. We both watch as I line him up with my entrance, the head just barely pressing inside.
"You're so fucking wet," he marvels, feeling me drip onto his abs. "My perfect girl, so ready for my cock."
I sink down slowly, gasping at the stretch. I'm still sore from last night, but the burn feels good, feels right. His cock fills me completely, hitting spots that make stars explode behind my eyes.
"Fuck," we say in unison when I'm fully seated, his cock buried to the hilt.
I stay still for a moment, adjusting to the fullness, feeling my pussy flutter around him. From this position, I can see everything: the way his abs clench, the way his jaw ticks with restraint, the way his eyes devour every inch of me.
"Move," he begs. "Please, baby, ride my cock. I need to feel you."
I start slow, rolling my hips experimentally. The angle is different from last night, his cock hitting deeper, making me gasp with each movement. His hands find my hips, not directing, just holding, thumbs stroking the bruises he left.
"That's it," he encourages as I find my rhythm. "Fuck yourself on my cock. Take what you need."
I lean back, bracing my hands on his thighs, and the new angle has his cock hitting my g-spot perfectly. I cry out, my pussy clenching hard around him.
"Right there?" he asks, his thumb finding my clit. "Is that the spot, baby?"
"Yes," I moan, riding him harder. "Oh god, yes, right there."
"Look at you," he says with wonder. "The woman who came undone in that bathroom, riding my cock like you were born for it. Your pussy is gripping me so fucking tight."