Chapter 35 Sophie
Sophie
Vincenzo Demonio, the man who uses women and discards them, is tongue fucking me like his life depends on it and I’m so freaking high on him I feel like I’ll never come down.
He loves the cannoli cream, I can tell by the way he groans against me, but he doesn’t stop when it’s gone. He keeps going, his mouth hot and insistent, his tongue moving in ways that make my back arch off the bed.
“Vin!” My hands find his hair, thick and dark between my fingers. “You don’t have to—”
“Shut up.” His voice is muffled against me, rough and commanding. “Let me fucking taste you.”
Heat floods through me at the possessive way he grip my thighs, spreading me wider. No one has ever done this, not like this. Not with this intensity, this focus, like making me feel good is the only thing that matters in the entire world.
But if he’s trying to make me come, it’s not enough.
My body responds, muscles tightening, breath quickening, but that familiar wall stays firmly in place. It’s the same wall that’s been there with every man before him. I can feel pleasure building, warm and liquid, but it has nowhere to go.
He tries everything.
His tongue moves faster, then slower. Circles and flicks then long, dragging strokes that make me gasp. He slides two fingers inside me, curling them just right, and I hear myself moan.
“That’s it, princess.” His voice is velvet against my sensitive clit. “Let me hear you.”
His words make me even wetter. “Such a good little slut for me, aren’t you? This perfect pussy, all mine to fuck. You love my tongue on you, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I whisper, because I do. I love it. But I also know where this is going.
His fingers work faster, his mouth more insistent. I can feel his frustration building in the tension of his shoulders and the way he grips me. He’s trying so hard, working so determinedly, and that wall stays exactly where it’s always been.
After what feels like beautiful, torturous hours, he pulls back, his face flushed and wet. His jaw is tight, a muscle jumping beneath the stubble.
“Why won’t you come?” It’s almost accusatory, but I know he’s not mad at me; he’s mad at himself. At this point, I know him well enough to tell the difference.
I touch his face gently. “It’s okay, Vincenzo. Really. That felt amazing.”
“Don’t patronize me.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, dark eyes blazing. “I’m not some amateur who can’t make a woman come.”
“I know you’re not.” I sit up, pulling the sheet around me. “It’s not you. It’s me. It’s always been me.”
He stares at me, breathing hard. “What do you mean?”
How do I explain this? That my body doesn’t work the way it should? That no amount of skill or technique has ever been enough?
“Other men have tried,” I say quietly, looking down at my hands. “Every trick, every technique. Some of them were very skilled, but it just… doesn’t happen for me.”
“Tricks and techniques,” he repeats slowly. Then his expression changes, like something clicked. “But that’s not what you need, is it?”
I blink at him, unsure where he’s going with this.
He moves closer, his hand cupping my face with unexpected gentleness. “You said you want closeness. Caring. Emotional safety. Feeling like you are home when you’re in someone’s arms.”
My heart stutters in my chest. Oh. My. Gosh. “Yes.”
Without a second thought, he pulls me into his arms, cradling me, my cheek against his chest. His mouth is next to my forehead, his arms solid and warm around me.
“Relax,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice softer. “I’ve got you.”
One hand slides down my body, between my legs, but the touch is gentle. He finds my clit and circles slowly while his other arm anchors me against him.
“Touch yourself,” he whispers. “Show me what you like.”
My hand joins his. I’m shaking, I’m so nervous.
“That’s it.” His lips brush my temple, my cheek. “Don’t stress. Don’t overthink it. Just relax.”
His fingers move with mine, learning my rhythm, my pressure. But it’s his voice in my ear, his solid warmth surrounding me, that changes everything.
“I’ve got you, Sophia. You’re safe. Right here, right now, you’re completely safe with me.”
Something inside me starts to crack open, the tingling warmth spreading through my body.
“Let go,” he breathes. “I’m not going anywhere, Sophia regina. I’m right here.”
The wall, that impenetrable wall, begins to crumble.
My breathing becomes ragged, and the warmth that was building suddenly turns to heat, shooting through my limbs like wildfire. My fingers move faster on my clit, his fingers guiding mine, his other arm holding me so tight I can barely breathe.
“Vin—” His name is almost a prayer.
“I know. I can feel it. Come for me, princess. Let me feel you come.”
And I do.
The orgasm crashes through me like a wave breaking. It’s sudden, overwhelming, stealing my breath and my thoughts, everything but the sensation of falling apart in his arms. My body convulses, my hand on my clit as pleasure rockets through every nerve ending.
I cry out, something between a sob and a scream, and he holds me through it, whispering Italian words I can’t quite understand, his voice steady and sure.
“Brava ragazza. Così bella. Ti tengo, amore. Ti tengo.”
Good girl. So beautiful. I’ve got you, love. I’ve got you.
When I finally come back to myself, I’m shaking. Tears streak my face—when did I start crying?—and my entire body feels like liquid, completely boneless in a way I’ve never experienced.
Vin holds me, his arms still wrapped around me, his heartbeat steady under my cheek.
“Holy…” I can’t find words for what just happened.
“Yeah.” There’s satisfaction in his voice, pride, but also something softer.
I should probably thank him, tell him what this means, but I know better. This is Vin Demonio. The man who has told me repeatedly that whatever this is has an expiration date.
He just gave me my first orgasm with another person because he likes a challenge. Because he is competitive, determined to win at everything he does. This was a conquest. A puzzle he put together. Nothing more.
Just because this is a monumentally life-changing moment for me, it means nothing to him so I turn in his arms and kiss him softly. “Thank you.”
His eyes search mine, looking for everything I’m careful not to show. “You’re welcome.”
To cover, I give him a broad smile. “Maybe my safe word should be ‘cunt-oli.’”
Vin laughs and squeezes me to him, pressing a kiss into my hair. “That’ll work, princess.”
**
Later, after he’s carried me to the shower and washed me with surprising gentleness, after he’s tucked me into bed and climbed in beside me, I lie awake staring at the ceiling.
He’s already asleep, his breathing deep and even. One arm is thrown across my waist, possessive even in sleep.
I replay the moment in my mind over and over. Not just the orgasm itself, but the way he held me, the things he said. You’re safe. I’ve got you. I’m right here.
Those words unlocked something in me that nothing else could. Even though Vin doesn’t do relationships, he just showed me something profound about myself.
I don’t just want someone to fuck me. I want someone to hold me while they fuck me, to make me feel cherished and protected and safe, even in the midst of degradation and dominance.
I want the contradiction he represents: brutal and gentle, demanding and caring, dominating and protective.
I want him. And that’s the most dangerous thing I could possibly want.
His arm tightens around me in his sleep, pulling me closer into his chest. “Ti tengo,” he murmurs. I’ve got you.
I nestle into him, closing my eyes against the tears. In the morning, I’ll go back to being realistic about what this is and what it isn’t.
But tonight, just for tonight, I’m going to let myself feel everything I’m not supposed to feel.