Chapter Eleven Raffa #3
“Do not move them,” I instructed her, watching as her eyes blew straight to black, mouth parting on a soft pant. “If you do, I will have to spank you again . . . though for a greedy girl like you, I am not sure that is a punishment.”
“No,” she agreed, tongue dipping out to touch her lower lip in a little tease. “It’s not.”
I pressed a hand to her mouth. “Do not speak unless it is to beg me for more, cacciatrice.”
She nodded before I moved my hand away to unbutton the other strap of her dress and peel the fabric down to her hips.
Exposed, her nipples beaded in the cooling air as the sun kissed the edge of the green Tuscan hills.
I ducked to take one into my mouth, sucking hard and testing the furled flesh with my teeth until she squirmed.
“Stai ferma,” I ordered against her wet breast. Be still.
She released a breathy moan of protest but instantly relaxed for me.
The alpha animal inside me practically roared at her supplication and immediately took advantage.
I lowered myself between her thighs, lifting the heavy linen skirt until it rested above her hips before pushing her legs as wide as they would go.
Only a thin pair of white silk ruffled panties obscured her beautiful figa from view.
With a light snarl, I rent them off with my teeth.
Guinevere gasped, hips canting up toward my mouth as if the idea of my teeth so close to her sensitive flesh aroused her. I tested the theory by biting softly into the tender meat on the inside of her thighs, leaving impressions like stamps of possession in her pale skin.
I leaned back, braced on my forearms between her thighs to draw my thumb down the center of her cunt, revealing its wet, pink center.
Moisture pooled at her entrance, and I slicked it up to her clit with the pad of my finger, rubbing light, tight circles over the nub until I could feel the tremor of her barely restrained vibrations under my hand.
“Scopami, per favore,” Guinevere gasped, arching up into my touch.
Fuck me, please.
In the deepening shadows, she seemed like a beautiful illusion, something flickering between here and some otherworldly there, half in my realm and half without.
I gripped her hips a little too hard, flexing my fingers into the muscles of her pert ass.
“Non ancora,” I said with that cold edge of cruelty I knew made her toes curl. “Not yet. You have not nearly begun to beg for it.”
With that, I dipped my head and dragged my tongue from her leaking entrance to the top of her pussy, sucking at the hot, swollen crest of her until she cried out senselessly.
The vine leaves rustled in the breeze, cooling as the sun disappeared degree by degree over the edge of the hilly valley, but Guinevere’s skin was hot, almost burning to the touch.
I had set a fire inside her that I intended to nurture into an inferno and see through until she was nothing but ash in my hands, ready to be reborn into something new.
“Raffa,” she cried weakly as I fucked into her heat with my tongue, curling it inside her in a way that made her hips leap like a struck live wire. “Raffa, dio mio, per favore, please!”
“Tell me, cerbiatta, do you want to break apart on my tongue?” I asked her, my voice a deep, broken rasp as arousal threatened to strangle me. “I will lick you clean and share the sweet taste of your figa with you when I work myself inside this tight cunt.”
I did not wait for her answer. Instead, I twisted two thick fingers inside her, pressing them along her front wall as I used my mouth like a weapon against her clit, sucking while lashing my tongue over the bundle of nerves.
I held her body down with one forearm, and she almost choked on a sharp breath, body bowing, fingernails digging audibly into the bark of the Chianti tree, and then shuddered apart on a broken wail of completion.
“Raffa, Raffa, Raffa,” she sang like some ancient invocation, a spell that wove itself through the very fabric of my being and eradicated whatever was left of the civilized man inside me.
I reared back to undo my belt and trousers with one hand while the other still pumped inside her convulsing pussy, driving her orgasm on and on until she was a writhing, serpentine creature locked at the base of the vines. A vipera, dangerously beautiful, utterly toxic to a mere mortal.
She was still coming when I replaced my fingers with the head of my weeping cock and drove relentlessly inside her.
“Fuck,” she cried out, her hips flinching away from me even as her head crashed back into the ground on a fierce moan of pleasure. “Oh my God, Raffa.”
“There are no gods for us but each other,” I reminded her through clenched teeth as I started to fuck her brutally, hauling her legs up over my thighs so they were splayed wide around my torso, held open for me to watch as I wedged my thick cock inside her mouthwateringly pretty little pussy.
