Chapter 29 Kitty
TWENTY-NINE
KITTY
Playlist recommendation:
my tears ricochet - Taylor Swift
He was so careful with me.
Honestly, it made his Jekyll and Hyde nature all the more enticing.
That he could lift me in his arms and carry me like I weighed nothing. That he could do so while treating me as if I were made of glass, placing me on the bed with more care than I figured most fathers would with a newborn.
But I wasn’t a baby.
I was made of steel, not glass.
And I didn’t want him to be careful with me.
I just needed him.
Before he lay down beside me, I tugged on the buttons of my sleep set—a short-sleeved PJ top that came complete with smiling avocados on it and matching short-shorts—and let him help me take off the bottoms.
Borrowing trouble wasn’t on my to-do list. I was fine, but I couldn’t handle the kind of sex I desperately craved with him.
This would be a delicious substitute, but like switching out the fake maple crap you got in chain restaurants for the real Quebecker maple deal… Ya needed the juice with your flapjacks, but nothing beat that pure-grade Canadian tree jizz.
When he climbed onto the bed wearing boxer briefs, I scowled. “What’s with the underwear?”
“Reminder,” he said shortly, my attention having given his not-so-little head ideas.
As I watched, it grew and twitched, proving that he was both a grower and a shower.
Humming in delight, I wagged my finger. “No clothes. Skin to skin.”
His expression froze. Then it turned blank. But he did as I asked. His dick getting harder once he liberated it.
Happy now, I turned on my side, carefully placing my head on his pillow as I cupped his cock.
“You turning into a shy virgin on me, Stan?” I deadpanned once he rolled over to face me.
His smug smile needed to be tasted.
So I did.
I pressed our mouths together and closed my eyes, sighing into his kiss. The way he tasted me felt like I was his first sip of water in a decade. He moaned. I rewarded that with more pressure around his shaft.
The pre-cum slicking my palm sent me into overdrive.
I knew that he thought this was a terrible idea, and sure, maybe tomorrow, I’d have to deal with a headache, but that was why humans made ibuprofen—for bad ideas and the subsequent repercussions.
I hummed as his tongue explored my mouth, as he savored me, as he breathed life into me, and when his fingers got to work, I shuddered. A full-body one.
“FUCK.” I whimpered, accepting how desperate I’d been for his touch.
Not a clinical touch. That of a caregiver. But of a man who needed his woman.
Even though that woman had—
I cut that thought off before it could even form.
No, Stan didn’t judge me for Dante’s actions. If anything, he reveled in my reaction to them.
My lips quivered as, with sure hands, he shaped my breasts then trickled them down to my hips. I shuffled, giving him access, then hissed when he found my core.
I pulled my mouth from his, needing to gasp in air as, finally, he ran the digits through my folds.
“Oh, god—”
“Not God. Stan.”
“Less talking.”
“Liar,” he taunted. “You want me not to talk about how wet this little pussy is for me? You don’t want me to tell you that I can’t goddamn wait to slide into it?
To feel your tightness parting for me?” When I mewled, he chuckled.
“Didn’t think so. This pretty cunt was made for my cock, liunissa. No one takes me as well as you do.”
“Really?” I rocked my forehead against his shoulder as he explored my clit, finding the perfect angle, the right rhythm and tempo.
“You know it. You’re feeling the proof of what you do to me.” He kissed my nose. “You don’t need to be jealous, duci, not when the only snatch I want in is yours. Only yours. This is going to be my home. Capisci?”
“Yes. Yes! YES!” I warbled, having come to know that meant ‘understood?’
When he thrust two digits into me, I writhed against him, but he tutted. “You move too much and I’ll stop.”
“Oh, fuck, I’m going to combust if you don’t let me move.”
“You’re the one who set the parameters.”
I heard the dark warning sheathed in his teasing and knew he’d make me regret reneging on our deal.
As deterrents went, I’d heard worse.
Forced orgasms? Sign me up!
But I could feel some lingering aches and knew he was right. I didn’t want pain tonight. Only pleasure.
I figured I deserved that after being relatively well behaved.
He scissored his fingers then urged a complaint out of me when he left me. Entirely. His hands, one coated in my slick, dug into my ass. With a care that had me swooning, he rolled me on top of him then helped prop me up.
I wasn’t that bad, though I did appreciate his cosseting.
“This isn’t a good idea,” he grumbled, even as his cock leaked pre-cum over his abs.
God, if I were at 100%, I’d have licked that right up.
“I think it’s a brilliant idea,” I retorted with a sniff.
“If you say so, duci.” He reached for something beside him on the mattress. I frowned when he passed the foil packet over to me.
“Why?” I demanded.
“Because.”
“That’s no answer.”
“You want my dick filling you up all night long, duci, then it’ll be—”
Before he could finish that audacious demand, I snatched the foil wrapper and tossed it over my shoulder. Not letting him argue, I stroked his cock until he moaned.
“Miedda, Kitty, what you do to me.”
“It’s mutual. But if I wanted you to use a condom, I’d have asked.”
I squirmed on top of him because I was so unbelievably ready to have him fill me. Still, I knew better than to move on my own. I felt his tension, knew he wanted to come, and that he was so ready turned me on even more.
When, with a huff, he helped me sit higher on my knees, his hands on my hips and taking the brunt of my weight, I held his cock upright and then, slowly, gradually, I sank onto it.
My high-pitched groan of relief was nothing to the Sicilian curses that flew from him.
I’d come to learn that when he switched into his mother tongue, that was the equivalent of his brain—not his mind—being blown.
“You feel so good, Stan. So hard. So thick.”
He growled something else I couldn’t understand, but his body bowed beneath me, his tension clear.
“You didn’t… take care of this big problem on your own?” I drawled, giving his dick a squeeze with my internal muscles.
More Sicilian.
Hiding a laugh, I let him bring me down, humming delightedly at the connection. I needed to come so badly that it hurt, and I knew he felt the same, but mostly, I wanted this. The bridge between us. Nothing, not even latex, separating us.
With his help, curses in Sicilian falling from his lips, he repositioned me back where I’d been earlier. On our sides, my thigh cocked over his hip, his hands on my ass to keep me close.
“You ever need to torture me in the future, duci.” He sounded breathless. “This is the way to do it.”
Smiling, I hid my face in the curve of his throat, feeling the comforting presence of his bobbing Adam’s apple against my cheek.
Gradually, his breathing calmed, and I didn’t tease him that much, just held him deep inside me. Hot. Full. Safe.
God, I’d needed this more than I realized—the craving for release was nothing in comparison to the craving for him. For us. For the beat of his pulse over my skin, my fingers blindly tracing the shadows where flowers and paisley motifs decorated his pecs, his heat warming me through.
The tension in his body dissipated. His dick might have twitched inside me, and his fingers might have clawed at my ass, proving that he got it too—but he remained silent.
No words required.
We had enough action to speak for us.