Chapter 25
Simeone
Loriana’s weight in my arms is perfect. She feels like newly claimed territory that I never intend to surrender.
She’s mine to carry, mine to protect, mine to worship.
The ivory silk pools around us as I climb toward our sanctuary, and with each step, the reality settles deeper: she chose this.
Chose me. Chose to bind herself to the Silver Devil completely.
“You realize,” she murmurs against my throat, her breath warm and intoxicating, “that you’ve just married the most stubborn woman in New York.”
“I’ve married the most magnificent woman in existence,” I correct, shouldering open our bedroom door. “The stubbornness is just part of your considerable charm.”
I set her down carefully beside our bed, my hands reluctant to release their claim on her. In the candlelight, she looks like something carved from ivory and starlight—beautiful beyond reason, dangerous beyond measure, absolutely mine in ways that make my chest tight with possession.
“Mrs. Codella,” I say, testing the name on my tongue and finding it perfect.
“Mr. Codella,” she replies, but there’s mischief dancing in her eyes. “Though I should warn you that marriage doesn’t make me any more obedient.”
“Thank God for that.” I reach for the pins holding her hair in its elegant updo, letting the dark waves cascade over her shoulders. “I didn’t marry you for obedience, stellina. I married you for the fire that burns in everything you do.”
Her hands find the buttons of my shirt, working them with deliberate slowness that makes my blood heat. “And what did I marry you for?”
“Protection,” I say, catching her wrists to still her movements. “Safety. Security. All the things you claimed to want since the moment you walked into my office.”
“Liar.” She pulls free and continues her assault on my clothing. “I married you because you make me feel alive in ways I never knew were possible. Because you’re dangerous and controlled and absolutely devastating when you lose that control.”
“You want to see me lose control?” The question comes out rougher than intended, edged with the hunger I’ve been restraining since the moment she appeared in that ivory dress.
“On our wedding night?” Her smile is pure sin. “I’m counting on it.”
The last of my restraint snaps like overtaxed wire. In one fluid motion, I lift her back into my arms and carry her to the bed, laying her down with the reverence due to something precious and irreplaceable.
“You have no idea what you’ve just unleashed,” I warn. My hands find the zipper of her dress.
“Then show me,” she breathes, arching toward my touch with the kind of surrender that makes my blood sing with triumph.
The journey of her zipper reveals silk and lace beneath, an unexpected treasure trove. Unable to resist, I stroke my fingers across the lace’s intricate webbing, appreciating the way it makes her shiver.
“Tell me, Mrs. Codella, is this for my pleasure or yours?”
“Both,” she says, writhing against the mattress in a way that makes her creamy breasts swell against the thin silk.
Caught by some strange force beyond my control, I trace the webwork from her chest to her ribs, letting desire take the driver’s seat as I linger on soft curves that beckon, forbidden and lush.
She answers my wordless demands with abandon, arching beneath my hands, taking what she wants with shameless sensuality.
“Slowly,” she orders, her breath coming in fast gasps. “Draw this out. Make me beg for the climax.”
Her language surprises me and drives me wild all at once. The kind of demands men like me usually make. But the words sound different in her mouth, feel different hearing them breathed out against my skin, taste different against her lips.
Every plea, every sigh, every gasp speaks to something deep inside me—to the primitive need that breaks free of restraint when it’s just the two of us. This is the gift she’s given me. Lust without fear, passion without shame, an unshackling of desires that taste bitter in anyone else’s mouths.
“Marriage becomes you, stellina.”
I brush aside the delicate fabric guarding her soft stomach, following the webwork past her navel to where it comes to an abrupt end. She sucks in a hard breath, her anticipation creating a static electric charge in the scant inches between us.
My desire sharpens to a weapon’s edge, ready and willing to do my bidding. I roll my tongue over the taut flesh, smiling at the way her back arches off the bed as I press first one, then two, then three of my fingers along the edge of her panties.
“Simeone,” she begs.
“Ask again,” I purr, using my teeth to draw her lace upward. “A little more gently.”
“Please.” The single word holds the weight of eternity.
I draw her panties down her long legs with infuriating slowness, tasting every inch of creamy skin along the way. Salt, sweet, sultry. Over the long muscles and back down the insides, across the small bones, sucking the tender parts until she writhes beneath me.
