41. CHAPTER 40—ANTONIO
CHAPTER 40—ANTONIO
H olding back is fucking torture, but hell, I'd wrestle the stars for her - to watch her shatter beneath me, to make her fall apart until she forgets about revenge and betrayal. Forgets everything but how I make her feel. She's mine to claim, to break, to rebuild in my image.
I should remember the hatred burning in my gut. Should keep the Beast's teeth sharp. But when she shivers like that, all I can think about is marking her skin with my hands, my mouth, my teeth until she's branded as mine.
And when she touches me, I don’t stop her.
"Come." The command comes out like gravel and sin. Need her relaxed, need her willing, need her fucking desperate for what comes next. Christ, she's beautiful - all that steel wrapped in grace, that raw vulnerability she tries to hide. The way she holds herself like she's ready to fight or flee, even as her body betrays her want with every tiny gasp, every unconscious arch into my touch.
I've imagined this more times than I can count - before flames rewrote our story, before scars mapped new territories between us. Back when she used to watch me play piano with those eyes that saw past my walls, past my family name, straight to whatever soul I had left.
Even now, covered in scars neither of us talk about, she draws me like gravity. Maybe because she's the only one who ever really saw me. And fuck if I don't see her too - every mark, every change, every battle written in her flesh. See her and want her more for surviving.
Tonight's a glitch in the damn universe, a moment stolen from whatever hell we're headed toward. And I'm taking everything I can get.
When I kiss her again, it's slow. Deliberate. My hands map her curves like territory I plan to conquer, and the whimper she makes when I grab her ass? Pure fucking sin. I press her harder against me, letting her feel how rock-hard I am, how much I want to bury myself inside her until neither of us remembers who we're supposed to be.
The Beast wants to devour her whole. But some part of me - the part that remembers piano keys and perfect notes - wants to take her apart slowly. Wants to learn every new curve, taste every scar, make her body sing like she used to make my music dance. Want to hear her beg for my touch, feel her wet and ready against my fingers before I claim her completely.
Want to mark her as mine in ways that'll last longer than morning.
Her breath hitches, coming in short gasps that match the pounding of my pulse. With one hand, I reach for the shower, letting steam fill the air while my other hand traces down her spine, claiming every inch. The soft sound she makes when I find that sensitive spot at the small of her back? It hits me harder than any victory ever has.
"Do you remember the first time I made you laugh?" My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to, desire scraping it raw.
"When you tried to do a pirouette?" Her lips curve, and something in my chest tightens. "You knew I was stressed for the audition..."
"And clearly you're more talented than I am." I pause, watching how the steam makes her curls wild, how her skin flushes pink with heat - or maybe want. "You still are."
"I don't know. Maybe your pirouette is better than mine, now."
"You still have more grace in your hand than I do in my entire body."
"I don't agree."
Her fingers lift to my face, and every muscle in me tenses. Nobody touches the scars. Nobody. But when her touch traces them - not hesitating, not dwelling with morbid curiosity, just accepting - something cracks open inside me. I've had women look at me like I'm their dark fantasy come to life, the Beast of their wet dreams and nightmares. But never real. Never just... me.
The way she touches me, like my scars are just another part of who I am, not what defines me... fuck. Her eyes hold no fear, no twisted fascination - they see past the Beast straight to whatever's left of Tonio. That gaze strips away years of armor, reaching something I thought I'd burned away.
My hands tighten on her hips, torn between pushing her away and pulling her closer. Because this? This isn't just about claiming her body anymore. The way she touches me, sees me - it threatens to undo everything I've built since flames reshaped my world.
But I want more. Want her hands mapping every scar, every mark that tells my story. Want to feel what it's like to be touched by someone who isn't afraid of the monster I've become.
And fuck, doesn't that make something crack in the walls I've built around whatever's left of my heart? Just a hairline fracture, but dangerous as any weakness can be.
"It's a nice bathroom," she says, a blush staining her cheeks pink. The way she glances down then back up tells me exactly what she's thinking - trying to calculate if I'll fit inside her. That thought alone makes my cock throb painfully against my zipper.
A laugh rumbles up from somewhere deep inside me - not the Beast's calculated amusement, but something real. Something only she seems able to draw out. "It is indeed," I murmur, pressing a kiss to her nose. The gesture is too soft, too tender for what this is supposed to be. But like everything else about her, it catches me off guard.
Steam curls around us like desire made visible, and when she steps under the spray, her content sigh hits me straight in the gut. My marble tub might be carved from the finest Italian stone, but right now it's got nothing on how hard I am watching her.
Water cascades over her curves, each drop a tease that makes me want to follow its path with my tongue. My gaze devours her like I'm starving, promising everything I plan to do to her. When her eyes meet mine, they carry an answering hunger that makes my blood burn hotter.
