Chapter 4 #2
“You want control?” I rasp against her lips, holding her wrists above her head with one hand, while the other lifts her dress up her thighs. “Then fight me for it.”
She bites my lip so hard I taste blood. I growl and slide my leg between her thighs. She grinds her pussy against my leg, chasing the friction.
“Shit,” I mutter, pulling the lace aside and sliding two fingers through her folds. “You’re fucking soaked.”
“You talk too much,” she snaps.
So I do the smart thing and shut the fuck up.
I drive my fingers into her pussy, deep and unrelenting, with no warning and no mercy. Her body jerks hard against the wall, a sharp gasp ripping out of her as her back arches, muscles tensing up under my hands.
“Fuck,” she chokes, the word breaking apart as if she didn’t mean to give it to me.
I lean in close, my lips brushing her ear. “Say it again.”
She shudders, thighs trembling around my wrist, breath ragged as I fuck her with my fingers. “Make me.”
I drop to my knees, rip the panties the rest of the way off, and press my mouth to her cunt as if I’ve been starving for it.
She bucks against my tongue, snarling and gasping, riding my face like she’s the one in control, but I don’t back down either.
I hold her there, hand wrapped tight around her thigh, keeping her from slipping away as she falls apart on my tongue.
She comes hard, loud, and feral, clutching my hair as if she wants to rip it from the roots. Her thighs tremble around my head, her body shaking.
She shoves me back, hard.
I land on my ass, laughing loudly as I wipe her off my mouth with the back of my hand.
She’s still panting, tits heaving, mouth swollen.
“Is that all you’ve got?” She asks, challenging me.
Fuck.
I don’t even try to hide how my cock twitches. She fucks just like she fights—reckless, brutal, unapologetic. The same way she stood at the altar in black silk, daring the world to flinch first. And now she’s daring me.
I stand up, every muscle tense with the desire to ruin her completely.
She reaches for me first. Her fingers curl into my shirt, yanking hard enough to tear it open.
Buttons pop and bounce across the hardwood in sharp, echoing clangs.
She stares me down with those stormy blue eyes—eyes that burn, challenge, and command.
Her chest heaves, breath ragged. Her lips part, trembling with something between fury and need.
“Tell me you want my cock,” I say, voice rough, low, threaded with threat and promise.
She bares her teeth. “No. I fucking hate you.”
My mouth curves. “Say it anyway.”
Her glare cuts straight through me. Then her eyes drop and her breath catches. She’s now focusing on the thick bulge in my pants, her pupils dilated with desire. She swallows hard. Her legs shift, thighs tightening as if she’s trying to hold herself back from grinding against nothing.
“I want it,” she says, every word carved from her throat, before lifting her eyes to mine. “I fucking want it… okay… you as-”
My mouth crashes against hers, hard and hungry, stealing whatever filthy insult she was about to throw.
She gasps, and I take it as a fucking invitation.
Her nails claw at my chest, scraping over skin.
She kisses me like she’s trying to bruise my mouth, like maybe if she devours me fast enough, she won’t have to admit how much she wants this.
I grip her ass, lifting her completely off the ground. Her thighs wrap around me, full of heat, vengeance, and desperation. I slam her back against the nearest surface—a marble countertop. It’s cold as hell, and the stark contrast makes her shudder.
She bites my jaw, her breath hot. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”
“Still here, though,” I rasp, grinding against her.
She grabs my hair and pulls. “Take your fucking pants off now.”
I grin against her neck, teeth grazing her pulse. “Ask nicely.”
“Go fuck yourself,” she snarls.
I unzip anyway. Her eyes drop between us, widening as my cock springs free. Her pupils blow wide. She makes a low, wrecked whimper that shoots straight to my spine.
“Beg,” I tell her.
Her chin lifts. Serrano rage. Serrano pride. Serrano fucking venom. “Eat shit.”
I don’t answer. I thrust into her brutally, without mercy or hesitation. She screams out, her back arching off the counter. I grip her hips, holding her firmly, powerless against the force of every stroke.
“You want to fight me, Bella?” I breathe against her throat. “Do it. But you’re still gonna take every fucking inch.”
She moans and bucks up to meet me.
Challenge accepted.
She tries to keep it together. Tries to keep that mouth of hers full of venom, but every time I slam into her, the words fall apart. Just breathy curses. Broken moans. Filthy, defiant sounds that punch straight through my chest and grab something I didn’t even know was still alive.
I grip her thighs tighter, spreading them wider, angling her hips until she gasps. "That’s it. Right fucking there."
