Chapter Thirty-five #2
He takes his time. He always does. His fingers trail down my jaw, collecting the mess from before, and he doesn’t waste a drop.
He watches me as he traces that same wetness down, lower, until his fingers slide between my thighs.
I gasp when he touches me, not because it's unexpected, but because it's everything I need.
My back arches off the table instinctively, and I whimper when his fingers slide inside, slow, skilled, deliberate. My body reacts before I can think, clenching around him, begging without words. And still, he takes his time.
His thumb circles lazily over my clit, and I claw at his shoulders, my breath catching with every flick of his fingers.
I try to move against him, to find release, but he holds me still, controls the pace, the pressure.
His other hand braces my hip, firm, not letting me get ahead. Not letting me come.
He leans in, lips at my ear, voice like thunder wrapped in silk.
“Am I still your friend?” he growls, pushing his fingers deeper, curling them just right, and I nearly cry out from the tension building inside me.
Freaking hell.
I forgot how cruel he can be. How good.
My mouth parts, but no words come. I moan instead, desperate, high-pitched, helpless. He smirks like he knows he’s broken me. And just when I’m about to come undone, when I’m seconds from falling over the edge, he pulls away.
I cry out, frustrated, shaking.
And he brings his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean, slow, shameless, deliberate, denying me the orgasm again.
“Please,” I breathe, my voice barely more than a whisper, raw with need.
I’m sprawled across the kitchen table, flushed, trembling, legs parted like an offering.
My body’s aching for him. My lips are kiss-swollen, cheeks damp from tears I didn’t even realize had fallen.
My makeup is smeared, my hair tangled in a way that only he could cause.
I’m a mess, and I’ve never felt more desperate for one person.
His hand brushes the inside of my thigh and I jolt, nearly gasping.
“You’re quite needy for my cock,” he says darkly, a slow, wicked smirk curling at his mouth.
His voice is rougher now, all gravel and command, and it makes the ache between my legs pulse harder.
“Begging like a desperate little slut,” he growls, eyes glittering with amusement, “and still calling me your friend?”
I whimper, thighs trembling as I try to pull him closer with a leg hooked around his waist. He’s hard, impossibly so, and he presses his length right at my entrance but doesn’t push in. Just holds it there, letting the heat build.
The tension is maddening.
He grabs my neck, not tight, not rough, but with enough pressure to remind me who’s in control. My breath catches. My body stills. His mouth hovers over mine, lips barely grazing as he speaks low and slow.
“Say it,” he whispers, voice velvet and command in one. “Say what I am to you.”
I can’t speak. I can only nod, barely, already melting at the feel of him against me, teasing but not yet giving.
“My princess,” he murmurs, brushing the head of his cock down my slick center, not yet entering.
“So perfect for the world. Hair in place. Skirt ironed. Your voice polite. Your smile sweet.” He thrusts forward just a little and I cry out, toes curling from the sensation.
“But here you are,” he continues, pushing in further, slow and deliberate.
“All tangled. Legs wide open. My cum on your skin. Begging me to fuck you senseless like the whore you are.”
And when he finally enters, deep, claiming, I lose any grip on reality.
My head falls back. I can’t hold in the moan. My nails dig into his shoulders as his hips start to move, slow at first, building with each thrust. His rhythm is merciless. Deep. Demanding. Every thrust sends a shockwave through me, pressure curling in my core, tight and hot and consuming.
“Is that what you are?” he growls, his hand fisting in my hair, pulling my gaze to meet his. “My whore?”
“Yes,” I breathe, voice breaking with need. “Yes, please, I can’t take it anymore—”
He slows, and I nearly scream from the denial. But then he shifts, deeper, harder, hitting that perfect place that unravels me.
“I’m your man,” he rasps, his voice rough and ragged. “The one you think about when your fingers are between your thighs.” Thrust. “The only one who gets to fuck you.” Thrust. “The only one you belong to.”
And I fall apart.
He thrusts deeper, harder, his body pressed against mine as his mouth crashes over mine, devouring me. His lips are fevered, bruising, biting, desperate. His tongue moves like he owns my breath, like he’s trying to claim every sound I make, and I lose myself in it.
My vision blurs as a wave of pleasure crashes through me, violent and all-consuming. I shudder, crying out into his mouth, my entire body trembling beneath the weight of what he’s doing to me.
“Lorenzo—” I choke on his name, breathless, wrecked. “I… I can’t—”
But he doesn’t stop.
He’s relentless, driving into me with a force that makes the world tilt.
The pleasure crests again and I come undone, unraveling in his arms like a silk ribbon pulled tight until it frays.
