Chapter Thirty-one #2
I gasp, arching against him, and he leans in, his lips brushing against mine.
“You want my cock, princess?”
Yes. Please, yes.
“Take what you want.” His voice is dark, a whispered promise against my ear, making my entire body shiver. His words ignite something inside me, something dangerous, something desperate.
I lift myself off him, my thighs shaking with need, with anticipation, and reach between us, wrapping my hand around him.
He’s huge, thick, hot, and pulsing in my grip. Pre-cum beads at the tip, smearing against my fingers as I stroke him, slow, teasing, drawing a deep growl from his chest.
His blue eyes are locked on me, dark, possessive, and the way he’s looking at me like he owns every part of me makes me even wetter.
The swollen head of his cock presses against my entrance, the stretch already sending waves of pleasure through me.
I exhale sharply and slowly lower myself onto him, taking him inch by inch, my body burning, tightening, trembling as he fills me.
I moan, my fingers digging into his broad shoulders as I push down, deeper, deeper, until he’s fully inside me, stretching me in a way that makes my eyes roll back.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans, his hands gripping my ass, fingers digging into my skin, keeping me exactly where he wants me.
I pant against his lips, adjusting to his size, my nails scratching lightly down his chest.
“Now ride me.”
A command.
A challenge.
I move.
Slowly at first, savoring every inch of him, rolling my hips, grinding against him, letting my clit rub against the rough muscles of his stomach.
The feeling is intoxicating.
His hands tighten on my ass, guiding my movements, pushing me harder, deeper.
I pick up the pace, bouncing on his cock, my ass slapping against his thighs, the sound echoing through the room.
“That’s it, princess,” he growls, his head falling back against the couch, his jaw clenched, his eyes hungry, wild.
I moan, louder than I should, but I don’t care.
I feel drunk on him, on the way he stretches me, fills me, ruins me.
His hands slide up my back, gripping my waist, controlling my pace, guiding me deeper, rougher, harder.
“So fucking perfect,” he mutters, his voice wrecked, his breath ragged as he watches me fall apart on top of him.
His voice is rough, dripping with approval as his large hand wraps around my neck, a possessive hold, a reminder of who’s in control.
The other grips my ass, fingers digging into my skin, his touch leaving invisible bruises of ownership.
Freaking hell.
The way he praises me is enough to make me spiral into another orgasm.
I move faster, riding him harder, deeper, my body melting into his, pleasure crashing over me in waves.
A deep moan escapes him, low, guttural, raw, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. The sound alone could make me come undone.
His tongue flicks against my nipple before his teeth scrape the sensitive skin, and I gasp, the sharp sensation only adding to the fire building inside me.
“This,” he growls, pulling back just enough to slap my ass hard, the sting igniting every nerve in my body, “is for choosing the sluttiest dress for my party.”
I whimper, feeling the heat of his palm sear into my skin, my pussy clenching around him in response.
Another slap, harder, sharper, making my back arch, pushing my chest into his mouth.
“This one is for ignoring me the whole night.”
The edge in his voice drips with punishment, with the possessiveness that burns through his every touch.
And then his grip tightens, his breath hot against my ear.
“And this one,” his voice turns dark, dangerous, rough with pure dominance, “is for making me lose my fucking mind.”
The third slap lands, sending another wave of heat straight to my core, and I swear I’ll shatter from the exquisite torment.
I barely have time to process it before he grabs me, one strong arm around my waist, lifting me effortlessly.
I yelp as he stands, carrying me across the room, moving like a predator with its prey, until my back slams against the cold glass wall.
A gasp rips from my throat at the icy contrast of the glass against my heated skin, my nails digging into his shoulders.
My legs wrap around him instinctively, clinging to him, holding onto him like he’s the only thing keeping me grounded.
“Lorenzo—”
He thrusts into me hard, deep, unrelenting, and my head slams back against the glass.
The view behind me is nothing but darkness and endless trees, but right now, the only thing that exists is him.
“Look at me, princess.”
I do.
His blue eyes are locked onto mine, darkened with hunger, raw need, obsession.
“I don’t want you around him.” His voice is a deadly calm, but the way he thrusts inside me says everything he doesn’t.
I know exactly who he’s referring to, but I choose to tease him.
“You can’t tell me what to do.” I say against his lips, my breath hot, taunting.
His response is immediate, he bites down on my bottom lip so hard that I moan, the sting sending a jolt of pleasure straight to my core.
I squeeze around him, deliberate, enjoying the way his control shatters for just a moment.
I smirk, knowing I have this power over him.
It drives him fucking insane.
“Princess, do I have to remind you,” he growls, thrusting harder this time, making my head slam back against the glass.
“who fucking owns you?”
His teeth scrape against my neck, a sharp bite, marking me, and my eyes roll back.
“No one owns me.” I barely get the words out, breathless, trembling, my legs wrapped so tightly around him I can feel his pulse through my clit.
It’s a lie. A freaking lie.
His hand cups my ass, gripping tighter, spreading me open, before he slams into me so deep, so hard that I gasp.
“I’m going to ask one more time.” Thrust. “Who fucking owns you?” Thrust.
The pleasure builds so violently I can’t hold on. My nails dig into his shoulders, leaving red lines against his perfect skin.
“You.” I surrender, my voice breaking, my body falling apart, my walls clenching around him like I need him deeper, harder.
“Who, beautiful?”
Another thrust, his lips ghosting over mine, teasing, demanding, owning.
“Lorenzo Moretti.”
The orgasm slams into me with a force so powerful I scream his name, my body shattering against him, my mind fading into nothing but him.
“Good girl.”
He keeps thrusting, his pace rough, merciless, fucking me into oblivion until his own release takes him over.
I feel him spill inside me, claiming me, filling me with warmth, possessing me in every way possible.
He doesn’t let go.
His arms stay wrapped around me, holding me tight, his lips brushing against my forehead as our breathing evens out.
And Gosh, why does he have to be so beautiful?
Even now. Even like this.
Without a word, he lifts me again, effortlessly, protectively.
He carries me into the bathroom, setting me down as he turns on the shower, steam curling around us instantly.
No bathtub this time.
This isn’t slow, or calculated. This is raw. This is him.
He steps in, bringing me with him under the warm spray, the water washing away everything but him.
I feel weak, my legs trembling, but he never lets me fall.
Slowly, he turns me, pressing my back against his solid chest, his body heat wrapping around me like a second skin.
He grabs his shampoo and starts to wash my hair, his fingers threading through the strands, massaging my scalp.
My lips part, a shaky exhale escaping me.
Then his hands move lower, down my back, over my waist, to my breasts.
Gentle. Careful. Worshipping.
He cups them, squeezing softly, teasing, before trailing lower, between my thighs.
His fingers brush over my still sensitive pussy, and I bite my bottom lip, hard.
I expect him to take me again.
To bend me over, to press me against the wall, to fuck me until I can’t remember my own name.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he cleans me.
Cares for me.
Sex with him is the best I’ve ever had.
And it’s not just the way he fucks me, it’s the way he owns me. The way he makes me feel like I belong to him, like my body was made to take his.
He’s ruined me. Completely.
There’s no going back from this.
I could never be with another man. Never.
The aftercare with this man?
It’s everything.