Chapter 2
Lorenzo
My fingertips tapped on the cold metal armrest of the wheelchair. Tap. Tap.
The trouble at the Southside warehouse was messier than I'd anticipated. Just moments ago, I'd dispatched Luca—my most reliable right-hand man, silent as a blade—to handle the cleanup. Now, this vast study held only me.
The room was shrouded in darkness. I hadn't bothered with the lights, letting the moonlight filter onto the thin blanket draped over my knees.
That car crash a year ago... those bastards.
They'd figured the explosion would finish me off, or at least boot me from the heart of the Moretti Family's power. They'd come damn close.
I lowered my gaze to my legs. To keep those cunning old foxes in check, I had to rely on a cane in public, pretending I'd fully recovered.
But only I knew the reality—these legs tormented me every single second.
Muscles spasmed, nerves jabbed like needles into my marrow.
The doctors said I might never walk properly again.
Maybe I'd be chained to this goddamn wheelchair forever.
I despised the helplessness. Despised my frailty. Yearned to tear that traitor apart—
That's when the doorknob turned softly.
My nerves went taut in an instant. My hand instinctively slid toward the gun hidden in the wheelchair's compartment.
The door swung open, and a figure stumbled in, reeking of alcohol.
Alessia Conti.
Ricardo's fiancée. That ambitious bastard of a nephew's woman.
She saw it.
She saw me in the wheelchair, the phony cane discarded nearby, my most shameful secret exposed.
Murderous rage surged like a tidal wave.
If Ricardo learned of this, he'd exploit it to seize control. He'd rally those fools, preaching that the family needed a strong leader, that a cripple had no place at the top.
I should summon someone to drag her away. Ensure she could never utter a word.
But the killing intent stalled the instant she lifted her head.
Her dress was disheveled, straps slipping off, baring swaths of pale skin. Cheeks flushed, eyes glazed, the stench of liquor clinging to her. Hair cascaded wildly over her shoulders, lipstick smeared into a vivid red streak at the corner of her mouth.
This woman—so poised and impeccable at the banquet—now resembled a defiled masterpiece.
The contrast, this fractured perfection, struck right at my darkest desires.
I'd noticed her from the moment she appeared at the engagement party. That white gown, that docile expression, those clear eyes—she seemed so pure, so flawless.
And all I'd wanted was to sully her.
Tear apart that pricey dress, see her kneel before me, hear her scream, sob, plead. Mark her perfect skin as mine.
But she belonged to Ricardo, so I'd suppressed those urges.
Now, she'd walked right into my grasp.
I let go of the gun. The murderous impulse ebbed, supplanted by something darker, more scorching.
"I'm sorry, wrong room—"
Her voice trembled, fear flickering in her eyes as she turned to flee.
Good.
She damn well should be afraid.
"Stop," I heard myself command, my voice icy.
She froze like a frightened rabbit.
I maneuvered the wheelchair closer, halting directly before her.
"I believe," I said, snatching the coat from the sofa and thrusting it at her, "you need this."
She accepted it blankly, fingers shaking, cheeks ablaze.
"Thank you, Mr. Moretti. I'm terribly sorry, I didn't mean to—I thought this was the ladies' room, I never—"
She rambled, nerves frayed, fear evident, utterly adrift.
I should have relished the power high, but my attention was fixated on her lips. Plump, full, slightly swollen from the alcohol.
I wanted to bite them.
"I'll leave now." She whirled in a panic, and chaos erupted.
She caught her heel on the hem, stumbling. Instinctively, I reached out and caught her. She collapsed into my lap, her weight crashing onto my legs without warning. The familiar, bone-deep agony exploded tenfold, nearly making me pass out.
I grunted, cold sweat beading on my forehead.
But overpowering the pain was the sensation of her body.
Soft, warm, scented with roses and champagne.
Her hands pressed against my shoulders, eyes wide as she stared into mine.
Those eyes.
Moist, clear, innocent—close enough for me to see my reflection in them. And something elusive I couldn't decipher.
