Chapter Eleven #3
He starts to move again, and this time, there is no holding back.
He fucks me.
Hard. Fast. Deep.
The headboard slaps against the wall loudly like the soundtrack to our wild, desperate fucking.
His grip on my thighs tightens, his fingers digging into my skin, as he plunders my needy pussy.
"Come with me, Victoria," he growls. "Come all over my cock."
All thought is gone. All reason is lost.
There is only this.
Only him and the way his cock is sliding in and out of me.
Only the exquisite, overwhelming pleasure that is building inside me, a tidal wave of sensation that is about to break.
"Come with me, Victoria," he growls. "Now."
His command is all it takes.
The dam breaks.
My world explodes into a million blinding, beautiful pieces.
I scream his name, my body arching off the bed as the most powerful orgasm of my life rips through me.
It is a never-ending wave of pleasure, cresting and crashing and cresting again, stealing my breath, my sanity, my very soul.
I am flying, falling, soaring, all at once.
I am nowhere and everywhere.
I am lost.
I am found.
I am reborn in the fires of our shared desire.
His release is just as powerful, a hot, flooding warmth that fills me, a visceral claim that seeps into my very bones.
He roars my name, a raw, primal sound that echoes through the room, through my very soul as he continues to thrust into me, prolonging my orgasm, drawing out my pleasure until I am a limp, boneless, trembling mess.
I have no idea how long it lasts.
Seconds. Minutes.
I have lost all sense of time. All sense of self.
He collapses on top of me, his body heavy and hot and slick with sweat, a welcome weight that grounds me, that keeps me from floating away into the void.
Our hearts are beating a wild, frantic rhythm against our ribs in beautiful harmony.
The only sound is our ragged breathing, the frantic thumping of our hearts, and the soft, wet sounds of our bodies still joined.
I have never felt so... complete.
So at peace.
So... at home.
And that is a terrifying thought.
I try to push it away, to bury it beneath the lingering afterglow, but it lingers, a persistent, nagging whisper in the back of my mind.
This was supposed to be just a fuck.
A way to scratch an itch.
To get him out of my system.
But it wasn't.
It was so much more.
It was everything.
Mario lifts his head and looks down at me, his dark eyes soft and searching.
He brushes a stray strand of hair from my forehead, his touch gentle, almost reverent.
"You are a dangerous woman, Victoria," he says, his voice a low, husky murmur. "Very dangerous."
My lips curve into a slow, sated smile. "You're one to talk."
He laughs, a low, rumbling sound that I feel deep in my chest.
He is still inside me, and I'm content to stay that way as long as possible.
I can't remember the last time I joked around in bed like this. Can't remember the last time I felt so light, so... free.
This man is dangerous.
He is a drug, and I am already addicted.
I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down for a kiss.
It's not a kiss of passion.
It is a kiss of... something else.
Something softer. Deeper.
More complicated.
He kisses me back, his lips soft and gentle; a kiss that is more intimate than the raw, primal fucking we just indulged in.
This is the kind of kiss that leads to feelings. The kind of kiss that makes you want to stay.
The kind of kiss that could break your heart.
We are still kissing when he finally pulls out of me.
The loss is immediate and sharp, and I can't stop the small whimper that escapes my lips.
I feel empty without him. Incomplete.
He rolls over, taking me with him, so I am sprawled across his chest, our legs tangled together.
His heartbeat is a steady thrum against my ear. His hand is stroking my hair, a slow, rhythmic motion that is lulling me into a state of sleepy bliss.
I could stay here forever.
In his arms, in this bed, in this moment.
And that is the most dangerous thought of all.
"Come si deve," I murmur into the warm skin of his chest. "What does that mean?"
He is quiet for a long moment, and I wonder if he is going to answer.
I am starting to think he isn't going to when he finally speaks.
"It means," he says, "as it should be."
My breath catches in my throat.
Oh.
That's... a lot.
That's too much.
But the exhaustion from two weeks of sleepless nights, combined with the force of the primal and thorough fucking he just gave me, is pulling me under.
Hard.
I am drifting on a sea of warm, hazy contentment.
"What about the other thing?" I say, my words slurring as I go limp in his arms.
"What other thing?" he asks, his fingers combing through my hair.
I am so tired.
I need to rest my eyes for a minute.
I am only going to close them for a second.
"Before," I whisper, my voice trailing off. "You said something. Fica... something..."
I am already half-asleep, my mind floating in a fog of blissful exhaustion.
I don't hear his answer.
The last thing I am aware of before I drift off completely is the sound of his laughter.
And the feeling of his arms tightening around me, holding me close.