I strip off my remaining clothes, letting her see exactly what she does to me. When she opens her eyes, water running down her shoulders like a lover's caress, those perfect lips form a silent 'O' of appreciation. The way she stares at my cock, need written clear as sin across her face, makes me want to pin her against these expensive tiles and claim her right now.
But first? First I'm going to make her beg for it
"Not going to fit," she mutters, and my laugh rumbles deep in my chest. My cock throbs at just the thought of stretching her, burying myself so deep she forgets where she ends and I begin. When her tongue darts out to wet her lips, every instinct screams to guide her to her knees, to feel that pretty mouth around me. But no. Not yet. Not until I've made her come undone first.
Her fingers reach for me tentatively, and desire surges hot as flame through my veins. But I don't let anyone touch me - not there, not like that. Not anymore. I catch her wrist, bringing it to my mouth instead. Press my lips to her pulse point where I can taste her racing heartbeat.
My hands find her shoulders, working tension from muscles that carry too much weight. The contrast of warm water and firm pressure draws a sound from her that goes straight to my cock. Each knot I find tells stories of battles I wasn't there for - but I'm here now.
"Hmmm," she sighs, and watching her eyes flutter closed, seeing her surrender even this small piece of control - fuck. I grab the soap, letting my hands map every new curve, every scar I don't remember. Moving slower than I want to, building need with each deliberate stroke until she's practically melting under my touch.
"Whenever I close my eyes," I growl against her ear, "this is what I'll see. You wet and wanting, trusting me to take you apart." My hands slide lower, possessive yet careful. Because this isn't just about claiming her body anymore. This is about making her forget everything but how I make her feel.
Even if it means letting her past my own walls in return.
When my fingers finally reach her pussy, I keep my touch deliberately light, barely grazing sensitive flesh. The gasp that tears from her throat shoots straight to my cock - watching her body respond to me, seeing pleasure ripple through her like waves... fuck. Nothing's ever felt this right.
"I'm sorry," she whispers suddenly, voice trembling. "I'm not... with the early menopause, and never having..." Her fingers twist against my shoulders, and something in my chest tightens at her vulnerability.
"Listen to me, Bell'cenda." I catch her chin, making her meet my gaze. "Never apologize for this. For any of it. My job is making you feel good. Making you forget everything but how I make you feel."
The trust in her eyes nearly undoes me. But when I drop to my knees, letting water cascade over us both, she forgets about being sorry. My tongue traces her folds, learning what makes her gasp, what makes those perfect thighs tremble. Every lick, every suck is calculated to drive her wild, to prove her body can still sing under the right touch.
"Oh god, Tonio." My name on her lips sounds like salvation and sin mixed together. Her hands find my hair, fingers tangling tight enough to sting, and fuck if that doesn't make me harder. Every moan echoing off tile walls feeds something primal in me - the need to claim, to mark, to make her forget anyone else exists.
I'm lost in her responses, in how she yields to pleasure despite her fears. When I reach for the lube, coating my fingers thoroughly, her breath catches. "Are you begging for more, Bell'cenda?" I growl against her clit, sliding one finger inside while my tongue keeps working. She's tight, so fucking tight, but the way she moans tells me it's good. When I add a second finger, her head falls back, water running down her throat, and christ - watching her come apart like this? Worth every scar, every battle, every moment of wanting.
I'll make her forget every doctor's warning, every limit they tried to put on her pleasure. Make her remember her body belongs to her.
And now to me.
Her whole body shakes against me, thighs trembling as she grips my shoulders like I'm her only anchor. Something primal roars to life watching her come undone - those perfect tits heaving with each gasp, head thrown back against tile, water running down curves I want to mark with my teeth. When she comes, it's fucking beautiful - back arching off the wall, pussy clenching around my fingers, my name torn from her throat like she's breaking and becoming at once.
I rise slowly, letting my body drag against hers, wet skin on wet skin. My cock throbs against her stomach, reminding us both what comes next. My mouth finds her throat, tasting her racing pulse, breathing in honeysuckle and need. Christ, watching her shatter like this? Makes the Beast want to claim every inch, mark her so deeply she'll never forget who made her feel this way.
"We're just getting started, Bell'cenda," I growl against her neck, shutting off the water. When I lift her, her legs wrap around my waist instinctively, and fuck - feeling her wet core pressed against my abs nearly breaks my control. I grab the lube - because I'm going to take care of her, make sure she's ready for every inch of me. "Can't wait to feel that tight pussy stretch around my cock. Going to claim you so thoroughly you'll feel me for days."
Tonight I'll give her everything she needs. Be gentle when she needs gentle, rough when she begs for more. Make her forget about scars and schemes and survival.
Tonight I’m going to be her hero. Even if tomorrow I have to be her Beast.