Chapter 18
Raffaele
The taste of Alina’s pussy lingers on my tongue as we leave the library, her soft body barely brushing against me as we walk. Even that slight contact is enough to make my dick throb against my zipper.
I want to push her against the wall, tear her clothes from her body, and show her exactly what she’s agreed to. But I won’t. Not yet. I’ve learned the sweetest conquests are the ones that come willingly, step by careful step.
She walks slightly ahead of me, her full hips swaying in a way that makes my mouth water. The tight jeans hug her ass perfectly. Better than any designer pair ever could.
“Are you coming?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder when she realizes I’ve slowed my pace.
“Not yet,” I reply with a smirk, watching the confusion in her eyes shift to understanding as her cheeks flush that delicious pink. Fuck, I love how easily she blushes and lets her shyness distract her.
Her pace quickens as we continue down the hallway toward her room. The silence between us pulses with possibility, with all the things I want to do to her, all the ways I plan to claim her once we’re married.
Tonight, I’ll settle for her presence in my bed. That’s enough. For now.
When we reach her door, she hesitates, her hand on the knob. “I need to say goodnight to Onyx,” she says softly. “And get ready for bed.”
“Twenty minutes,” I tell her, my voice rough. “Then come to my bedroom. I’ll leave the door open.” I point to the room two doors down, making sure she knows which one’s mine.
She swallows hard, her throat working in a way that makes me want to trace it with my tongue. “Okay,” she whispers.
“Twenty minutes,” I repeat, turning away before I decide to take her right here against her door. “Don’t make me come looking for you.”
I hear her door close behind me as I stride down the hall, my cock pulsating with each step. Twenty minutes is barely enough time to get myself under control, but it will have to do.
My bedroom is the largest in the house, taking up most of the upstairs, with floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the estate.
I step into the bathroom and strip off my clothes so I can grab a quick shower. Under the hot spray, I close my eyes and let Alina’s image fill my mind. Her pussy weeping for me while her fingers gripped my hair with a strength I didn’t know she had.
And the fucking sounds she made.
“Cazzo,” I mutter, wrapping my hand around my cock. “Fuck.”
She’s barely had her hands on me, yet I’m harder than I’ve been in years. Like some fucking teenager who’s never felt a woman’s touch before.
My hand slides up and down my shaft, finding the perfect rhythm.
I’ve never been one for fantasy. Why bother when reality is at my disposal?
But right now, I let myself imagine Alina’s hair spread across my pillows.
Her full breasts spilling into my hands.
Those soft thighs parted for me as I push inside her tight cunt for the first time.
I groan, my grip tightening as I increase the pace.
I picture her on her knees in front of me, blue eyes wide as she takes my cock into her mouth. Would she be hesitant? Eager? Would she need guidance, or surprise me with hidden talents? I want to find out.
The water cascades down my body as I lean against the shower wall, my hand working furiously now. In my mind, I see Alina bent over my bed, my handprint red on her ass as I thrust into her from behind.
I let out a guttural groan as my balls tighten. I’m approaching the edge, my breathing harsh and ragged. Just a few more strokes and…
A soft gasp breaks through my fantasy.
My eyes snap open to find Alina standing frozen in my bedroom doorway, her gaze fixed on me through the transparent glass of the shower. Her mouth is open in shock, her cheeks flaming red, but she doesn’t turn away. Doesn’t run.
Our eyes lock, and something primal roars to life inside me. Instead of stopping, I maintain eye contact as my hand continues its rhythm. Let her see. Let her understand exactly what she does to me.
“This is what you do to me, Alina,” I say, my voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes her shiver. “This is what wanting you feels like.”
Her breath catches visibly, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the white t-shirt she’s changed into. It’s the one I gave her when she wore her fucking wet clothes. The first night we played chess.
Just like then, I wonder if she’s aware I can see the outline of her nipples. I lick my lips as I watch them harden against the fabric.
The sight pushes me over the edge.
“Should I…” Trailing off, her eyes find mine. “Is it okay that I’m here?”
Is it okay? Is it fucking okay? “Yes,” I growl. “Fuck yes.”
She looks as though she wants to say more. Maybe even like she wants to join me. Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to feel her small hand on me right now.
But instead of pushing her, I continue thrusting into my hand, refusing to break eye contact.
