Chapter 22 This Man Is Unbelievable!
He began trailing kisses lower. Down her stomach. Over her navel. And when he reached her thighs, he spread them slowly, watching as her softness fluttered—sensitive, used, but still aching.
Then his mouth was on her.
His tongue licked a long, slow stripe up her slit, and Krystal bucked off the bed, gasping. He moaned into her, like he was tasting his favorite addiction. His tongue worked her expertly, flicking over her clit, then circling it before pulling it into his mouth and sucking hard.
Krystal was writhing now, her thighs shaking, hands tangled in his hair. “Lorenzo—too much—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” he growled, voice muffled between her legs.
He sucked harder, tongue flicking furiously as two fingers slipped into her soaked core, curving just right. She was too sensitive, every nerve exposed, but it only made the pressure mount faster—tight, wild, blinding.
“Lorenzo!” she cried out, and then her entire body locked up as another orgasm tore through her.
He didn’t stop.
He licked her through it, fingers working her until she was crying, begging, trembling, her whole body arching off the bed as she came again and again.
Only when her thighs were twitching did he finally pull back, mouth wet with her release, eyes blazing with need.
And his shaft—thick, rock hard, dripping—rested heavy against her thigh.
“I need to be inside you again,” he rasped. “Slow this time. I want to feel every inch of you squeeze around me.”
Krystal reached for him, lips parted, eyes dazed and needy.
He slid up her body, kissed her again, full of all the fire he still hadn’t released, then pushed inside her with one long, smooth thrust.
They both moaned into each other’s mouths as he began to move, this time slower, deeper. Every roll of his hips hit right where she needed it, his cock dragging against her swollen walls, making her pulse and flutter around him again.
Lorenzo’s mouth stayed on hers, on her throat, on her breasts as he worshipped her body, each thrust dragging out his release until he couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Cum with me,” he whispered harshly against her lips. “One last time. I want to feel you fall apart with me.”
Krystal shattered first, her body arching, her walls clenching around him like a vice. He groaned her name like a curse, like a prayer, and spilled into her again—deep, hot, endless.
They collapsed together, tangled in sheets, sweat, and breathless moans.
This time, he didn’t move. He just held her, kissing her temple.
However, only minutes later, he was pressing her under himself again.
***
Lorenzo woke to the sound of clattering in the distance.
Groaning, he rolled onto his back, eyes still heavy with sleep. His hand reached across the bed, searching. Empty—and cold.
His brows pulled together. Sitting up, he swung his legs off the bed and pulled on his pants. Hair tousled, eyes half-closed, he walked out of the bedroom.
"I need to make this woman understand she doesn’t get out of bed until I do," he muttered under his breath, voice low and gravelly.
But the moment he stepped into the living room, he froze.
Krystal was dragging a suitcase toward the door.
His confusion turned to a deep frown. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked, taking slow, uncertain steps toward her.
Krystal’s head snapped up. Her eyes widened for a second, like she hadn’t expected him to be awake. Then, just as quickly, she composed herself.
"I’m leaving," she said simply.
"Leaving where?" His voice came out rough, like gravel scraping the back of his throat.
"Out of the country," she said calmly. "I made the arrangements weeks ago. My flight’s today."
Lorenzo’s expression hardened. In a blink, he closed the distance between them, snatching the suitcase from her hand and shoving it aside. It slid across the floor and slammed into the couch.
"You're leaving now? After everything? After sleeping with me last night?!” His voice was raw, seething. "You’ve got a life here. I live here! Where the hell are you going?!"
"You don’t live with me. And we’re already divorced," she said without flinching.
His chest tightened. His jaw clenched as he stepped closer and gripped her arm—not hard, but enough to stop her from walking away.
"Krystal," he said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "Krystal… don’t leave. Please. Just stay. We’ll sort everything out. I’ll fix everything. Whatever you want, I’ll do it. Just don’t walk out on me now."
She sighed and turned away, walking back to the bedroom, grabbing the suitcase by the couch and dragging it in the bedroom with herself. Lorenzo followed instantly.
In the room she started gathering things, sliding them into her bag. Phone, charger, a few personal items—her movements quick, distracted.
"There’s nothing left to fix," she said quietly, not looking at him. "You didn’t have time for the divorce, so I submitted the papers myself already."
