Chapter 63 Kitty
SIXTY-THREE
KITTY
The only problem with the proposal from heaven and an aftermath that was better than a short stay in paradise?
Luigi had to drive us home through gridlocked streets.
Still, we had the privacy of the blocked-in back seat and I intended on making full use of it once our mothers could no longer see through the windows.
“Did you fix that game?” I inquired, thinking back to that epic hat trick by Donnghal as well as Lewis’s banging slapshot and the saves from above that proved Greco had been kissed by the goalie gods.
His lips curved, but the question encouraged him to haul me onto his lap. Accustomed to Stan lugging me around, I straddled him, squirming when his hands found my outer thighs underneath the flirty boho-style dress I’d worn beneath my jersey.
When he began to knead my butt, I peppered kisses all over his face, much as I had earlier.
He caught my bottom lip when I tried to peck the corner of his mouth, nipped it between his teeth, dragging on it until I moaned.
He pressed down on my hips, pushing weight onto his cock, grinding me into him. The pressure was exquisite enough that I helped him. I rocked too, adding extra tension, making sure to circle my hips so that he hit my best spots.
Panting, he pulled back from our kiss. “You’re going to be my wife, Kitty.”
This time, I nipped him. “You’re going to be my husband.”
“We’re going to be future married people,” he corrected, his eyes alight with humor.
That, more than anything, sealed this deal.
I thought back to the first time I’d met him—in the ER, high on something. Thinking about it, it could have been C-L-O. Maybe even a blend with his heart meds!
Jesus.
But despite his delirium, his eyes had been so sad. When he’d been happy enough to start helicoptering his cock for the staff to see, those eyes couldn’t hide shit.
His soul had hurt.
I couldn’t say that I’d healed his soul, but I’d definitely done something—the proof stared back at me, etched in chestnut orbs that flickered with peridot striations, warm with love and happiness and hope.
I brought him peace.
Of course, his dick didn’t agree. And I was more than okay with that compromise. A happy, serene soul and a very hard, very long, very erect boner.
Talk about poetry.
Needing to act on my feelings, I reached down, my fingers finding his zipper. Before I could make my move, he spun me on his lap, twisting me around with an ease that’d never stop being a turn-on.
I pouted when my new position had me staring at the seats opposite us. The only thing that made the loss of eye contact bearable was the access he had to my pulse. When he nibbled on it, tongue laving over the flutter, I felt it soar in real time.
Whining, I trembled as the sensitive area tripped every nerve ending until I was one big bundle of expectation.
When his fingers slipped under my skirt, I groaned when they slid higher still.
I only blinked when he tugged my jersey—my signed-by-Donnghal-and-Lewis jersey!
—up to my tits. Then, he dragged the neckline of my dress down.
Eager digits bared my breasts, popping them free from the cups of my bra, as he toyed with my nipples.
Pinching. Squeezing. Playing. Each one timed to a nip of my throat, a suck, a bite, a lick.
“Stan,” I complained around a moan. “I need your cock. You already made me wait hours.”
He bit down.
“I want to feel it sliding into me.” I panted. “I want that fullness deep inside.”
He smoothed his tongue over the bite, sucking on it until I knew there’d be a mark tomorrow.
“My pussy needs your dick, baby.”
He sucked.
“Your cock is the only thing that’ll make me feel right,” I wheedled, my words turning me on as I fidgeted, moving any which way to get friction on his dick so that we shared mutual torment.
When he sucked down harder than before, I suddenly realized his game, his very juvenile game at that. But I loved it all the same.
Once my throat was hickied to the max, one hand went up, the other down. While he was occupied, I touched one of the most sensitive spots, just so I could prod the tender skin.
As always, his marks grounded me.
My eyes fluttered to a close as he shoved my panties aside and, finally, touched me. The direct contact on my clit had me hissing with relief.
Then, deep in my ear, he rumbled, “Luigi has orders to play his music extra loud, but if he hears a single moan of yours, I’ll have to cut off his ears.”
“Not fair!”
“Very fair. His ears depend on your volume, duci. Now, can you be a good girl for me?”
“No,” I moaned, hips bucking as I chased more of his caresses. Then, his other hand clasped my neck.
At first, it was supportive. Especially when he encouraged me to tilt my head to the side as I leaned it against his shoulder.
The muted lights from the tinted windows had the shadows playing with the planes of his face, but I saw just enough to stare straight into his eyes as, thumb rubbing my clit, he thrust two fingers into me.
My brow furrowed at the pleasure he gave me, but it wasn’t enough.
“More.” I whimpered. “I need you, Stan.”
“And you’ll get me, duci,” he finally growled.
His hand tightened on my throat, his thumb digging into a part that was sensitive from a hickey, while the other sped up. His fingers flattened until he pinched my clit between his knuckles. I jolted at the strange pressure, then hissed as he forced me to come.
That was how I felt—like he was on a direct mission to get me screaming.
I was not complaining. Well, I wouldn’t later.
Eyes locked together, he got me off like that. Totally in charge of my body. Totally in charge of my pleasure. Totally in charge of me. And somehow, I didn’t scream. I internalized the ecstasy until it hurt. It hurt so good. So, so, so good.
Every experience was intense with him, but I realized I’d never felt as safe as I did right now. As protected. As loved. And that let me fly higher. Freer. And for longer.
Tears poured down my cheeks when I came back down to earth.
But he didn’t let me stay grounded for long.
A swift jostle here and there and suddenly, his cock sank into me, hitting right where I needed him.
As his tip burrowed, lodging itself deep inside my aching emptiness, I stammered, “S-Stan, fuck, I feel so full—”
“This pretty little pussy was made for me. My kitty.” I smiled just before he cut off my air with the slightest pressure of his thumb. “You’ve been so good, being this quiet… I want your air, my liunissa. Will you give it to me?”
Eyes flaring wide as I stared at the ferocity in his, I nodded.
“Words, duci.”
“Yes,” I rasped.
I let him own each breath, wanting him to feel the level of trust as it flowed between us, knowing that he brought out the freak in me and that there was nothing to be ashamed of.
When my lungs started to burn, he bottomed out inside me.
Those hungry lungs of mine seemed full of him.
He took up every barren space I had. He even treated my mouth to two fingers he thrust in there, letting me suck on them while encouraging my continued silence as he gagged me.
Filling me to overfull. Everywhere. Branding me with his heat in a way my body would never forget.
I gasped, on the brink of choking, when he let me go and the rush of endorphins that brought with it had me exploding around him.
As I gorged on air, I felt exponentially more breathless because while I soared high and fast, not exactly flying but gliding, I couldn’t catch my breath.
Then he grabbed my chin and turned me toward him. “Open your mouth.”
I did as he bade, blindly watching him as he sealed our lips together and blew air into me—breathing for me.
All the while, he fucked me, doing the work, claiming me, thrusting that thick cock through my tender walls, pulsing and overwrought, stimulating me to the max.
This had to be how insanity felt?!
The rocket show that lit me up from the inside out had an audience of two as he pushed me straight into another orgasm.
I broke the seal. I had to. Just so that I could gasp his name. And as I did, he tensed, his limbs juddering as he finally found his own pleasure.
He moaned my name too, then groaned, “Per sempri, Kitty. Per sempri.”
Forever.
Those two words sank into my being.
They meant more than ‘I love you.’ They said so much. So concisely.
Leaving me with no choice but to exhale, “Per sempri, Stan.”