Chapter Forty-three #2
“I fucking can’t, baby,” he growls, and then his mouth crashes into mine.
The kiss is brutal, desperate, furious, dripping with hate and hunger all at once.
His teeth bite into my lip, his tongue invades me, ruthless and consuming, claiming every part of me like he has the right.
I try to push him back, but he only drags me closer, deepening the kiss until I’m lost. Until I forget how to breathe.
Until I surrender, because fighting him feels impossible.
His hands grip my ass hard, lifting me effortlessly, and the towel around his hips falls uselessly to the floor.
His body presses into mine, burning, heavy, solid.
One hand slides to the back of my neck, keeping me trapped, while the other roams lower, and my nipples harden painfully against his chest.
“I missed you,” he breathes into my mouth between kisses, and my heart betrays me, melting, breaking, aching all at once. How much I love him. How much I hate him.
I part my lips for him, giving him more access even though I know this kiss is poison, that it will ruin me later.
He grinds against me, and I feel him, thick, hard, pressed against the heat between my legs.
My clit throbs just from the friction, my body betraying me faster than my mind can scream stop.
In one movement, he lays me down on the bed. His towel is gone. He’s naked. All of him, every carved muscle, every scar, every inch of him that’s haunted me since the day he cut me off. My throat tightens. God, he’s gorgeous. Too gorgeous.
“Wait—” I try, but he silences me with another punishing kiss.
His body cages me in, his weight heavy between my thighs.
His lips trail down my throat, hot and hungry, marking me like I belong to him.
I tilt my head, giving him better access, hating myself for the way my body betrays me, for how my pulse races just from his touch.
He mouths at my shoulder, then tears at my silk blouse, ripping it open with no patience for buttons. Cold air hits my skin, followed by his mouth, his tongue flicking, his teeth scraping. He yanks down my bra until my breasts spill free, and then his mouth is on me.
“Oh—” my eyes roll back when he takes my nipple into his mouth, sucking, biting, claiming. His hand kneads the other breast hard, greedy, and I’m gasping, breathless, undone.
“Lorenzo—” I try to protest, but it comes out like a plea.
“Yeah, baby?” he rasps, his mouth still latched onto me, his hand twisting and pulling, dragging sounds from my throat I can’t control.
“We… we can’t do this,” I manage, breathless.
His head lifts. Blue eyes lock into mine, dark and wild, and before I can say another word, he crushes his mouth back to mine.
His hand slides down, slipping beneath the edge of my panties.
The moment his fingers circle my clit, a moan rips from my throat, my body arching up into him like it belongs there.
“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he growls against my lips. “Don’t tell me we can’t do this when your pussy is begging for me.” His thumb circles harder, faster, pulling broken sounds from me I can’t bite back.
“Please…” I whisper, though I don’t know if I’m begging him to stop or begging him for more.
“I’ll fuck you nice and slow,” he promises, his voice deep and raw, dripping with darkness. “I’ll ruin you all over again, but I’ll make sure you’re satisfied.”
My back arches as he moves, lining himself up at my entrance. I feel the heavy length of him sliding against me, teasing, rubbing against my clit until I’m shaking, desperate, throbbing.
“I need more,” I gasp, my voice breaking.
His lips curve into a dark smirk, his blue eyes gleaming. “Don’t worry, princess,” he murmurs, his cock pressing harder against me. “I’ll give you everything. Every. Fucking. Thing.”
And then he thrusts inside me, one hard, relentless stroke, filling me to the hilt.
My cry echoes through the room, a mix of pain and pleasure. And somone help me, I already know, he owns me again.
He thrusts into me, slow, deep, unrelenting. Each stroke drags against that sweet spot, over and over, until I’m trembling, my toes curling tight in the sheets. The air leaves my lungs in broken gasps.
“Open for me, princess,” he orders, his voice dark and gravelly. My body obeys before my mind can catch up, my lips part, my mouth yielding to him.
And then he spits inside.
The shock of it makes me shudder, heat flooding my body. The gesture is filthy. Degrading. A violation. But freaking hell, my pussy clenches so hard around him I almost sob. Shame mixes with desire, twisting into something I can’t fight, can’t resist.
“Fuck,” he hisses, eyes narrowing, his thrusts harder now, sharper. “Stop strangling my cock, or this will be over in two minutes.” His hand grips my hip bruisingly, holding me in place as he drives into me again, slow, deep, and merciless.