“Need more,” she demands, her voice breathless and demanding.
“Beg,” I whisper against her thigh.
“Please,” she whispers. “Now. Oh, God, now.”
Then—holy paradise—my mouth is on her, my mouth is drinking her, my mouth is breaking her apart while she melts against me.
She becomes holy benediction as I take her, taste her, mark her as my wife and property forever.
Mine to have, mine to love, mine to have broken and whole and broken and whole again.
“Please,” she begs, her heels digging into my shoulders, hands sliding through my hair.
The world stops spinning for a minute, and I wonder if this is what it feels like to transcend this life and catch a glimpse of the next.
Passion. Desire. Wildness and ferocity and the fullest expression of how much I give a damn about the woman in my arms. She’s my wife now, forever. Mine to destroy and rebuild into something she hasn’t even begun to imagine.
My tongue slides through her wet heat, parting folds, exploring secrets, teasing tendrils. Then finds the point that drives her mad with wanting, with needing, with full-blown begging.
She quivers against my lips, rising toward the cliff’s edge with a soft cry.
“Not yet,” I growl, coming to my knees and tearing off my clothing. “Not before you taste this too.”
With a savage sound, she slides off the bed and sinks to her knees, reaching for me with reckless want. I tangle my fingers in her hair, pulling her toward my length until her mouth covers the crown and drinks my desire with the same holy reverence.
My cock has never been so hard, so helpless, so completely consumed by the feel and the taste and the sensation of the mouth locked on me.
It’s just the beginning. But the end will come soon, and her throat will convulse and beg me, and I’ll have no choice but to finish. No choice at all but to break for her, crumble into dust, dissolve in the blinding truth.
“Stellina.”
It’s all I have the strength to say. All I have left is a long minute until the pleasure takes hold and the pressure builds, and the explosion is inside her mouth, running the length of my erection, shoving me toward oblivion.
But not yet. My queen must have her wishes.
She looks up, breathless, wanton, hungry as hell. That’s all I need. A glance. My grip intensifies. I pull her to her feet and turn her toward the bed.
“Elbows and knees,” I order. “Spread yourself for me.”
She places her hands wide on the bed, drops to her knees, and rests her face against the duvet.
In a rush, I’m behind her. My face planted between her gorgeous cheeks. My hands trailing her back, following the path of my tongue.
“Ohhhh, Simeone,” she breathes. “Oh.”
I use my tongue, and then, because I cannot help myself, I let my fingers and palms explore the soft shapes and hard knots of her from sternum to thigh. The thrill of exploration courses through me. The sensuality of my wife’s body beneath me, her need evident in every slow and purposeful touch.
My wife will have everything she wants and deserves on the first night of her marriage and every night forward. The man I’ll always be, even when the title means nothing to her anymore. Her husband. Forever.
“Still eager?” I purr.
“Yes,” she pleads. “Always.”
“What a queen I’ve married.” I breathe her in. Marvel at the closeness of her. “Let’s keep you begging, then, shall we?”
Her hips crash backward, like she’s offering her desperate pussy to me. To try her. Taste her. Shove so deep inside her that we forget what separates us and where this belongs.
“Simeone, please.”
The begging. The sweet-sharp scent. The taste of pure wickedness on my tongue drives me to madness. Heat like fire and stars already burning in one tight place inside me.
I come to her, guiding her hips back to sink onto the aching tip of my eager length, drawing a harsh, fevered moan from her lips.
“Everything, stellina. Give me all of yourself tonight.”
“Yes. Oh yes.”
A sharp crack fills the room, and it takes a full second to realize that I’ve smacked my new bride hard across the ass. I anticipate anger and accusations, maybe even terror. Instead, she flushes bright red, glances over her shoulder at me, and groans softly.
A flicker of mischief spreads across her pretty face, and then she does the most perverse thing imaginable: she spreads her cheeks, offering herself to me completely. An act no one else has seen or tasted or imagined.
I roar with a savage, needy hunger, driving into her, tearing through her, shoving inside her like a conquering captain claiming wild territory.
“Fuck,” she moans. “Harder. Harder.”
And I do.
