Valentina #3
The head of his cock presses against me, slick and hot. "I'm going to give it to you."
He pushes in slowly, so slowly, and the stretch is blinding.
"Fuck, Salvatore."
"Breathe," he commands. "Breathe and take it."
I breathe through it as he sinks deeper, inch by inch, until he's fully seated inside me and I feel impossibly full, impossibly claimed.
"There you are," he says, his voice wrecked. "All of you. Every limb, every inch, every hole—you are mine."
He doesn't move for a moment, letting me adjust, and then he pulls back and thrusts in again, and the sensation is unlike anything I've ever felt.
"Yes," he groans. "Fuck yes. You feel so good. So tight."
He sets a rhythm, slow at first, then building, his hands gripping my hips, holding me in place as he takes me.
"Touch yourself," he commands. "I want to feel you come around my cock."
My hand slides between my legs, finding my clit, and the combination is devastating.
"That's it," he growls. "Good girl. Come for me. Come with me inside your ass."
He moves faster, harder, and then his hand covers mine, pressing down on my clit, increasing the pressure until the intensity is blinding.
It's too much. The fullness of him, the relentless friction, his hand forcing mine harder against the swollen bundle of nerves.
I scream into the blanket.
"That's it," he rasps. "Let me hear you. Let me feel you fall apart."
The orgasm builds fast, overwhelming, tearing through me like a lightning strike. My whole body convulses, every muscle locking tight around him, and he curses low and rough.
"Fuck, Valentina, baby."
He slams into me one final time and spills inside me with a roar, his grip on my hips bruising, his body shuddering against mine.
We collapse together, breathing hard.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
Then he carefully pulls out and turns me over, gathering me against his chest.
"Are you okay?" he asks quietly.
"I'm perfect," I whisper.
He kisses my forehead. "You are. You're absolutely perfect."
Later, much later, we make it inside.
The shower is huge, all white tile and rainfall showerheads, and Salvatore pins me against the wall the moment the water turns hot.
Before I can catch my breath, he lifts me, positioning himself, and slams inside in one brutal thrust.
"Fuck!" The cry tears out of me—I'm still sensitive, still tender from the beach, and the invasion is almost too much.
"I told you I was going to fuck you in here too," he growls, his hands coming to my breasts, squeezing my nipples hard enough to make me gasp.
He drives into me fast, hard, relentless, and for a moment the intensity borders on too much. My body protesting, overstimulated, overwhelmed.
But then he feels it. The way I tense. The way my breath hitches wrong.
He stills, his eyes searching mine. "Too much?"
"Yes," I breathe.
His expression shifts instantly. "Shit. I'm sorry, baby."
He shifts his grip, gentler now, lifting one of my legs and hooking it over his hip, opening me up at a different angle. Better. Deeper without the punishing force.
"I'm so hungry for you," he murmurs against my mouth. "Only ever for you."
And then he moves again, slower this time. Sweeter.
He takes his time, watching my face as the pain melts into pleasure, as my gasps turn from sharp to soft, as my body remembers how to take him.
His thumb finds my clit, circling slowly, and the combination makes my head fall back against the tile.
"There she is," he says quietly. "There's my girl."
When I come this time it's soft and shuddering, rolling through me in gentle waves, and he follows right after, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath mingling with mine.
"I love you," he whispers.
My breath catches.
"I love you too."
We eat dinner in bed, room service that appeared while we were in the shower.
I'm wearing one of his many black T-shirts. He's in boxer briefs and looking entirely too smug.
"Satisfied?" he asks.
"For now."
His gaze darkens slightly. "Don't tempt me, Valentina."
"I won't," I say quickly. The lingering ache in my body is reminder enough.
"Good." He steals one of my meatballs. "Because we have a week here. And I have plans."
"Plans?"
"Mm. I'm going to fuck you in every room of this house. On the beach again. In the garden. Maybe in the ocean. By the time we leave here, I want enough of me inside of you that you could birth an army."
Heat coils low in my belly despite the fact that I'm thoroughly exhausted.
"You're ambitious."
"I'm thorough." He leans over and kisses me, slow and deep. "And you're mine. I intend to make sure you never forget it."
I won't.
I couldn't possibly.
When the food is gone and the candles have burned low, I lie with my head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat and think:
This is home.
Not the house, though the house is beautiful.
Not the beach, though the beach is perfect.
This. Him. Us.
Whatever is waiting when we go back, it will still be there.
But so will this.
"Salvatore?" I say quietly.
"Mm?"
"Thank you. For all of this."
His hand moves through my hair. "You're welcome, Mrs. Vitale."
I smile against his chest and let my eyes close.
Home.