My arm encircled her waist. Through the ripped fabric of her skirt, my thumb grazed her bare, silky skin.
I could feel her trembling, her rapid breaths, her supple form molded against me.
My heartbeat raced out of control.
This was absurd. I wasn't some twenty-year-old punk, getting flustered over embracing a woman.
...But she was different. She was Ricardo's. She was taboo.
And breaking rules was what I did best—and savored most.
I gazed at her lips, her damp eyes, her parted mouth.
Then she kissed me.
Fuck. She made the first move.
I stiffened for a second, mind blank.
This prim, perfect lady, actually—
I felt the tentative flick of her tongue along my lips, like a timid creature exploring. Desire ignited in my core like wildfire, and instinct seized command.
I clamped my hand on the back of her neck, intensifying the kiss.
Her lips were softer than I'd dreamed. Sweet with champagne, laced with an addictive flavor uniquely hers.
My tongue forced its way in, invading, ravaging, possessing.
She whimpered, fingers clutching my shirt.
Not enough.
Nowhere near.
I nipped her lower lip; she shuddered, parting wider, allowing me to delve deeper. I savored her taste, felt her tongue shyly reciprocate, heard her fractured moans.
This kiss was sheer aggression.
I was punishing her. For breaching my domain, witnessing my secret, stripping away my control.
She endured it, even began to respond. Awkward, novice, but ravenous.
When we parted, she slumped in my arms, panting heavily. Cheeks crimson, eyes unfocused, lips swollen. She looked like a ravaged work of art.
Beautiful enough to ruin.
"You sure?" I asked, my voice raw and unrecognizable.
This was her last out. My final grasp of reason.
She should scream, bolt, do anything—
Instead, she sank to her knees, her hand gliding to my belt.
I drew in a sharp breath.
With trembling fingers, she unbuckled it, unzipped me, and my cock sprang free—
Fuck.
She bowed her head, her vivid red tongue darting out to lick the dark tip, like savoring ice cream.
My breath halted.
"Please."
She looked up, tears in her eyes but desire blazing.
"Fuck me. Fuck me until I forget everything."
Lust erupted like lava within me, incinerating all rationality.
I seized a handful of her hair, forcing her head down harder onto my cock.
She gasped, her mouth stretching wider as I pushed deeper.
She was so damn inexperienced—hesitant, uncertain, her tongue fumbling along my length like she was navigating uncharted waters.
A soft, uneasy groan slipped from her throat, muffled around my shaft, and fuck, that sound ignited me.
It wasn't outright pain, but the sheer rawness of her inexperience, the way she struggled to accommodate me, awakened something savage inside.
My sadistic urges surged. I craved more of those sounds, wanted to test her boundaries just to hear her whimper.
"Take it," I growled, my voice low and authoritative, thrusting up into her mouth.
She gagged slightly, her hands clutching my thighs for stability, eyes watering as she tried to adjust. But she didn't retreat.
That innocent eagerness only stoked my fire.
I pressed her head down further, forcing her to deep-throat me, feeling the tight warmth of her throat constrict around my tip.
She moaned again, a blend of discomfort and emerging lust, the vibrations humming through my cock.
God, it was exquisite—her purity clashing with the depravity.
I held her there, unrelenting, watching her cheeks hollow as she sucked awkwardly, saliva trickling down her chin.
Her breaths came in short, ragged bursts through her nose, and every time she wriggled, seeking air, I'd drive her deeper, savoring how her body tensed.
"You're doing well, sweetheart," I murmured, but it dripped with mockery, my free hand tracing her jaw possessively.
"But I want more. Suck harder." She complied as best she could, her tongue swirling tentatively, but the clumsiness—those little choked noises—had me throbbing intensely.
I fucked her mouth rhythmically, not harshly enough to break her, but enough to dominate, to make her feel every inch of my authority.
Her tears mingled with the mess on her face, and damn, it was intoxicating.
I could have finished right there, but I restrained myself, prolonging it until her whimpers grew desperate, until she trembled from the strain.
Only when her submission reached that perfect peak did I finally release her, her lips glossy and swollen, gasping for air.