“When you pray for help, it is me who will come. When you ask for your deepest wishes, it is me who will fulfill them. When you want to come, Guinevere, it is me who will drive you out of your mind with pleasure. Capisci?”
“Si, si, quello che vuoi,” she said in a slurring rush, driving her hips down onto mine, small breasts swaying with each thrust. “Meus Rex Infernus. Raffa mio. Please, just fuck me harder.”
There she was. My insatiable girl. A wanton, vibrant temptress only ever for me.
Possessive pride surged through my veins, tightening my balls and the base of my spine.
I wanted to come inside her and watch my seed leak out that reddened, lightly gaping hole.
I wanted to come on her belly, her breasts, rub it in so that we would both know she wore me beneath her dress when we went back to dinner.
I wanted to brand her inside and out so that she would know the truth I was enslaved to . . .
She was mine as much as I was hers, and there was no reality—hers on the side of good, mine on the side of bad, or any other—where the two of us were not meant to be together.
This was just the first of many ways I would show her.
I lifted one of her slim legs higher, propping it onto my shoulder so I could fuck into her more deeply. Her eyes screwed shut, lavender lids fluttering, mouth open in a soft O as she trembled and clutched tighter to the tree for more leverage to grind back onto me with every thrust.
The force of our coupling made the vines sway and overripe grapes drop from overhead. I bent to retrieve one that rolled between her breasts, breaking the thick, slightly bitter skin between my teeth and then rubbing the purple-red skin into her nipple until it was stained the same color.
Guinevere shivered violently as I did the same to the other side and then drew it into my mouth with a hard suck. The sound of my balls meeting her drenched pussy was loud in the twilight quiet, underscored by the rustling leaves and the harsh rasp of our breath.
When I looked up into her eyes as I ground deep and felt the tremor of her oncoming orgasm, she had a ripe wine grape between her teeth, an offering she made by canting her head up toward me.
I bit into her lower lip first just to feel the clutch of her pussy around me and then ate the fruit out of her mouth, the two of us sharing the sharp, tannin-rich juice between our lips. The kiss was almost sloppy, panting breaths and punctuating moans.
“I love this,” she confessed onto my tongue, like a wafer placed there during a religious ceremony. “I missed this so much.”
“Anche io, mia stella cadente,” I told her. “La mia vita è tornata nell’oscurità quando te ne sei andata.”
I missed you too, my shooting star. My life returned to darkness when you left.
“E guardati adesso,” I continued as I collared her throat in one hand and then used my thumb to smear the grape juice across her bottom lip. “Non sei mai stata più bella di quando sei mia.”
And look at you now, never more beautiful than when you are mine.
A groan rattled through her throat as her tongue chased my thumb across her lips. I bent my head to nip at her ear as I shifted my free hand to the place we were joined, splitting my fingers across the broad stretch of me inside her, grinding the heel of my palm into her clit.
“Come for me now,” I demanded, pausing to drag my teeth down the line of her neck.
“Take your pleasure from me, and then I will fill you up with so much cum you will be leaking for hours. Squirming at the dinner table as it drips down your thighs. Only you and I knowing you are my good, sweet little slut.”
Guinevere choked on her scream as my teeth fixed to her throat, sucking hard enough to bruise, and she came as if she had been struck by a lightning bolt, juddering in my arms, robbed of breath and filled with electricity.
“Brava,” I praised as she came, finally giving myself over to my own pleasure as it seared like an electrical current from her flesh into mine. The ecstasy was so keen, it ripped through me almost painfully, and my vision fizzed out, white blurs and black stars behind my lids.
This was it.
Raw, primal connection between two souls.
She could say she did not trust me, but enticing me to hunt her down and fuck her into the grass was not an act between two strangers.
She could say she did not love me, but as she released the wood trunk and sank her trembling hands into my hair to hold my cheek pressed tight to her breast, over her beating heart, I thought that too must be a lie.
I could hear it in that very pulse, an echo of something like my name in its rhythm.
“Raffa,” she said, as if she could hear it too.
There were tears in her voice, roughened by pleasure, waterlogged with confusion and remembered sorrow.
“Guinevere,” I murmured back before pressing a kiss to her breastbone, running my thumb over the faint scar from her kidney transplant curving over her lower abdomen. “Cacciatrice mia.”
“Not yet,” she whispered so low, I thought she was speaking to herself. “But maybe one day.”