Chapter 18 #2
I swallow, my throat dry, aching for him as he snatches me up and repositions me on the bed to straddle him.
‘Lift your hips.’ His command is gentle but absolute.
I rise onto my knees, cursing my trembling even as my hips tilt. He’s between my thighs, pressing hard into the wetness still clinging to me. His cock teases the entrance, and I gasp, anticipation and trepidation warring with each other.
I’m unprepared for when he pulls the blindfold off and I tumble into a different kind of darkness, one of feral need and the declaration of ferocious intent in his eyes.
I’ve seen him in various forms of undress, but this time, gloriously bare, unashamedly aroused, a predator locked on his prey… it’s near transcendent.
I can’t take my eyes off the hand stroking his thick, veined cock, piercing gleaming in the candlelight. Back and forth. Back and forth.
I’m reminded how belly-clenching, pussy-destroying, impossibly big he is.
Diu miu. What am I—
‘Watch me, bedda. Watch me claim you. Break you in half so beautifully no man will ever be able to put you back the same again.’
He surges up as he speaks, catching first my mouth in a filthy, tongue-jousting kiss, then lower, flicks over one pebbled nipple, and the other.
Then, satisfied with my incoherent cries, he grips one hip with one hand, the other still stroking, stroking, stroking.
Sanity bounces a feather-light touch on the edges of my brain. ‘Wait. Condom.’
He freezes. Nostrils flared. ‘Fuck. No. Not happening.’
My eyes flare wide. Both at the desperate edge in his voice and the blatant refusal. ‘Rafaelle.’
‘You’re on the fucking pill, Sofiya. And I’m clean.’
His eyes rage at me, his grip bruising. Daring me to refuse either.
I’ve long passed the stage of wondering how he knows things about me. Or maybe I never questioned them in the first place. And I’ve seen the way he takes care of his body. His weapons.
The Enforcer might earn his reputation as a ruthless assassin and Rafaelle Salvatore might appear the deranged second to his underboss brother, but there’s a meticulousness to his every act.
If he says he’s clean, I believe him.
‘I’m. Not. Fucking. Stopping,’ he grates. The fires of hell flare at even the thought.
I jump into the flames. ‘Then don’t.’
He slides inside – slowly, excruciatingly – guiding the tip deep. My slick heat grips him, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out. My chest lifts, bracing as he fills me. Inch by delicious, terrifying inch.
He stops halfway. At the point of resistance.
Both hands anchor at my hips, steadying, his cock slick and chest rising and falling faster than I’ve seen him.
‘I have you shackled and beautifully pinned, tigra. But this last move is yours. Break that beautiful cherry on my cock or tell me to claim it. Your choice.’
I adjust my posture, pressing down onto him, a shuddering push that draws him deep. Deeper.
I feel full. So full. Terrified too. I clench around him and he hisses.
‘Fuck, duci.’ He breathes deep, and colour flares across his cheekbones. ‘Hurry the fuck up. Or this goes sideways.’
I’m tempted to tease, to titivate. But that fullness? I want more. Need it.
‘Take it, Rafaelle,’ I gasp before I even feel the words forming. ‘Fuck me.’
He groans, voice thick with something like awe. Then he thrusts.
Pain slashes through pleasure. But it’s the kind that feels… incredible. Purposeful. A means to a glorious end.
‘I have it. Fuck yes. It’s mine now, isn’t it?’ Fat smugness rings through his thick voice. His eyes glaze on mine as he pushes forward, deeper, until another lance of pain catches in my womb. ‘There you go. I own every fucking inch of this pussy, don’t I, bedda?’
A gargled sound escapes my mouth, but he shakes his head. ‘Not good enough. Tell me, Sofiya.’
‘Y-you own it. Every inch,’ I gasp.
‘Fuck yes, I do. Now watch. The red flag of your beautiful surrender. Here it comes.’
He pulls out slowly, his voice, his touch, his eyes, primal and possessive. And I watch with him as he shows me the blood of my virginity, right there on his thick cock. I clench hard.
‘Sweet fucking God, you feel perfect.’
His words scorch through me as he penetrates me, his mouth fusing with mine as he sets an intoxicating rhythm.
I rock into him, hips rolling, small, exploratory motions that ignite electricity in every nerve. His hands slide around to my stomach, then up to cup my breasts, thumbs pressing into the tight peaks.
‘Fuck, Sofiya,’ he rasps. ‘You’re mine.’
A tremor of fear flickers through my skull. His ‘mine’: the single word that warps everything. But under the weight of his hands, under the pressure of his hips, I melt.
I pick up the rhythm, slipping up and down his length like a puzzle piece finding its home. His breath hitches, chest lifting, and I feel the pulse of his arousal deepen inside me.
‘Use your words,’ he growls, planting his hands on my waist to lift me higher, force me closer.
I moan low. ‘Rafa… harder.’
‘There she is. My fierce little tigra. My baby assassin, killing me with her sublime cunt.’
He thrusts mercilessly, heat and friction colliding until my orgasm threatens to shatter me again. He’s a scale tipping towards oblivion, and I cling to the last shred of his voice.
His dirty talk comes in ragged bursts. ‘That’s it… Ride me… Show me you need it… No one’s ever giving you what I’m giving…’ Each syllable strikes me like a brand.
I burn with want, stark need pooling between my thighs, every nerve slick with pleasure. When I clamp down on him, spasms jerk through us both. He roars, voice echoing off the walls, and I taste the salt of him as he shatters inside me.
We collapse together, chests heaving and sweat gleaming on our skin. My ribs ache where his arms pinned me. His heavy breaths stir hairs at my nape.
‘Holy fuck,’ he pants, running a hand through my hair. ‘You wreck me.’
I rest my cheek against his shoulder, mind foggy, heart pounding. ‘We’re… fucked up,’ I murmur.
He lets out a stuttered laugh, groaning as he shifts to cradle me. ‘You can say that again.’
Lightning slashes outside. Thunder rumbles low. He releases the restraints and I press my hand to his chest, feeling his heart thunder beneath my palm.
He strokes my cheek with a thumb. ‘You okay?’
I push back, still dizzy. ‘I don’t know.’
He brushes a thumb across my damp lips. ‘Me neither. Guess we’re in the eye of the fucking storm right now, no?’
I close my eyes, torn between relief and dread. The world beyond this villa waits. Bonafacio still breathing, family loyalties fraying, the truce a fragile promise between two dark souls.
He kisses my forehead, then lowers my head until my ear brushes the silk pillow. ‘Sleep,’ he whispers. ‘No one’s going anywhere tonight.’
I manage a nod, fragile trust I shouldn’t nurture laced with fear.
As I sink into the dark, I wonder, not for the first time, what it is about the Salvatore men that bewitches and mystifies. What blood-deep hunger they stir, warping loyalties, stealing breaths.
In the sway of his arms, I let the world slip away, clinging to a moment both impossible and necessary, a promise and a storm yet to come.