Chapter Eleven #2
"Tell me, Victoria," he murmurs. "Tell me what you did right here in this bed."
I squeeze my eyes shut, a wave of heat washing over me.
He knows. He knows how much this turns me on. He knows I'm not a woman who talks like this.
But with him... I am. I can't help it.
"I... I touched myself," I whisper. "I thought about you and touched myself."
It feels like a confession.
And in a way, it is. I have never admitted that to anyone, never spoken to anyone else about stuff like this.
He rewards me with a hard, deep thrust.
I gasp, my back arching.
"Where?" he asks. "Show me where you touched yourself."
He stops again and leans back this time.
This is excruciating.
I want to cover my face. I want to disappear. But I also want to please him. I want to see the look in his eyes when I give him what he wants.
I take a shaky breath.
My hand trembles as I slide it down my stomach, over the sensitive skin of my belly, and lower.
I stop when my fingers reach my clit.
He is watching me, his gaze fixed on my hand.
I part my slick folds with my fingers and begin to circle my clit.
"Like this," I say, my breath hitching as a jolt of pleasure shoots through me.
I watch his face as he watches me. His jaw is tight, his eyes dark with a raw, possessive hunger that is more thrilling than I want to admit. He likes this. He likes watching me.
He likes seeing me lose control for him.
I circle my clit faster, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
My other hand comes up to my breast, kneading the soft flesh. My thumb flicks over my nipple, and I cry out, my body arching off the bed.
"That's it," he murmurs. "Show me. Show me how you touch yourself while thinking of me."
I am putting on a show for him.
A desperate, wanton, shameless show.
And I have never felt more alive.
My fingers move faster, circling my clit in a frantic rhythm. I am chasing a release that is just out of reach, a frustrating, maddening itch that I can't quite scratch.
"Mario," I gasp, my head thrown back, my body writhing. "I... I can't. I need to come."
"No," he says, his voice firm. "Not yet."
I sob, a raw, broken sound of frustration. I pinch my nipple and cry out as the fingers on my clit move faster. My hips buck, and I am so close. Just a little more. I can feel it building, a wave cresting inside me.
Mario reaches down and grips my wrist, stopping me.
My eyes fly open.
"No," I gasp. "Please."
He pulls my hand up and pins it to the bed next to my head, then does the same with the other hand. His grip is tight, an unbreakable hold that is both terrifying and intensely arousing.
His body blankets me, his skin hot against mine.
I am completely trapped.
A prisoner in my own bed.
"I said no," he says, warning clear in every word.
Then he pulls back, almost completely emptying me. The loss is so acute that I can't stop the cry that escapes my lips.
He slams back into me with a hard thrust that steals the very air from my lungs.
He does it again.
And again.
His hips snap forward, burying himself deep inside me with a force that is brutal. The bed rocks with the force of his thrusts, the headboard slapping against the wall.
This is nothing like I imagined. The dreams and fantasies I have had about this man have been good, but they pale in comparison to the reality. He is bigger, stronger, more dominant than I could have ever conceived. The pleasure is more intense, more overwhelming.
I am a mindless, whimpering mess, my body a vessel for his pleasure.
His pleasure.
Because this is for him.
This is what he wanted.
To see me lose control.
To see me beg.
To see me completely and utterly at his mercy.
I have given him that.
I have given him everything.
And now... he is taking what he wants.
He releases my hands and pushes my knees up towards my chest, spreading me wide, changing the angle of his penetration.
His cock hits a spot deep inside me, a place I didn't even know existed, and I scream, a long, drawn-out sound of abandon.
"That's it, bella," he growls, his voice a harsh rasp. "Let me hear you scream."
"Right there," I gasp. "Oh God, right there. More."
He hits it again.
And again.
Each thrust sends a shockwave of pleasure through my body until I am on the very edge of oblivion.
He is still moving inside me, deep, hard, punishing strokes that are pushing me to the very limit of what I can handle.
"Look at me," he commands.
His thrusts slow, becoming deep, grinding circles that are both satisfying and agonizing.
He is a monster.
A beautiful, glorious monster.
He knows exactly what he is doing. He knows how close I am. He can feel it. My pussy is clenching around him, a greedy pulsing that is begging for release.
And he is denying me.
He is making me wait.
Making me savor this exquisite torture.
But why?
I am already his.
I have already surrendered.
What more could he possibly want?
My gaze finds his, and I see the answer in the dark, possessive depths of his eyes.
He doesn't just want my body.
He wants my soul.
He wants to own me, possess me, brand me so deeply that no other man will ever be able to erase him.
He wants to be the only one.
The one I remember.
The one I crave.
The one I dream of.
He already is.
"Mine," he says, his voice a possessive growl that makes my inner walls clench around him. "Say it. Say you're mine."
I am trembling, my body wracked with a pleasure so intense it is almost painful.
"Yours," I whisper. "I'm yours."
"Again," he demands, his hips rotating in a slow circle that makes my eyes roll back in my head.
"I'm yours," I say, my voice stronger this time. "All yours."
"Brava ragazza," he purrs, dark satisfaction in his tone.
My eyes flutter open. I am crying with the sheer overwhelming feeling.
His face is a mask of intense concentration. His jaw is tight, the muscles in his throat working as he swallows.
He looks... beautiful.
And terrifying.
I have never seen a man look so completely, utterly in control.
And I have never seen a man look so close to losing it.
"Mario," I sob and dig my fingers into the solid muscle of his ass. "Fuck me. Please. Don't hold back."
He grips my thighs, holding me in place.
"You have no idea what you're asking for," he says.
"Show me," I beg. "Show me everything."
"As you wish," he says. "Come si deve."
I don't know what it means.
But my body does.
It shudders beneath him in uncontrollable anticipation.