“You still wanna fight me, Bella?” I growl, dragging my teeth along the shell of her ear. “You wanna keep pretending this isn’t the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to you?”
She throws her head back, her eyes flutter shut. “I’m not pretending shit.”
I slow it down. Not out of mercy, but out of cruelty—the need to watch her unravel.
“You want it rough?” I murmur, rolling my hips slow and deep until she’s panting. “You have to be a good girl, and you are no fucking good girl.”
She gasps, hips twitching beneath mine, seeking more friction.
I hold her wrists and pin them above her head as my mouth grazes her ear. “You don’t get to take. You beg for it.”
“I won’t,” she spits, breathless. “I won’t beg for you.”
I slowly withdraw my cock inch by inch, then thrust it back in. Her moan breaks, raw and strangled.
“Say that one more time.”
Her fingernails dig into my ribs. Blood will bloom there by morning. Good. I want the scars.
She glares at me through heavy lashes, her chest heaving, lips parted. “I said I won’t beg for you.”
My laugh is low and cruel. “Oh, Bella, you already fucking did.”
She glares up at me, eyes blazing, lips swollen, challenging me to try and break her. And I know, deep in my bones, this will be the best fuck of my goddamn life.
I slam into her hard and deep. She meets me halfway, biting at my jaw, scratching, gasping, moaning.
“You gonna come for me, Bella?” I taunt, lips brushing hers. “Or are you too fucking proud to fall apart on my cock?”
“Fuck you,” she breathes, but her hips are frantic, desperate for friction.
I drag my thumb down between us, find her clit, and press firmly.
Her entire body starts to jerk.
“Oh, you’re close now,” I murmur darkly. “I feel it. You’re gonna break and when you do, you’re gonna know who fucking owns you.”
Her lips curl, breath ragged as she glares up at me. “Keep dreaming, Lorenzo. You want a leash? Go buy a fucking dog.”
I fuck her like a madman. All that pent-up energy, that rage, and that fucking need. My mind’s gone—shot to shit—drowned in the way she clenches around me.
She shatters. It’s loud and furious. Her back arches, and my name is a snarl tearing from her throat. It’s half pain, half pleasure, and full surrender. She’s fire, fight, and fuck-me-now fury, and I take every ounce of it.
And fuck, I lose it fast. I follow her over that edge, groaning through clenched teeth as I spill inside her, my hand forcing her hip down while she pulses around me. Every muscle strains. Every nerve lights up. I’m not just inside her… I’m fucking gone because of her.
When the world begins to right itself, I take a deep breath, jaw clenched, pulse still pounding.
I gently brush my thumb over her lips.
“Still hate me?” I whisper.
Her eyes flutter open, still dazed. “So fucking much.”
I grin. “Good. I’m gonna make you hate me all over again tomorrow.”
With her breath still ragged, I slowly pull back, savoring every twitch of her muscles as my cock slips free. Her breath hitches, whether from the loss or the aftershocks, I don’t know. And I sure as shit don’t care.
I tuck my cock back into my pants, not bothering to fix the mess we made. Not bothering to look up at her, even though I can feel her glare burning holes into my skin.
“That’s all you get for now,” I mutter, zipping up. My smirk is smug, cocky, the kind that begs to be slapped off my face. “Try not to fall in love or some shit.”
Her mouth parts in shock.
“You’re a dick,” she spits, sitting up. Her hair is a wild mess around her flushed face.
I give her a wink. “You weren’t complaining when it was inside you.”
She grabs the closest thing off the counter—a vase that cost me a fucking fortune in Florence—and throws it at my head.
I duck and it shatters against the wall.
I laugh and turn. “That’s all you got?”
She’s wild-eyed, lips kiss-bruised and red. A goddess in the middle of a meltdown.
“You’re a smug, cocky, motherfucker!” she yells, voice cracking at the edges.
I pause at the doorway, glance at her, and let a wide grin spread across my face. “And yet, you came screaming my name.”
I step into the hallway, still hard for her. Every nerve in my body pulses with leftover heat, my cock aching from what we just did and what I want to do again.
The scent of her clings to my skin and is now imprinted on me. But I don’t go back.
I let the silence linger.
Let her sit amidst the wreckage of what we just did.
Let her legs tremble as she stares at the ceiling, while every muscle in her body recalls the way I split her open and made her come undone.
Because if I don’t play it that way, if I don’t shove the steel back over my ribs and smother the fire clawing underneath, I’ll lose every bit of control I have left. I fuck and forget. That’s the deal. That’s how I survive.
No exceptions.