17. ANTONIO
My release hits me hard. It's an explosion unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. For a moment, it feels as if she and I are one, and I know without a doubt that this woman has been created just for me. Not only is she a perfect fit, but her response to me is sublime.
I’ve had many lovers. Some thought that just lying there with their perfect bodies on display would suffice; others tried acrobatic tricks on me; some were kinky, some giving, some taking, but none of them had even come close to preparing me for sex with this woman.
The way she screams my name as her pleasure courses through her, the way her walls greedily milk my dick, it makes me see stars. Everything around me is simply gone; there's only her and me.
For the longest time, I'm not aware of anything.
My forehead simply rests on hers. We share our breaths, anchored to one another.
Our eyes meet, and I get lost in twin pools of deep sapphire.
It reminds me of the spot where the Atlantic Ocean meets the turquoise Caribbean Sea, only more vivid, especially now as she bathes in the after-waves of her orgasm.
The most beautiful sight I've ever seen.
"Bellissima," I breathe when I am finally able to utter a word again.
She closes her eyes for a moment, looking so damn vulnerable, I automatically increase my hold on her. I'll never, ever allow anybody to hurt her again. As a matter of fact, I'm certain that if anyone walked in right now, I would tear the bastard apart with my bare hands and make him eat his heart.
Her lids open, and sadness and acceptance dance within them. "You don't have to call me that."
I swear right then that I will kill anybody who has hurt her, including her piece of shit father.
My blood boils again like it did when I first noticed the faint scars. My Scarlet was abused over a long, very long, period of time. Her mother, she said. Her own mother did this to her. The woman is lucky she's dead. The urge to hack her to pieces nearly chokes me.
But I don't think that's all. There is a lot more to that story, and I'm going to find out who made her this insecure about her beauty. Yes, those scars are blemishes on her otherwise perfect body, but they're only a distraction to me because they tell of her hurt.
"I wouldn't say so if it wasn't true," I assure her, rolling us over and pulling regretfully out of her warm pussy. The way her body snuggles into mine is pure perfection, just like she is, reaffirming my belief that she was made just for me.
She sighs contentedly. I tilt her chin up and lift my head so I can see her face again. "Who hurt you? And I don't mean your scars."
A shadow flitters over her perfect, classic features. "It doesn't matter."
She doesn't pretend not to understand me. She knows I'm asking about the men in her life—the men who made her feel less than she is.
"A woman like you should be worshipped every hour of every day. Now, give me their names."
Alarm spreads over her features, "You're not going to kill them, are you?"
Actually, that’s exactly my plan, but as I don't want to upset her or lie to her, I keep quiet.
"Antonio?"
"Their names, my little passerotta."
A small smile plays along her lips, begging me to kiss them. I lean forward, and she pushes up until I can worship her, just like I told her she should be worshipped.
My cock responds to her instantly; just the memory of how tight… "Are you sore?" I need to know.
She nods, "A little."
I sigh, deflated, but there is nothing more important to me than making sure she recovers. Her tight little pussy will have to get used to me, and it might take a few days.
Now it's me grinning—a few days of utter bliss.
"Their names?" I push again. "I'll find out either way."
"They didn't hurt me. Not physically. They just couldn't deal with the scars.
" She tries to downplay what those cocksuckers did to her psyche.
And there was more than one. I'm sure of it.
I hate the thought of someone else having touched her, but I'm not na?ve.
She's a beautiful woman, and I'm sure many men have tried to win her over.
I arch an eyebrow at her.
"Don't kill them," she pleads, and a new emotion rises in me, one I've always laughed at. One I thought myself immune to: jealousy.
"Do you still care for them?" My brows knit together. I will kill them slowly.
She shakes her head, "Not at all. Still, they don't deserve to die. Please, Antonio, don't put that on my conscience."
I keep forgetting that my little passerotta is a civilian. Honor in her world is just a word, whereas it means everything in mine. I'm honor-bound to make these two stronzos pay. But…
"I promise I won't kill them," I finally say because I can tell it weighs on her heavily. I might castrate the bastards , but I don't need to tell her that .
"Roberto Webster and Les Stock," she whispers.
"Thank you." I kiss the top of her head, and she snuggles back in. While she slowly drifts off, my mind fills with plans of revenge.
As if sensing I was planning his demise, my phone rings, and Scarlet stirs. With a curse, I stare at Bruce's number. "Your dad."
Instantly, she sits up, wide awake, holding out her hands. "Please, can I talk to him?"
Since I'm in the mood to kill the bastard and don't trust what I would say to him, I hand her the phone.