He coaxes every second of my orgasm, his hands still trailing down my waist, one circling my clit like he’s determined to feel me break apart all over again.
I gasp. My thighs are trembling. I’m utterly spent.
And yet he isn’t finished.
He lifts me effortlessly, turns me over, bending me onto the cool kitchen table. A sharp smack lands on my ass and I yelp, a mix of surprise and hunger. His fist grips my hair, tugging my head back so our eyes lock.
“Fuck, ” I cry, the breath stolen from my lungs as he fills me from behind, each stroke punishing and deep. His hand still tangled in my hair, the other gripping my waist like he’s anchoring me in place as he takes what’s already his.
“How many do I still owe you?” he growls darkly against my ear. His voice is rough silk, dangerous and addictive.
I can barely think, let alone speak. My body feels fevered, my heart racing as if I’ve run through a storm barefoot and burning.
Another rush of heat pulses through me and I collapse forward on my elbows, his name the only thing I remember how to say.
“Fuck,” he groans behind me, pushing harder. “One more, then.”
He spanks me again, my hips jolting. I swear I feel him everywhere, inside me, around me, under my skin.
He pounds into me until I cry out, breaking apart for the second time, light bursting behind my eyes.
My moans echo through the kitchen as he finishes with a low, guttural sound, warmth flooding me.
Then silence.
Heavy. Hot. Electric.
I feel his hands on my waist, gently turning me to face him.
My skin is flushed, sticky, still pulsing with aftershocks.
I reach for him, touching his face, his beautiful, infuriating, perfect face, and he looks down at me like I’m his entire world.
His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth and I lean in, kissing him slow, tasting everything.
His lips part for me, and I take his tongue like it’s my first breath after drowning. We melt into each other, and I don’t even know where I end and he begins anymore.
He trails kisses down my jaw, my neck, lower, slow, reverent, like worship. My legs wrap instinctively around his waist, drawing him in, keeping him close.
He cups my breasts in both hands, reverent and firm, rolling my nipples between his fingers until I arch into his touch. The gentleness now is disarming. It’s a praise. A reward. His mouth follows, his tongue teasing, sucking, biting softly, driving every nerve in my body to attention.
I bury my fingers in his thick curls, tugging gently, grounding myself in him because I feel like I might float away.
His lips trail lower, down my stomach, kissing my inner thighs, soft, slow, deliberate. His breath ghosts over the sensitive place between my legs and I twitch beneath the heat of it, my pussy oversensitive, swollen, aching.
“Lorenzo...” I whisper, barely able to breathe his name as his lips graze the most sensitive part of me.
The heat of his mouth, the slow, deliberate flick of his tongue, it’s almost too much.
My body arches instinctively, craving more, needing more.
His hands grip my thighs, anchoring me as his mouth explores me with devastating patience.
He pauses, lips hovering with maddening heat. “Give me one more, princess.”
My head drops back. “Oh my Gosh...” I moan, a shiver wracking through me as his mouth closes over me again, firm, unrelenting. One of my hands grips the edge of the table, the other threads through his hair, torn between pulling him closer and begging for mercy.
His touch is commanding, one hand pressed to my lower belly to hold me in place while the other moves with calculated precision, pushing me toward the edge I’ve already fallen over too many times today. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I’m spiraling.
He draws back just slightly, then surges forward again deeper, harder and I unravel. My body shakes beneath him, my voice breaking into a ragged cry as the pleasure tears through me like fire. I barely register the words he murmurs next, warm against my skin.
“Good girl.” He rises slowly, his mouth finding mine, and I taste myself on his lips raw, unfiltered. There’s something reverent about the way he kisses me, something devastatingly soft after how rough he just was. My fingers tremble against his jaw.
“I love you.” The words escape before I can stop them, small but sharp, cutting through the haze between us.
He stills.
His gaze those stormy, ice-blue eyes locks on mine with something I can’t name. He brushes a thumb along my cheekbone, so gentle it nearly undoes me.
We’re both bare, skin to skin, and yet I’ve never felt more exposed. He gathers me in his arms like I’m something fragile, something precious, and carries me to the bathroom without a word. The shower hisses to life, steam curling around us as he steps under the spray with me still in his arms.
He lowers me with care, letting the water cascade over us, washing away the heat but not the tension. He stays behind me, arms wrapped around my waist, lips brushing my damp shoulder.
“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” he whispers quiet, almost broken.
And I freeze. The breath catches in my throat, and suddenly, the air feels too thick, too heavy. I don’t know if I want to cry because he doesn’t believe me… or because I meant every word, with every broken, beating piece of me, and that truth terrifies me more than anything ever has.