I take what I want.
What I own.
What I no longer know how to live without.
Time dissolves like sugar in water. Space becomes only need, only movement, only the clap of her round rear against my hips and thighs as the whole of her milks me and releases, milks me and releases.
She grips the headboard for support, but the momentum of my hammering drives her toward it with each thrust, knocking her brain until the only words she knows are her beloved husband’s name and the prayers that follow.
“You. Are. Mine.” I punctuate each syllable with brutal power, and each blow renders her tighter and hotter and emptier.
Mine.
She is mine, and I am hers.
She could end me at any moment, and I wouldn't even fight it. I want her to own me just as much as I want to own her completely. I want to know her in ways no one else can. To truly understand her. Own her. Remind her that we don’t just see each other for who we’ve always been, but for the impossible things we could become together.
“Faster,” she says with ragged pleasure. “Oh, yes, please.”
I shift my hips and drive deeper, setting the angle of entry exactly how I need it. Thrusting myself into a point of undeniable, merciless perfection.
Her walls grip and beg. Her knees melt a little, and I guide her down to the sheets.
I fold over her back and lick her neck and her earlobe. Nip her with my teeth. And never—not once—stop the steady, hungry rhythm of my body bucking and riding and throwing her toward the release she’ll find alone or not at all.
“Ohhh,” she sighs. “Oh.”
And then, unbidden, new and terrifying, my heartbeat merges with hers.
Like an unexpected hand on the inside of my spine, a chill races from my shoulders down, down, down, past spine and center and into my balls. Past control. Past anything that looks like me.
I moan and crush myself against her, willing the flood of imminent pleasure. Willing it with abandon. Wanting it to save me from collapsing into a tangle of pleasure-wracked threads that won’t come back together again.
The climax sears my vision, blotting her out and returning a millisecond later when I roar into her back. She holds me. Encircles me with every ounce of strength left in her dainty fingers. Buckles down and takes me. Fills up and drinks me. Doesn’t miss a drop.
“Simeone.”
“Stellina.”
She flips. Quick as a snake, her limbs coil around me. Her face is wet and flushed and raw with bliss. Before the last shudder passes, she’s pulling me back to her. Seeking. Demanding.
“Be careful what you ask for,” I tease.
“Simeone, I have earned it.”
The words do something primal, wild, fucking mad inside me. I roll, pulling her on top of me. Resting a fist on each hip bone and then tugging her down over me. Her eager slit enfolds the tip of my cock, welcoming and aching, and I guide her toward her own final, magnificent end.
The climb starts slowly. The movement is all hers, guided by my fingertips and occasional gentle smacks against the lovely swell of her right hip.
“Look at me.”
She obeys. Her face contorts into a mask of beauty and pure, agonizing pleasure.
Our eyes stay locked as she begins to sway her hips. Rocking her dripping slit against the base of my length.
Her orgasm builds in achingly slow waves. First, a tremor runs the length of her body. Next, her gorgeous tits bounce and sway. Her fingers begin to work quickly on her still swollen clitoris, coaxing her to some new cliff, and I watch the sheer lust roil across her features.
Until finally, she’s there, on her clifftop. Exactly like the needy queen that she is.
She’s radiant and dark and pale and gorgeous. In this moment, nothing is more beautiful than she is. My stellina. My new queen.
My world.
The climax takes her gently at first. A slow tremble, then a powerful rolling wave that has her thighs tightening, breasts straining, ass contracting as she rocks and sways against the base of my cock, still buried inside her.
Her pleasure overwhelms me in ways I never expected. My mouth hangs open in shock, and nothing has surprised me in decades.
How does she do that to me? How does this petite force of nature break the Silver Devil with wild abandon?
“Take all of me,” I demand.
“You’re already mine.” She purrs.
And it’s true.
My body, money, power. Even my heart and soul now belong to her forever.
“And you are mine,” I growl, my hands locking on her hips, pulling her down against me, absorbing the contractions that are threatening to send her over the edge.
“And I am yours,” she gasps, her head falling back, her body losing control.
She quivers like an electric wire connected to a live current, shivering with sensation from toes to tits, perfect and primal.
And then, on a gorgeous, perfect, shuddering groan, we both finally let go.