Chapter 33
Alina
The initial pressure of Raffaele pushing into me feels like I’m being split in two. I gasp, my fingers digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders as he breaches me for the first time.
He’s so much bigger than his fingers were, stretching me in a way that burns despite how wet and ready I thought I was.
The firelight cast shadows across his face as he watches me with intense concentration, his sage green eyes never leaving mine.
“Breathe, Piccola,” he commands, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through his chest and into mine where we’re pressed together. “Try to relax for me.”
I try to obey, drawing in a shaky breath that catches when he pushes forward another inch. The stretch is uncomfortable, verging on painful. But there’s something else beneath it—a fullness that makes me feel more connected to him than I’ve ever felt to anyone.
“It hurts,” I whimper, not as a complaint but as a simple truth.
“I know.” His thumb brushes a tear from the corner of my eye I hadn’t realized was there. “You’re doing so well. Taking me so beautifully.”
He withdraws slightly before pressing forward again, a little deeper this time. I whimper again, my body instinctively trying to pull away from the invasion. His hand slides to my hip, holding me in place with gentle firmness.
“No running,” he murmurs. “You’re mine now. This is mine.” His other hand drifts between our bodies, his thumb finding my sensitive bud and circling it slowly, coaxing pleasure through the discomfort.
Biting down on my lip, I nod. “Yours,” I acquiesce.
The chess pieces scattered beside us catch the firelight, and the contrast isn’t lost on me. The refined, intellectual game giving way to this primal act on the floor of his library.
“Who’s my good wife?” Raffaele asks, still inching forward with maddening control. His face shows no strain despite the tension I can feel coursing through his body.
“I am,” I breathe, the words barely audible.
“Louder.” He punctuates the command with a slightly firmer push.
“I am!” I exclaim, feeling something inside me resisting him.
“That’s it. Almost there, Piccola. Just a little more.”
The pressure builds to an unbearable point, and then there’s a sharp, tearing sensation that makes me cry out, my back arching off the rug. Raffaele freezes, buried completely inside me now, his expression fierce with possession and something that might be concern.
“There,” he says, his voice strained. “The worst is over, wife. I’m all the way inside you now.”
I blink away fresh tears, panting as my body adjusts to this… this… invasion. The initial sharp pain fades to a throbbing ache, but there’s something else now. A curious fullness, a sense of completion I’ve never experienced before.
Raffaele remains perfectly still above me, giving me time to adapt. His thumb continues its gentle circles on my clit, sending sparks of pleasure that begin to overshadow the discomfort.
“How does it feel?” he asks, studying my face with predatory intensity. “To have me so deep inside you? To have my cock stretching your virgin cunt?”
“Full,” I answer honestly. “So full.”
His lips curve into a satisfied smile. “Good girl.”
Slowly, carefully, he begins to withdraw from me, and the drag of him against my sensitive inner walls pulls a gasp from my throat. It’s not entirely pleasant, but it’s not the sharp pain from before either.
When he’s completely out, he looks down between our bodies, and I follow his gaze. My breath catches at the sight. His length is hard and glistening with my arousal, but also streaked with blood.
The physical evidence of my virginity, now taken by him. Heat floods my cheeks as mortification and fascination war within me.
“Look at that,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Your virgin blood marking me. Do you see it?”
It’s primitive, almost barbaric, and yet, the sight causes an unexpected heat to bloom low in my belly.
“Wow,” I whisper, not sure what else to say while also feeling like that one word encompasses how I feel perfectly.
“Mhmm,” he rasps as he moves down my body, positioning himself between my thighs, and before I can process what he’s doing, his mouth is on me. “Wow, indeed.”
Before I can ask what he’s doing, he licks across my slit, even thrusting his tongue into my opening.
I gasp, my hands flying to his hair. “Raffaele! What—”
“I want to taste everything,” he growls against my sensitive flesh, his eyes flashing up to meet mine with raw hunger. “Your pleasure. Your pain. Even your virgin blood. Everything you give me belongs to me now.”
The sensation of his hot tongue lapping at my most intimate place, knowing he’s tasting the evidence of what we’ve just done, should disgust me. Instead, it sends a shock of dark pleasure racing through my veins.
His tattoos seem to move with each shift of muscle. I’m transfixed by the sight of this powerful, dangerous man between my thighs, claiming me so completely.
“Oh,” I breathe as his tongue finds my sensitive bud again. The pain hasn’t fully subsided, but pleasure is rapidly overtaking it, building with each skilled stroke of his tongue. “Raffaele, please…”
He lifts his head, his mouth glistening in the firelight. “Please, what, wife? Tell me what you need.”
“I need…” The words catch in my throat, my inexperience making me shy despite everything we’ve already shared.
His hand wraps around my thigh, squeezing with just enough pressure to remind me of his strength. “Say it. I want to hear the words from those pretty lips.”
I swallow hard, gathering my courage. “I need you inside me again.”
A slow, predatory smile spreads across his face as he rises over me once more. “As you wish, Mogliettina.”
Raffaele moves until the head of his erection nudges at my entrance again. His eyes lock with mine, dark and predatory in the firelight. “This will be better now,” he promises, his voice a deep rumble that I feel in my very core. “Your body knows me now.”
When he pushes forward this time, there’s still a stretch, still a slight burn, but nothing like the sharp tearing pain from before. Instead, it’s a fullness that makes my breath catch for entirely different reasons.