She gazed up at me, dazed and flushed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
I reached down, planning to pull her onto my lap, to bury myself in her right there in the wheelchair.
But she halted me—placed a quivering hand on my chest and shook her head, her eyes a whirlwind of bashfulness and daring hunger.
"No," she whispered, her voice breathy and fractured.
She rose, shrugging off the tattered remains of her dress, letting it puddle at her feet.
Now she stood in just those lacy panties, her body illuminated by the moonlight—curves aglow, nipples erect and demanding attention.
She backed toward the desk, perching on it with a blend of reluctance and bold enticement.
Spreading her legs wide, she bared herself, the fabric of her panties already drenched.
"It's...my first time," she confessed, cheeks flaming, but her stare fixed on mine, a mix of slutty sweetness.
"Make me ready for you. Then I'll give you everything. "
Fuck, that shattered me. Any remaining control vanished.
I wheeled closer, my hands gripping her thighs roughly, parting them even further.
With a guttural growl, I ripped her panties apart, the material tearing like tissue, leaving her exposed and glistening.
She yelped but arched toward me, eager. My fingers plunged in without hesitation—two at once, driving deep into her tight, slick heat.
She was sopping wet, clenching around me like a vise, yet so inexperienced, her body flinching at the intrusion.
I worked her harshly, scissoring my fingers, curling them to strike that sensitive spot that drew cries from her lips.
"Like this?" I taunted, my thumb rubbing her clit firmly, watching her hips jerk uncontrollably.
She moaned loudly, desperately, her hands clutching the desk's edges as I added a third finger, stretching her wider, pumping faster.
Her arousal coated my hand, the wet sounds echoing in the room, and she writhed, caught between bliss and overload.
I didn't relent—twisted my fingers, massaged her inner walls until she panted, pleading incoherently, her virgin pussy quivering on the brink.
Once she was slick and sufficiently stretched, I withdrew my hand, licking her essence from my fingers as she watched, wide-eyed.
Then I seized her waist, hauling her off the desk and onto my lap, positioning her to straddle me.
She lowered herself gradually, aligning my cock with her entrance, and fuck, the instant her tight warmth engulfed me, I groaned.
She was so wet, so prepared from the fingering, but still virgin-snug, gripping me perfectly.
I thrust upward fiercely, burying myself to the hilt in one motion, and she cried out, nails digging into my shoulders.
We moved together—her riding me, me surging up to match her rhythm.
My hands wandered to her breasts, kneading the soft flesh, pinching her nipples until they hardened beneath my thumbs.
I toyed with them roughly, tugging as I slammed into her, each thrust profound and ferocious, striking her depths.
She bounced on me, her breasts jiggling with the intensity, and the ache in my legs dissolved amid the primal ecstasy of possessing her.
But she grew audacious—attempted to quicken the pace, grinding down harder for more friction.
I smirked, deliberately slowing my thrusts, drawing them out to torment her.
"Not so fast," I rasped, gripping her hips to hold her steady, eliciting a frustrated whine.
When she begged for mercy, whimpering that it was too much, too deep, I'd counter by accelerating, pounding into her with greater speed and force, bottoming out brutally.
"Take it all," I'd growl, observing her face twist in rapture and overwhelm.
She couldn't escape the game; every plea rebounded, amplifying the torment, and it drove me insane, this dance of dominance.
Her body quaked, inner walls fluttering around my cock, and at last, she shattered—screaming my name as she climaxed, clenching so tightly it pulled me under.
I drove into her a few more times, deep and relentless, before I followed, releasing inside her with a guttural groan, flooding her completely.
We lingered like that, breaths heaving, her head resting on my shoulder.
Then, unexpectedly, she leaned in, her tongue lapping at the bite mark she'd inflicted on my skin earlier—her teeth had sunk in during the frenzy, leaving a faint trail of blood.
The warm, wet stroke sent a shock straight to my core.
Fuck, she was insatiable. Desire reignited, fierce and urgent.
The night was still young. We had plenty of time for more.