Chapter 16 #2
“At your body?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I shrug and say nothing. He squints at me, and then the thought registers. “It’s just Enzo said—”
Dario’s expression hardens and his mouth turns into a grim line. “I don’t want you to ever mention his name when you’re with me. That fucking prick doesn’t deserve you. And one day I’ll fucking kill him for making you think you aren’t perfect, Vittoria. I promise you.”
“I… I don’t know what to say.”
“Say your days start and end with my say.”
“My days start and end with your say.”
“Good girl.”
Then he kisses me passionately, exploring my mouth like it’s the first time, and I fall against his body. He turns my face back to the mirror and growls, “Now, look at me do whatever I fucking what to your body.”
I look then, seeing my breasts—small and round—as they fit into his large palm.
Dario slides his hard cock in between my thighs, rubbing against my wet lips.
And in the mirror, we both watch our expressions as the beautiful hardened parts of him rub against my softness.
I feel how my pussy welcomes him, begging him just to slide it in, how he twitches at the skin-to-skin contact, and I grow wetter.
Then, he glides his fingers towards my opening, dipping two digits inside before bringing them to his mouth, savoring them with an intensity that stirs something primal within me.
“Delicious,” he murmurs under his breath, his eyes locked on me through the mirror. Before I can gather my thoughts, he drags the vanity chair behind him and sits down.
Still trying to process why, I begin to ask, “What—” but he cuts me off.
“Hands on the table, scoot yourself up, your ass backwards, and sit on my face.”
I don’t get a chance to finish my question before he yanks me up, and I have to catch myself on the vanity just as he wanted. My body is half off the ground, my legs resting on the arms of the chair, my ass poised above him.
He wraps his hands around my waist and pulls me in closer.
“You never listen do you? Now be a good girl and suffocate me with this pussy.”
With a swift motion, Dario tugs me down by the hips and buries his face between my legs.
A loud moan escapes me, and I wonder if the whole house can hear it.
His tongue is a wet fire on my clit, and he groans hungrily as he sucks on it, then takes it between his teeth.
As he sinks two fingers inside me, a scream erupts from my lips.
I watch myself in the mirror as he continues his relentless assault on my pussy. There are no other words to describe what he’s doing; it’s as if his desire is tinged with anger, a need to show just how much he’s mad at me.
He licks, nibbles, and sucks at every inch of flesh he can reach, as if I’ve starved him and this is his delicious retribution. I have no choice but to moan, to accept everything he gives me, gripping the vanity harder, determined to be a good girl and not complain.
Before I know it, his cock is in his hand, and he strokes himself while groaning against my needy, dripping pussy.
He alternates between fingering and tasting me, taking every piece of flesh between his teeth, dragging his lips all over my pussy before diving in between my legs, savoring me after teasing my inner thighs.
An electric shock courses through me when my orgasm hits—a spark that ignites a wildfire across my body.
My walls clench and throb around his fingers, my vision blurring into darkness.
With both hands still holding me up, I inch back and ride his face, grinding against his fingers and mouth as I explode—again and again.
Dario’s tongue lashes against me, and my body spasms as everything he does overwhelms my senses. “Oh fuck,” I gasp as he bites my clit, a yelp escaping me.
“Louder, Vit. Squeeze your walls around my fingers and scream my fucking name like the dirty little whore I know you are.”
My head falls back, stars dancing in my vision as I struggle for breath. The intensity reaches its peak, and his name slips from my lips, tangled with a string of curses. But it’s barely a whisper, it’s a desperate gasp.
“Louder.” He sucks on my clit with such ferocity that I nearly lose consciousness, forcing me to show him just how it sounds when I scream his name.
My tits bounce as I move against his mouth, my thighs tightly bracketing his head while I ride his face.
Dario devours me like a starved man, his cock pulsing in his hand as he continues to stroke himself, moaning loudly, sucking and licking me through my orgasm.
I see him thicken in his grip; he’s harder than a rock.
The urge to beg him to take me to bed and fuck my brains out is overpowering. But I want to give him this—the power, the total control to do whatever he likes, to make me take it like I have no choice.
I want him to understand that I choose him, starting now.
“Dario,” I whimper repeatedly, my head dropping to look at his cock, dripping with precum and so sensitive. “I can’t,” I breathe. “It’s too much.”
As if my words are a trigger, he sucks harder on my clit, a deep hum of pleasure escaping my lips, driving me toward yet another orgasm that spills down his chin.
My high reaches a breaking point as my body shakes, and I watch him rub the gathered precum at the tip of his cock, stroking up and down with deliberate movements.
