Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
VIOLA
Ican’t believe how enthusiastically and feverishly I just sucked him off. And on my knees too.
The realization washes over me as he lifts me into his arms. Water drips from our bodies in slow, heavy trails onto the marble floor. My thighs are slick, my core is still pulsing, and my lips feel swollen and sensitive.
The thing is: I’ve never liked giving blowjobs.
Never. They always felt like another duty—another way to be used, another performance I had to endure to keep the peace.
But kneeling on the cool tiles, his cock thick and hot in my mouth, and his thighs trembling under my hands, it was all I wanted.
I wanted to see him lose control. Hear the raw, broken way he groaned my name.
I wanted to be the reason this powerful, dangerous man shook and came apart.
And that’s exactly what happened. The memory of his taste—salty, masculine, addictive—still lingers on my tongue. The way his hips jerked with desperation burns through me, making my clit swell with fresh, greedy heat.
He’s carrying me toward the bedroom, his heart hammering against mine.
I bury my face in the curve of his neck, breathing him in.
And I realize I can no longer deny it: I’m just as eager as he is.
Maybe more. The thought should terrify me.
It should send me running, walls up, heart locked away like it’s always been.
But it doesn’t. Not tonight. Tonight, I want him inside me.
I want to feel every inch of him. I want to be filled until I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t remember a time when I wasn’t his.
He lays me down on the cool white sheets like I’m something infinitely precious.
I stare up at him in wonderment as he comes over me.
His weight settles solidly between my thighs.
And when he kisses me again, his mouth is slow and deep, tongue sliding against mine like he’s savoring every second, every taste.
I moan with pleasure as my fingers thread through his hair and pull him closer.
I can’t get enough. My legs wrap around him, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him closer.
He kisses every part of me, dragging it out until I’m trembling beneath him.
His lips trail down my throat—open and hot—teeth grazing the sensitive spot where my pulse races.
Down to my collarbone, my breasts. He lingers there, sucking one nipple while his thumb circles the other.
I arch off the bed with a broken cry. The pleasure is sharp and sweet, shooting straight between my legs.
My fingers twist in the sheets, and my hips lift toward him in a silent plea.
He moves lower, kissing my stomach, my hips, the inside of my thighs.
He is slow and deliberate, leaving wet trails that cool in the air and make me shiver.
My breath comes in short, desperate little gasps.
But when he finally settles between my legs and puts his mouth on my core, I lose the ability to think.
His tongue is slow, deliberate, licking a long, languid stripe up my center—flat and hot and unhurried.
The first touch makes a sharp, needy cry rip from my throat.
My hips jerk hard off the mattress, chasing the pressure, but he doesn’t let me rush him.
He presses one big hand flat against my stomach. Holding me down, his mouth gets busy.
He circles my clit with the tip of his tongue.
Slow, teasing swirls that make my thighs shake and my breath hitch in ragged little gasps.
My fingers fly to his hair, tangling in the damp strands, pulling him closer even though he’s already pressed flush against me, nose brushing my mound, lips sealed around my clit.
He licks and sucks and teases until every nerve ending feels like it’s on fire.
I’m calling his name over and over like a prayer.
The air fills with my shameless, broken moans and whimpers.
I can’t stop them. I don’t even try. The first sparks of ecstasy race up my spine, and my thighs clamp around his head while my heels dig into his shoulders. I’m already teetering on the edge.
Then he slides two fingers inside me.
Stretching me open and making my breath catch in a gasp. My vision whites out—and I shatter.
I come hard, back bowing off the bed, my walls clenching around his fingers in violent, rhythmic spasms, wave after wave crashing through me until I can’t breathe.
The pleasure is blinding, too much, tearing through me in long, shuddering pulses.
I sob his name into the darkness. “Ricci. Ricci. Ricci.”
He licks me through every shudder, flutter, and last ripple until I’m boneless and gasping, tears streaming silently down my temples into my hair.
He keeps his fingers inside me, slow and gentle now, letting me feel the aftershocks ripple through me.
His tongue softens to soft laps over my swollen clit, soothing rather than teasing—until my hips stop twitching and my breathing slows from frantic pants to shaky exhales.
My legs fall open, limp, thighs quivering against the sheets.
