Chapter 24 Elio #2
Her hand barely wraps around me. Small and callused from her work, rough in exactly the right way. My head falls back against the pillow.
“Violet—”
She leans down. Licks a stripe from base to tip.
My hips jerk before I can stop them. I fist the sheets, knuckles going white, fighting every instinct that screams at me to grab her head and fuck her mouth.
She takes me in.
Just the head at first. Tongue swirling around the crown, tasting the precum that’s been leaking since she first touched me. Then deeper. Hollowing her cheeks, sucking, and the groan that tears out of me sounds like a dying animal.
“Fuck—fuck—”
Her hand works the base. The part she can’t reach. Her other hand cups my balls, squeezing gently, and my vision goes white around the edges.
She’s messy. Enthusiastic. Learning my reactions with every movement, adjusting her technique when I moan, when my hips stutter, when my control starts to slip.
No one has ever touched me like this.
Like I’m something to be explored rather than endured. Like she wants to be here, mouth stretched around my cock, spit running down her chin.
The orgasm builds, pressure gathering at the base of my spine, balls drawing tight—
I pull her off.
She looks up at me, lips swollen and wet, confusion in her eyes. “Did I—”
“Too good.” I’m gasping. Actually gasping, like I’ve just run a marathon. “Too fucking good. And I don’t want to come yet.”
Understanding dawns. Her lips curve.
“Not yet,” I repeat. Flip our positions, pressing her back into the mattress. “I need to be inside you first.”
I slide one finger into her.
She’s soaked. From her orgasm, from my mouth, from whatever dark chemistry burns between us. The slick sound of my finger entering her echoes through the room, and we both groan.
“So wet.” I crook my finger, searching for that spot. “So fucking wet for me.”
Her walls clench around me. I find that rough patch of tissue, and press, stroking.
Her back arches off the bed.
“There—oh god, there—”
I add a second finger. Stretch her gently, scissoring, preparing her for something much bigger. My thumb finds her clit, circling in slow counterpoint to the thrust of my fingers.
“You’re so tight.” Her face is everything. Every twitch. Every gasp. “Going to feel so good wrapped around my cock.”
“Elio—”
“That’s it. Say my name.”
My fingers thrust faster. Harder. The wet sounds filling the room, her moans getting louder, and I feel her walls starting to flutter again.
“I can feel how close you are.” I press harder on her g-spot. “Come for me, Violet. Come on my fingers.”
She breaks.
This orgasm is different from the first. Fuller, and seems to tear through her much deeper. She gushes around my fingers, soaking my hand, her nails digging into my shoulders hard enough to draw blood. I swallow her cries with my mouth, kissing her through it, working her through every wave.
Two.
When she comes down, I pull my fingers free. Bring them to my mouth. Suck them clean while she watches, pupils blown wide.
“You taste like mine,” I tell her. “Every part of you.”
“Then prove it.”
I position myself between her thighs. Hook her legs over my shoulders, folding her nearly in half. Rub the head of my cock through her folds, coating myself in her wetness, nudging her clit with every pass.
“Please—” She’s beyond pride now. Beyond defiance. “Please, Elio—”
I push in. Slow at first. Inch by aching inch. Feeling her stretch around me, her walls gripping so tight I have to grit my teeth against the urge to slam home.
She gasps at the fullness. Her eyes going wide, mouth falling open.
“Okay?” I force the word out.
“Don’t—don’t stop—”
I bottom out.
For a moment I don’t move. Can’t move. Just stay buried inside her, feeling her pulse around me, trying to remember how to breathe.
Home.
That’s how this feels. Like coming home. Like finding something I didn’t know I was looking for.
I start to move.
Deep thrusts that hit her cervix. Her nails rake down my back, leaving trails of fire. I control the pace. Slow and deep, then faster when she begs for more, then slow again when I feel her getting too close.
“Elio—please—I need—”
“I know what you need, tesoro.”
Faster. Harder. The bed frame hitting the wall with every thrust. Her legs trembling on my shoulders, her voice breaking into wordless cries.
She comes. Walls pulsing around me, clenching so tight I nearly lose it myself. But I hold on. Keep fucking her through it, chasing my own edge while she shatters beneath me.
Three.
I pull out. Flip her onto my lap before she can catch her breath.
“Ride me.”
She stares down at me. Still trembling from her orgasm. But she braces her hands on my chest and sinks down onto my cock, and the new angle makes us both groan.
Her hips find a rhythm. Rising and falling, taking me deep. I grip her hips to guide her, one thumb returning to her clit.
Beautiful.
The word doesn’t cover it. She’s magnificent. Auburn hair wild around her shoulders. Breasts bouncing with every movement. Face contorted in pleasure, all masks stripped away.
She’s chosen this. Chosen me. And I have no idea what I did to deserve it.
“Elio—” Her rhythm stutters. “I can’t—I’m too—”
“One more.” I sit up, change the angle, thrust up into her while my thumb works her oversensitive clit. “Give me one more.”
She whimpers. Shakes her head. But her hips keep moving, chasing the sensation even as she protests.
I pull her up. Spin her around. Press her onto her hands and knees.
She looks back at me over her shoulder, and the sight nearly finishes me—her flushed and disheveled and mine.
I thrust back in from behind.
This angle is deeper. More primal. I grip her hip with one hand, gather her hair with the other, pull gently—testing.
She moans.
Good god, she feels incredible like this.
I fuck her harder. The sound of skin against skin filling the room. My free hand comes down on her ass, light, barely a tap.
She pushes back into me, moaning.
Harder, then. The crack of my palm against her flesh, the way she clenches around me in response.
“Who do you belong to?” The words tear out of me.
“You—”
“Say my name.”
“Elio—”
I’m close. Too close. My thrusts going ragged, my grip on her hip hard enough to bruise.
“Come with me.” My hand snakes around to her clit. “Come with me, Violet.”
She falls apart one last time, and I follow her over the edge, emptying myself inside her with a groan that sounds like her name.
My limbs barely work as I pull us down to the bed and flip her to face me. Her expression is wrecked. Satisfied, tired, looking at me like I’m someone worth staying for.
I hold her in my arms, not ready to let go. Just hold her, her head on my chest, her breathing slowly returning to normal. I trace patterns on her back with my fingertips. Press kisses to her hair.
And once I can finally move again, I fetch a warm cloth. Clean her gently, between her thighs where my come marked her. She watches me with heavy-lidded eyes, not speaking.
When I crawl back into bed, she curls into me immediately. Like she belongs there.
I don’t believe in love. Love is fairy tales and weapons. Love is how they train you to be compliant, how they break you into shape.
But this...
Her breath warm against my chest. Her fingers tracing idle patterns on my skin. The absolute certainty that I would burn the world to ashes before I let anyone touch her.
If this isn’t love, I don’t know what else to call it.