My mouth falls open in a silent "Christ." He doesn’t give me a moment to catch my breath before he stands and gently places my feet back on the ground, moving closer so we’re both facing the mirror again, his cock pressing into my inner thigh.
While I try to regain my composure, his arm wraps around my neck to keep me in place.
Then he slides his fingers down my body and thrusts two inside me without warning.
Dario finger-fucks me hungrily, each movement powerful enough to make my body feel weightless. The ecstasy of the moment makes me creamy, and as he glides in and out, the only sounds that fill the room are the wet echoes of his fingers slipping around around my juices.
“Where have you been all my life, Vit? Why couldn’t I have met you first,” he breathes.
“Oh… please… please…..I can’t!”
But he doesn’t stop. This isn’t lovemaking. This is a raw, unadulterated imitation of fucking. It’s wild, dangerous, and breathtaking.
And it is just his damn fingers.
“Last one,” he orders, his hand moving up to rub circles on my clit. “One more, Vit, then I’ll stop.”
“God, Dario, I can’t,” I breathe, overwhelmed.
He quickens his pace. “Yes, you can.”
As he brings me to orgasm again, I come in his arms, screaming and thrashing against him, even as he continues his onslaught of my body.
My thighs try to close, but he spreads them with his knee, soaking in the way my walls grip his fingers through each wave of pleasure. I grasp his wrist, my pleading gaze begging him to stop because it’s too much.
But instead, he removes his fingers from my pussy and licks them clean while I watch, fighting the deep groan that threatens to escape my lungs.
After a while, I hear him say, “You’ve been such a good girl. Now get on your knees and let me reward you.”
I drop to my knees in front of him, and Dario slides himself back into my mouth, thrusting in and out for a minute. Holding the back of my head, he quickens his pace, gasping as he nears his climax. With a sudden pull back, he spills his release into my mouth and onto my chest.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs when he’s done. “Just beautiful.”
He later cleans me up, takes me to the bed and slides in beside me.
My breath is still uneven, my body warm against his. I can feel the slight tremor in my limbs, the way my fingertips hesitate before resting on his chest. My mind is still racing, trying to make sense of what just happened. Maybe even regretting it.
He presses his lips to my forehead and drags me closer. I don’t resist. My breath slows, steadies. It might be too soon to mistake this for peace, for something safe. But I know better.
He touched me but he didn’t fuck me. He is still angry.
“You’re not what I expected,” I murmur.
“What did you expect?”
I hesitate. “I don’t know. Not this.”
The pause lingers between us. The weight of it presses against my ribs, but he doesn’t fill it. He’s waiting for me to figure it out myself. I have my own thoughts, my own version of the truth, but none of it makes sense yet.
Eventually, I shift, lifting my head just enough to look at him. His eyes are on me, watching, waiting. He doesn’t hide, doesn’t deflect. If I want answers, they’re right there for me to find. Or they aren’t.
“Do you want me to go?” I ask, but I don’t move.
His fingers trail along my spine. “You’re free to leave anytime you want.”
Annoyance crosses my face. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Act like you don’t care.”
He lifts a brow. “But I don’t.”
My lips press together, my jaw tightening for half a second before I exhale. “So this was a mistake??”
“Probably.”
I wait, expecting him to argue. He doesn’t.
We both know what this is. Whatever comfort I think I found in him, it won’t last. We were doomed from the start.
And the part of me that knows better, the part that’s still trying to claw my way out of whatever hell I’m letting myself sink into—that part is screaming at me to run. That he is probably just like him.
But I’m still here.
He brushes my hair away from my face and watches me carefully. I can feel the pull between us, the wanting, the resisting. The push and pull of something I don’t quite understand yet.
“You think you regret this,” he says. “You don’t.”
I scoff, pushing off him just enough to create space. “Don’t tell me what I feel.”
“I can see it.”
I shake my head, climbing out of bed and grabbing my clothes off the floor. My movements are shaky, but I force my way through it. I need to regain control. To pretend I still have it.
He stays where he is, watching. Letting me do what I need to do.
I button my shirt, refusing to look at him. “This can’t happen again.”
He stretches out on the bed, relaxed and unbothered. “If that’s what you want.”
I glare at him. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“That.” I gesture vaguely, frustration evident in the way I exhale. “Act like none of this means anything.”
He studies me for a long moment. Then he pushes up from the bed and closes the space between us before I can react. His fingers graze my jaw, tilting my chin up so I have no choice but to meet his eyes.
“It means something,” he says. “That’s the fucking problem.”
My breath catches, and my lips part like I want to say something, but nothing comes out.
He releases me, then steps back, giving me space.
I swallow as my fingers tighten around the fabric of my shirt. Then I turn and walk toward the door without another word.
He doesn’t stop me.