"What?!" he snapped, stunned. He felt the air knocked out of his lungs.
He watched her shove the last of her things into her bag and walked back to the suitcase, completely unfazed, like she hadn’t just shattered him in three words.
His body went rigid. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.
His chest tightened, and his voice rushed out in desperation. "Grandpa called. He wants to see you. He’s not feeling well."
Krystal froze.
Her hand gripped the suitcase handle tighter, her shoulders stiff. She didn’t want to stay. But Grandpa… She couldn’t ignore him—especially not if he was sick.
She remembered the day she married into the Moretti family, how Grandpa had taken her aside and said, ‘I don’t have a granddaughter, but you’re the closest I’ve got. No matter what happens, promise me you’ll still visit me often. Don’t disappear on me, okay?’
And she had promised she’d always come to visit.
Letting out a shaky breath, she finally turned to face Lorenzo. "Fine. I’ll see him once before I leave.”
Lorenzo didn’t waste a second. He snatched his shirt off the ground, putting on roughly, leaving the top few buttons open. Then he grabbed her suitcase and headed straight for the door.
“Lorenzo?” She rushed after him. “What are you doing? Give it back!” she snapped, trying to take it back.
But he held it out of her reach, pulling it along behind him.
“Grandpa wants us to stay at his place for a few days,” he said without looking back. “We’re still the loving couple in front of him, remember? You showing up with nothing will raise questions. Can’t have him thinking you don’t even have clothes at my place.”
Krystal narrowed her eyes. "Fine! But when we get there, you sleep on the floor," she snapped, giving him a shove as she stormed back into the living room.
Lorenzo smirked, watching her go. "You submitted the papers. So what? Papers can be canceled. And re-marrying you doesn’t sound out of reach either."
He swaggered out to the living room, confidence dripping from every step.
Just as he reached the living room, the apartment door swung open—and Darren stepped in, bumping into him.
“Shit!” Krystal muttered under her breath.
Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed instantly. ‘Isn’t this the same asshole with the Ferrari? His blood started to boil. What the hell is he doing here? She said she doesn’t have a boyfriend... then what is this bastard doing in her apartment?’
Storming forward, he shoved Darren back with one hand to the chest.
"Where the hell do you think you're barging in? Ever heard of knocking before entering someone else’s home?" Lorenzo snapped.
Darren blinked in surprise, clearly thrown off by Lorenzo’s presence. His eyes flicked to Krystal, then back. Slowly, a smug smile spread across his face.
"This is my apartment," he said coolly. "Why would I knock?”
Lorenzo’s jaw ticked. His head snapped toward Krystal. “This guy lives with you?”
Krystal took a breath. “He doesn’t live with me. He has his own room. We just share the apartment.”
Lorenzo nearly lost it. "Does that make it better?" His voice sharpened. "You’re living under the same roof with him?"
She gave him a blank stare, then walked right past both of them toward the door. "You coming or not? If not, I’m leaving the country. You’ve got two seconds."
Lorenzo threw Darren a glare hot enough to burn through walls, then followed after her.
***
Krystal sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed in her nightwear. The room had a quiet, nostalgic air.
Grandpa’s house, the Moretti Mansion, wasn’t like the sleek, modern Moretti house that Lorenzo owned.
This one felt older—worn with time, but dignified.
The room they were staying in had ornate ceilings, warm golden lighting, and an elegant, old-world charm.
The carved wooden furniture, warm-toned lighting, and vintage curtains added to its charm.
Lorenzo was in the shower. She could hear the faint splash of water behind the closed door.
A few minutes later, he walked out—barefoot, chest bare, wearing only a pair of low-hanging gray trousers. Water still clung to his hair, dripping onto his shoulders as he rubbed a towel over it.
Krystal sat on the bed, scrolling through her tablet without looking up.
Lorenzo cleared his throat as he walked further into the room. A cocky smirk tugged at his lips. “Krystal, don’t you think I’ve gained some abs since the last time you saw me,” he said, sliding fingers down his chest proudly. “If you divorce me, you won’t find men as hot as me that easily.”
She didn’t respond. Her eyes stayed on the screen, but her mind was miles away.
It had been months since she last shared a space with him. The day she signed the divorce papers and walked out of the Moretti house felt like a lifetime ago.
Now, sitting in a bedroom with him again only made her tense. Her body was tense, every nerve on edge.