Chapter 13
Raffaele
“My second question,” I continue, leaning forward slightly. “Are you untouched, Alina?”
Her head snaps up, eyes wide with shock. “W-what?” she stammers.
“You heard me. Has any man ever touched you? Kissed you? Fucked you?” I keep my voice casual, as if I’m asking about the weather, but my body is anything but relaxed. The thought of being the first—the only—man to claim her makes something feral rise in my chest.
Her face flushes crimson, the color spreading down her neck and disappearing beneath the collar of my shirt. “No,” she whispers, unable to meet my eyes. “No one has ever… I’ve never been kissed. Or touched. Or… anything else.”
The confession sends a surge of possessive heat through me that’s so intense it nearly takes my breath away. This beautiful, soft woman has never known a man’s touch. The knowledge that she’s completely untainted makes something primal rise inside me.
Mine. The word echoes in my mind with a ferocity that should alarm me.
My thoughts turn to the conversation with my dad earlier—his demands for me to settle down and continue the Russo line. And me saying I’m getting married. Fuck.
Looking at Alina now, with her fiery hair and pale skin, her modest dreams, and untouched body, I realize she would make a perfect Russo wife. Stunning enough to be shown off at family gatherings. Domestic enough to create a home.
Willing to bear children. Innocent enough to be molded to our ways.
It wouldn’t be love. But it would be convenient. Practical. A solution to my father’s demands and a way to keep this intriguing creature in my possession indefinitely.
“My third question,” I say, my voice dropping lower. “Why are you so untouched? Is it for religious reasons?”
Alina squirms uncomfortably, her discomfort clear in every line of her body. Her eyes dart around the room, looking everywhere but at me. The firelight catches on her lashes, casting spidery shadows on her cheeks.
She licks her lips nervously. “Look at me,” she finally whispers, her voice so small I barely hear it over the crackling fire.
I don’t respond, just continue to stare at her with unwavering intensity.
“No one would ever want someone like me,” she continues, the words tumbling out in a rush of self-deprecation.
Anger flares in my chest. Not at her, but at whoever made this woman believe she was undesirable. At whoever taught her to hide herself in baggy clothes and downcast eyes.
“That’s a lie,” I say flatly. “And our deal was for honesty.”
Confusion clouds her features. “What? No,” she argues. “I’m being honest, Raffaele.”
“Come here.”
She hesitates, clutching the blanket tighter around herself.
“Alina.” My voice drops. “Come. Here.”
Reluctantly, she rises from her chair and approaches me. When she’s standing directly in front of me, I reach out and roughly grip the edge of the blanket, yanking it away from her body in one swift motion.
She gasps, hands flying down in a futile attempt to cover herself. But it’s too late. I’ve already seen the soft curve of her hips and the shape of her thighs. And thanks to the white see-through panties, the nest of red curls between her legs perfectly matches the hair on her head.
“Fuck me,” I mutter, my cock so hard now it’s almost painful. She’s more beautiful than I imagined—all lush curves and creamy skin that begs for my hands, my mouth.
Before she can retreat, I grab her wrist and pull her onto my lap so she’s straddling me. The fabric of my sweatpants does nothing to hide my arousal, and I know she can feel the hard length of me pressing against her core when I pull her down on me.
Her eyes widen at the contact, a small sound escaping her throat—not quite a gasp, not quite a moan.
I hook a finger under her chin and force her to look at me. “All you have to do is ask,” I tell her, my voice rough with desire. “And I’ll kiss you.”
She draws in a sharp breath, her pupils dilating until there’s just a thin ring of blue around the black. Her lips part slightly, and I can feel her pulse racing beneath my fingertips.
“Ask me,” I croon, brushing my thumb across her lower lip.
“P-please,” she stutters, her voice barely audible. “Please k-kiss me.”
I don’t hesitate. The moment those stuttered words leave her lips, I’m capturing her mouth with mine. I start soft—a gentle pressure, a taste, a test—but that restraint lasts for all of three seconds before something primal takes over.
Her lips are even softer than they look, plump and yielding under mine. She tastes like whiskey and surrender, and I want to devour her whole.
Alina freezes initially, clearly shocked by the sensation of her first kiss. Her inexperience is evident in the tentative way she responds, but what she lacks in skill she makes up for in enthusiasm once the initial surprise fades.
When my tongue traces the seam of her lips, seeking entry, she opens for me with a small gasp that sends all the blood rushing straight to my cock. My hand moves to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in the soft strands of her hair as I hold her firmly against me.