My orgasm hits like a freight train, pleasure ripping through me as hot ropes of cum shoot against the glass barrier between us. “Alina. Fuck,” I growl, squeezing the base harder. “You make me so fucking hard.”
One, two, three powerful spurts that make me grunt with the intensity. My cock pulses in my hand as I milk every last drop, my eyes never leaving hers.
“Jesus,” she whispers, the word barely audible over the shower.
I don’t respond, just watch as my release slowly slides down the glass, creating a visual barrier between us that’s somehow more intimate than if I’d come on her body itself. A promise of what’s to come.
When I finally release my softening cock, Alina seems to remember herself. She takes a step back, then another, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. As I shut off the water, she turns around, giving me her back, and walks over to the bed.
Laughing to myself, I slide the glass door open and step out onto the heated bathroom tiles. Steam billows around me as I reach for a towel, wrapping it loosely around my hips.
In the bedroom, I find Alina looking out the window, her eyes fixed determinedly on the darkness beyond the glass.
Every inch of her body screams tension—shoulders rigid, hands clutching the curtains. The contrast between her awkward shyness and what she just witnessed makes my dick twitch beneath the towel.
She doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge me beyond the deepening flush creeping down her neck. I move to my dresser, making no attempt to hide my body as I drop the towel and pull on a clean pair of boxer briefs. The material does little to conceal my semi-hard state.
“Did you enjoy the show?” I ask, not bothering to hide the amusement in my voice.
Letting go of the curtains, she turns around, her blue eyes meeting mine for a split second before dropping to the floor. “That’s not… I didn’t mean to…” she stammers.
Shaking my head, I cross to the bed and pull back the covers on my side. “You can look anytime,” I tell her, running a hand through my wet hair. The mattress dips as I slide beneath the covers. “Come to bed.”
She hurries over to the bed, lying down right on the edge. I laugh at her antics. It’s endearing how nervous she is. Hitting the master light switch next to the bed, I kill the lights. Then I reach out and wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her to me.
“I won’t bite,” I rasp against her ear. “Not tonight.”
A small sound escapes her—half protest, half something else—as I arrange her against me, her back to my chest, her soft ass pressed firmly against my rapidly hardening cock. The position is intimate, possessive, exactly how I want her to get used to sleeping.
She’s quiet for so long I almost think she’s sleeping. But then she wiggles her ass in the tiniest motion. “Is that your…” she trails off, her body tensing further.
I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me. “My what, Alina?” I press closer, making sure she feels exactly what she’s doing to me.
“Your… p-penis,” she stutters.
“My penis?” I laugh. The word sounds clinical, sterile, nothing like the heat building between us.
“Yes,” she breathes, the single syllable almost inaudible.
“It is,” I confirm, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Does it bother you? We can move.”
I don’t specify who would move or into what position. I’m certainly not letting her sleep out of reach on the other side of the bed. She’s silent for a long moment, and I can almost hear the wheels turning in her mind.
“Answer me,” I demand, tightening my arm around her.
“No,” she says finally. “It doesn’t bother me.”
Satisfaction spreads through me like good whiskey—warm and intoxicating. I tighten my arm around her waist, drawing her more firmly against me. “Good.”
The room falls quiet; the only sound is our breathing gradually synchronizing in the darkness. Outside, the wind rustles through the trees.
“Are you marrying me to get the bakery?” Alina asks suddenly, her voice small but steady.
The question catches me off guard. “The bakery?”
“Yes,” she says. “Is that why you’re doing this? To own the bakery through me?”
I consider lying. It would be easy to tell her what she’s scared to hear, to manipulate her fear for my benefit. “The bakery will always be yours,” I tell her honestly. “I have no interest in taking it from you.”
Her body relaxes slightly against mine. “Can I keep my last name?” she asks next.
“No,” I say firmly. “You’ll be a Russo. But…” I pause, considering. “You can hyphenate if it’s important to you. Brewer-Russo.”
She nods, the movement small against my chest. “What else will this marriage mean? Besides sharing your bed and your name?”
“It means you’re mine,” I tell her.
I get she wants reassurance and clarity, but I feel like we’ve already been over this. Still, I keep my growing impatience intact.
“You’ll live here with me, sleep in my bed, attend family functions as my wife.” I let my hand slide from her waist to her hip, my thumb tracing slow circles through the thin fabric of her shirt.