My eyes roll back, the pleasure overwhelming, obscene. Every push feels like punishment and worship all at once. Every drag of him inside me carves his claim deeper into my soul.
I choke on a moan, my body betraying me, my shame feeding my arousal. I should hate this. Hate him. But I can’t. Because I’m his. Even when it’s filthy. Especially when it’s filthy.
His hand slides up my chest, fingers spreading across my throat. Not squeezing yet, just holding me there, a warning, a claim.
My eyes lock on his, blue fire boring through me.
“Look at you,” he growls. “Made to be fucked. Made to be mine.”
Then his fingers tighten.
Air slips away in an instant. My mouth falls open, but the only sound is a broken gasp. My hands claw at his arms, not to stop him, never to stop him, but to hold on. The pressure around my throat makes my body quake, makes the pleasure coil lower, sharper, unbearable.
He’s watching me drown in it, his eyes wild, obsessive. “Yeah,” he snarls. “That’s it. I can feel it, you’re about to break, aren’t you?”
I try to nod, tears spilling hot down my cheeks, my body thrashing under him. His cock slams into me, harder, deeper, each thrust timed with the pulse of his hand on my throat.
Stars explode behind my eyes. The lack of air, the weight of him, the claim of his cock, it’s too much. My pussy tightens like a vice around him, trembling, convulsing, and then I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me violent and raw, my body spasming under him, my vision white-hot. I sob against his chest as he lets go of my throat, air flooding back in just as the wave crashes over me.
I scream his name.
He doesn’t stop. He keeps fucking me through it, growling in my ear, “You came from my hand on your throat, didn’t you, princess? Say it. Say what gets you off.”
“Yes, fuck, yes!” I sob, still trembling, still pulsing around him.
His jaw locks, his thrusts turn savage, and with a guttural groan he empties himself inside me, his teeth sinking into my neck, marking me as his.
Even when he collapses on top of me, his weight crushing me, his hand lingers at my throat, thumb stroking where he’d just cut off my air. His lips drag to my ear, his voice hoarse and low.
“You don’t get it, princess,” he whispers, ragged and hoarse. “I can’t stop. I’ll never stop. You’ll always be mine, even if it kills us both.”
After the orgasm, the weight of reality crashes over me like ice water. My body is still trembling, but my mind is screaming. I came here to tell him to stay away from me, and instead, I ended up in his bed, his hands, his mouth, his body claiming me like I never left.
Shame coils in my chest as I stumble off the bed, desperate to gather my clothes.
But my shirt is nothing but a shredded mess on the floor, and all I have left is my skirt and bra.
I slip the bra on quickly, refusing to look at him, refusing to acknowledge the ache between my thighs where he’s still inside me, staining me.
I make for the door, barefoot, messy, undone.
Before I can touch the handle, his hand wraps around my wrist, iron, unyielding.
“Cover yourself, princess,” he murmurs, voice dripping with lethal calm. His eyes drag over me, blue fire and danger. “I’m not in the mood to paint these walls with another man’s blood today.”
And the worst part? I believe him. Every deadly word.
I whirl on him, breath shaky. “And what the hell am I supposed to wear?” I hiss. “You ripped my shirt to pieces.”
He moves lazily, like a predator in no rush to chase because the prey is already caught.
Opening his closet, he tosses me one of his shirts.
I pull it over my head, the fabric soft against my skin, the scent of him, mint, smoke, and something darker, flooding my senses. God, it feels like wearing him.
I clutch the hem tight and head for the door again. His voice stops me.
“What now?” I snap, glaring at him over my shoulder.
He smirks, that cruel curve of his lips that promises nothing but chaos. “Aren’t you going to give me a goodbye kiss?”
I roll my eyes, my heart clawing at my ribs. “This,” I spit, gesturing between us, my voice breaking, “was a mistake.”
His smirk sharpens, wicked and merciless. He steps closer, close enough for his breath to brush my cheek.
“Then, baby…” His tone is velvet and venom all at once. “…let’s ruin each other a thousand times over. Because I’d rather be your worst mistake than watch you belong to anyone else.”
He takes my hand and presses his lips against it, mocking, reverent, devastating.
I rip myself away and practically run, my pulse thundering in my ears as his laughter follows me down the hall. By the time I reach the bar, the bartender’s judgmental gaze lands on me, his shirt hanging off my body, my hair a mess, my shame written across my face.
I force a brittle smile, push past her, and go straight to my car.
Today wasn’t a conversation. It wasn’t closure.
Today was a disaster.