The grip isn’t painful, but it’s possessive—a clear message that she’s not going anywhere until I’m done with her.
She whimpers into my mouth, the sound so fucking sweet it makes me growl in response. The vibration of that sound passes between us, and I feel her shiver in my arms.
I deepen the kiss, my tongue stroking against hers, teaching her the rhythm. She’s a quick study, mimicking my movements with increasing confidence.
When I nip gently at her bottom lip, she makes a sound somewhere between surprise and pleasure that has me doing it again, harder this time.
Her fingers clutch at my shoulders, nails digging into my skin in a way that only fuels my desire. God, she’s responsive. Every touch, every taste seems to electrify her.
I imagine how she’d react to my hands on other parts of her body, my mouth between her thighs, my cock buried deep inside her tight channel when I take her virginity.
Fuck.
My hips roll upward instinctively, pressing my erection against her core. Even through my sweatpants, the contact is enough to make me hiss with pleasure. I can feel the heat of her against me, and I want nothing more than to strip away these last barriers between us.
The kiss turns messier, more desperate. Her breath comes in short pants between each press of our lips, her chest rising and falling rapidly against mine. One of my hands slides down to her ass, gripping the soft flesh and pulling her more firmly against my straining cock.
That’s when I notice it. She’s moved so she’s hovering above me, her weight balanced on her knees rather than fully sitting on my lap. Despite the pleasure clearly coursing through her, despite the way her body responds to mine, she’s still holding back.
I break the kiss, both of us breathing hard. “Why are you holding yourself up?” I ask, my voice rough with desire.
She blinks at me, lips swollen from my kisses, cheeks flushed with arousal. “W-what?”
“Your weight,” I clarify, squeezing her hip. “You’re not sitting on me. You’re keeping yourself up on your knees. Lower yourself.”
The blush on her cheeks deepens, spreading down her neck. “I-I’m too heavy,” she mumbles, unable to meet my eyes. “I don’t want to crush you.”
A laugh escapes me—dark and incredulous. Is she serious? Does she honestly think her body could be anything but a pleasure against mine?
“You really are a novice when it comes to pleasure,” I growl. Sliding my hand between her spread thighs, I cup her pussy, feeling the wet panties. “How can you think feeling this against me would be anything short of fucking hot?”
“Raffaele,” she gasps.
“Tell me to let you go. Tell me to stop touching you, and I will,” I tell her. “But if you don’t say it, I’ll keep my hand here while wondering if it’s the jeans or your own arousal making your panties so wet.”
She makes a strangled sound, but doesn’t tell me to stop touching her. “That feels…”
“Yes?” I prompt when she trails off. “Tell me what you’re feeling.” I rub the heel of my palm against her clit.
“T-tingly,” she gasps. “It’s—” Her words cut off when I move my hand faster, harder.
“Good,” I rasp, watching her face transform with pleasure.
The expression—half-shock, half-bliss—is addictive. I want to see how many variations of it I can draw from her before the night is through.
Her eyes flutter closed as I continue the rhythmic pressure against her clit, her breathing becoming more erratic. Her hips are moving against my hand, small unconscious movements she’s probably not even aware of making.
“Look at me,” I command, and her eyes snap open, hazy with desire. “I want to see your eyes when you feel this.”
I slide my fingers beneath the elastic of her panties, finally touching her bare flesh. She’s soaking wet, her arousal coating my fingers as I explore her folds. Virgin or not, her body knows exactly what it wants.
“Fuck,” I hiss when my middle finger finds her entrance. She’s tight—so fucking tight—the muscle clenching around just the tip of my finger. The thought of how she’d feel around my cock makes me throb painfully against my sweatpants.
“Raffaele,” she whimpers, her voice breaking on my name. “I’ve never… this is…”
“I know, Piccola,” I rasp. “Just feel. Let yourself enjoy it.”
Her forehead drops to my shoulder, her breath hot against my skin as I tease her pussy with the tip of my finger. It’s fucking torture not to push it all the way inside.
“You’re so fucking tight,” I growl, moving my thumb to circle her clit. “And you feel fucking amazing.”
Her entire body jerks against mine. “Raffaele,” she cries out.
“That’s it,” I encourage, feeling her cunt squeeze my finger. “You’re so responsive. So perfect.”
The words seem to affect her as much as my touch. She moans, a soft, broken sound that shoots straight to my cock. I add a second finger, stretching her hole gently, preparing her for more even though I know we won’t go all the way tonight.