I’m completely undone. I just lie there, gasping softly, like a stranded fish.
He finally lifts his head, eyes dark and intense, lips glistening with my juices, and crawls back up my body, and settles between my legs again.
His weight presses me into the mattress—solid, grounding, perfect—and when he kisses me, I taste myself on his tongue.
Salty, sweet, intimate. I moan into his mouth as my arms wrap around his neck to pull him closer.
He kisses me deeply, his mouth crushing mine possessively.
It’s as if he is an animal and he is trying to memorize the taste and feel of me in the only way he knows.
My heart is still racing, my skin flushed, and my clit is oversensitive, but I don’t want him to stop. I don’t want any of this to stop.
I’m his.
And for the first time in my life, I don’t want to run from belonging to a man.
I hold onto him when his eyes open and meet mine. “Fuck me, Ricci. Fuck me hard,” I whisper, voice raw and shaking.
The words hang between us, dark and violent, and something primitive and fierce flashes in his gaze.
He rises over me slowly, eyes never leaving mine—unblinking, intense, burning.
Once again, I have the distinct impression of a powerful beast watching me with naked desire.
His hands slide under my thighs, lifting them higher, and spreading me wider beneath him.
The cool sheets drag against my back, but all I feel is heat—his heat, my heat, the slick, aching core of me where I’m already engorged, ready and waiting for him.
He’s so huge I can barely take him at first.
The head of him presses against me, thick, hot, insistent.
I’m no virgin, but when he starts to push inside, the stretch is almost too much.
I gasp as my thighs tense, trembling violently around his hips as he sinks inch by delicious inch.
The masterful claim is exquisite, stretching me until I feel impossibly full.
“Well done, baby,” he whispers, voice rough and strained, like he’s holding himself together by a thread. “Ready for one last push?”
I nod wordlessly.
His thumbs brush my cheeks, wiping away tears I didn’t even realize escaped.
He waits while my body adjusts. Slowly, the burn softens, melts into something deeper, hotter, perfect.
Every inch of him fills me completely, stretching me beautifully, pressing against every nerve ending.
I whimper again, but this time it’s pleasure, not pain.
An expression of triumph crosses his face, and he starts to move.
One deep thrust. My mouth opens in a silent cry of intense pleasure.
I thought I was full before. But this: this is indescribably delicious.
My legs wrap around his waist, and my heels dig into his firm ass to pull him deeper.
That’s when he starts to pump into me. The action is exquisite.
Every withdrawal a sweet ache, every thrust an overwhelming pressure that makes my toes curl and my breath hitch.
“Oh God… Ricci…”
Then he changes speed and starts to fuck me like he’s been waiting years.
Sure and relentless, his gaze locked on mine the whole time.
The deep strokes build pleasure inexorably, until I’m trembling beneath him.
My nails claw down his back, and my heels dig harder into his ass, urging him even deeper, faster.
“Ricci…” I sob. The word is frantic, barely coherent, and broken by a thrust. He swallows that sob and kisses me through it like he wants to own every sound I make.
The pleasure coils tighter and tighter in my core until I can’t breathe.
Without warning, I suddenly shatter around him.
My back arches off the mattress, breasts pressing against his chest, nipples dragging against his skin.
I can feel my eyes rolling back and my walls clamping down around his cock in shuddering waves that make him groan my name.
A low, wrecked sound. I cling to him like a boneless limpet.
He keeps moving, drawing out every wave, and making sure I feel him through the entire orgasm until I’m completely spent.
Finally, he allows his own release. Buried deep inside me, forehead pressed to mine.
He groans. A deep, guttural sound. His hot seed fills me until I’m overflowing. It feels slick and warm between us.
When he stills, like a cat, I lick the perspiration from his shoulder—salty, warm—then his throat, his jaw, tasting salt and him.
My tongue lingers on the pulse point under his ear, feeling it race beneath my mouth.
Everything in me tells me to let go—to keep my heart locked away like it’s always been—but I’ve never felt more cherished, safer, or more sated than I do at this moment.
So… I refuse to let go. I hold him tighter, face buried in his neck, breathing him in—cedar, smoke, sweat, sex—and then I do what I have never done before.
I fall right asleep in his arms.