He slides in with one smooth thrust, and I gasp at how different it feels—how my body yields to him now, accepting rather than resisting. The discomfort is there, but muted, overshadowed by new sensations that ripple outward from where we’re joined.
“Mhmm, look at you, wife,” he murmurs, his expression intense as he watches my face. “Taking your husband’s cock so well now.”
Instinctively, I wrap my legs around his waist, my ankles crossing at the small of his back. The movement pulls him deeper, and we both groan at the sensation.
His hands brace beside my head, caging me beneath his powerful body as he begins to move. He starts with slow, measured thrusts that gradually increase in depth.
“How does it feel?” he asks, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control.
“Good,” I breathe, surprised to find it’s true. “Different, but good.”
His smile is dark and possessive. “It’s about to get better.”
One hand slides between our bodies, his thumb finding my sensitive bud again, circling it with practiced precision. The dual sensations—his hardness stretching me from within, his thumb working magic from without—send shivers racing across my skin.
My eyes flutter closed. “Raffaele,” I moan.
“No,” he commands sharply. “Eyes open. Look at me while I fuck you.”
The crude word should shock me, but instead it sends a jolt of heat straight to where we’re joined. I obey, forcing my heavy lids open to meet his gaze.
“That’s my good girl,” he praises, his hand leaving my center to slide up my body, cupping my breast, his thumb and forefinger pinching my nipple with just enough pressure to make me gasp. “So responsive. So perfect.”
His hips maintain their steady rhythm, his thick length dragging against places inside me I never knew existed. The initial soreness fades more with each stroke, giving way to a building pleasure that makes my inner walls clench around him.
Raffaele lowers his head, capturing my mouth in a kiss that’s all consuming—tongue demanding entrance, teeth nipping at my lower lip.
I taste myself on his tongue—tangy, metallic, primal—and rather than repulsing me, it sends a fresh wave of arousal coursing through me. His kiss devours me as thoroughly as his body claims mine, leaving no part of me untouched.
His hand slides to my hip, gripping hard enough that I know I’ll find fingerprint bruises tomorrow. The thought sends an unexpected thrill through me.
“Raffaele,” I gasp against his mouth as he shifts angles slightly, hitting something inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
“Let go, Alina,” he growls with satisfaction, driving into that spot repeatedly. “Let me feel you come around my cock.”
His words push me closer to the edge. His thumb returns to my clit, circling in time with his thrusts. The pleasure builds and coils tighter, a tension mounting in my lower belly that begs for release.
“I can’t…” I whimper, overwhelmed by the intensity.
“You can,” he insists. “And you will. Now.”
As if my body obeys his commands before my mind can process them, the tension snaps. I cry out, my back arching off the rug, inner walls clamping down on him in rhythmic pulses.
The orgasm is different from the ones his fingers and mouth gave me earlier—deeper, more all-consuming, radiating outward from where we’re joined to the very tips of my fingers and toes.
Raffaele doesn’t slow his pace through my climax; if anything, his thrusts become more determined, prolonging the waves of pleasure until I’m gasping for breath, my nails scoring red lines down his muscled back.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his gaze devouring every flicker of expression on my face. “So fucking beautiful when you come for me.”
Just as the sensitivity becomes almost too much, he shifts again, changing the angle. His hand leaves my hip to grasp my thigh, pushing it higher, opening me further to his penetration. The new position allows him to slide impossibly deeper, and I moan at the exquisite fullness.
“Again,” he demands, his voice ragged now, control beginning to fray. “One more time.”
I don’t think I can—my body feels boneless, spent—but when he continues to play every erogenous zone on my body like an instrument, I’m powerless to stop it. Not that I’d want to. Not really. Despite the soreness and exhaustion, I crave this.
His thrusts grow faster, harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing with our labored breathing and the crackle of the fire.
The wet sounds of our joining should embarrass me, but they only feed the growing tension. His hard length drives into me with relentless precision, striking that perfect spot with every thrust.
“You’re going to come with me this time,” he growls, his rhythm faltering slightly, betraying his own approaching climax. “I want to feel you squeeze me when I fill you up.”
This time when I fall, I’m not alone. Raffaele’s hips stutter, his powerful body going rigid above me. A guttural groan tears from his throat as he buries himself to the hilt, and I feel the hot pulse of his release deep inside me.
“Mine,” he growls through clenched teeth. “All fucking mine.”
“Yes,” I agree on a moan. “All yours, Raffaele. Always.”
For several long moments, we remain locked together, both panting, sweat-slicked skin cooling in the air of the library. When he finally eases out of me, I feel the warm trickle of his seed following, escaping down my thigh.
Before I can move, his fingers are there, scooping up the fluid and pushing it back inside me with gentle but insistent pressure.
“I want all my cum inside this beautiful cunt,” he says, his voice low and possessive. “Not a drop wasted.”
My cheeks burn at his words, but I can’t deny how much I want that too.
“I can’t wait to see you pregnant, Mogliettina,” he continues, his fingers still working between my thighs, ensuring his seed stays deep within me. “Your belly swollen with my child, your breasts heavy with milk.” His eyes meet mine, dark with possession. “Soon.”
When I try to sit up, his palm presses firmly against my sternum, keeping me pinned to the rug.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, a dangerous edge to his smile. “Stay there. I’m not done with you yet.”