Chapter 42
Lorenzo
T he car door closes and seals us in darkness, in want, in the afters hock of truth. Piper’s mouth finds mine before the driver has even pulled away from the curb—hungry, demanding, tasting of wine and absolution.
Her hands fist in my hair, pulling me closer as if the revelation of who I am has only sharpened her appetite. Mine. The word vibrates through me with each heartbeat. She knows me now—my name, my power—and still she reaches for me. Still she burns.
I slide my hand beneath her dress, finding the wet heat between her thighs. She gasps into my mouth, hips rising to meet my touch. I press my fingers against her, circling slowly.
“Please,” she begs, biting my lower lip. “I need you inside me.”
“Not yet.” I keep my strokes measured, controlled. “Not here.”
Her fingers work frantically at my belt, desperate to free me. “Enzo, please.”
The sound of my name on her lips nearly shatters my resolve. I capture her wrists in one hand, pinning them to her lap while my fingers continue their methodical torture between her thighs.
“I said not yet,” I murmur, biting the soft skin below her ear.
She whimpers, legs falling further open. Her slick heat drenches my fingers, almost enough to snap every thread of control I have left. One stroke and she’s trembling. Two and she’s whimpering against my throat. Three and she’s broken—moaning, begging.
“You’re soaked,” I whisper, pushing one finger inside her, then another. “Dripping for me.”
Her hips buck wildly. “Then fuck me. Now.”
I unclick our seatbelts with my free hand, pulling her onto my lap so she straddles me. Her dress bunches around her waist. I reach for my zipper, freeing myself while her eyes widen, hungry and wantin g.
“I’m not going to fuck you in the car,” I rasp, guiding her hips with one hand.
She makes a small sound of protest until she feels the head of my cock pressing against her entrance. When I ease her down, just enough for her to feel me stretching her, her lips part on a silent gasp.
“But I need to be inside you,” I confess, the words torn from some primal part of me.
She tries to take more of me, but I hold her still, allowing only this shallow penetration. She squeezes around me, muscles fluttering in frustration, and I groan at the sensation.
“Please,” she pants. “More.”
“At home.” I guide her hips in a barely there rock, not thrusting, just connected. “Where I can have all of you.”
We remain locked together this way for the rest of the drive—her trembling on my lap, me buried just inside her, both of us suspended in exquisite torture. By the time we reach the apartment, we’re both panting, clothes damp with sweat, eyes glazed with need.
The second the door clicks shut behind us, I slam her against the wall. My mouth crashes onto hers, hot and punishing. I’ve been starved for fucking hours—years—a lifetime. Her back arches, pressing her breasts against my chest as my tongue invades her mouth.
I fist her hair tight enough to sting, yanking her head back so I can bite down the length of her throat.
She moans, nails digging into my shoulders through my shirt.
Her hands claw at my clothes, buttons flying as she tears at my shirt.
I don’t care. Nothing matters but getting to her skin, getting inside her, making her feel the weight of what she’s done by accepting me.
“Do you know what you do to me?” I growl, tearing her dress down the middle. The sound of ripping fabric fills the air between our ragged breaths. “Do you have any fucking idea what it does to me when you look at me like that?”
She stands before me in nothing but the torn dress and the gold puzzle piece at her throat. Her hair falls wild around her shoulders, lips swollen from my kisses.
“Show me,” she challenges, green eyes burning into mine.
I rip away what’s left of her clothes, lifting her against the wall. Her legs wrap around my waist, heels digging into my back. I slide two fingers into her, finding her impossibly wet, impossibly tight.
“This cunt,” I murmur, curling my fingers just right, watching her head fall back. “So fucking perfect. So fucking mine.”
She grinds down on my fingers, chasing the edge like she needs it to breathe. I work her relentlessly, thumb circling her clit while my fingers press deep inside. I could watch her like this forever—suspended between pleasure and pain, surrender and defiance.
“You know who I am now,” I tell her, increasing the pressure. “You know what I’ve done. What I’ll do for you.”
“ Yes,” she gasps, eyes half-closed, lost in sensation.
“Say my name,” I command, feeling her start to tighten around my fingers.
“Enzo,” she moans, hands scrambling for purchase on my shoulders.
“My full name,” I growl, pressing harder, deeper.
“Lorenzo,” she pants. “Lorenzo Russo.”
Her walls flutter, clenching hard around my fingers, and I know she’s close.
I twist my hand just right, circling her clit until she comes undone in my grip, moaning my name like it’s salvation.
Her legs shake around me, and I don’t let up until she’s trembling with aftershocks, sweat glistening at her throat.
The sound of her rapture while chanting my full name pushes me over the edge of control. I withdraw my fingers, replacing them with the thick head of my dick. She’s so ready, so wet that I slide in with one deep thrust that makes her cry out.
“Tell me you still want this,” I demand, holding still inside her, my forehead pressed to hers. I don’t need her consent, I already have that. But I need to hear the words to sate the primal beast inside me.
“I want this.” Her voice breaks on the words. “I want you. Now fuck me, Lorenzo. Stop holding back.”
I begin to move then, each thrust harder than the last. Her back slams against the wall, but she meets me force for force, pulling me deeper, urging me on with breathless pleas. The sound of skin against skin, of her wet heat taking me in, fills the apartment.
Every thrust is a threat. A vow. A silent reminder that no one else will ever fuck her like this—because no one else will ever get the chance.
“Tell me you’re mine,” I growl into her ear, feeling her tighten around me.
I shift my angle, and the second I hit that spot, her breath catches. She claws at my shoulders, back arching hard. One more thrust and she breaks—screaming into my mouth as her pussy milks me, clenching around me.
“Fuck!” she cries, undulating her hips in greedy motions.
Her refusal to say the words should infuriate me, but somehow it only makes me want her more. My perfect, stubborn toy, still fighting even as she gives herself to me completely.
Before either of us can come, I carry her to the bedroom, keeping my cock inside her. She rotates her hips, seeking friction and movement while clinging to me, wild with need.
I place her on all fours on the bed, positioning myself behind her.
“Look at you,” I breathe, running my hands over the curve of her ass, the arch of her spine.
I trace the tight ring of her asshole, not pressing—just circling.
A warning. A promise. Her breath hitches, and I grin.
“One day, Toy,” I murmur. “Every inch of you will be mine.”
I s lide back into her in one long, relentless thrust that makes her bury her face in the pillow to muffle her scream. I grab her hair, pulling her head back.
“Let me hear you,” I command, setting a ruthless pace. “Let me hear what I do to you.”
She obeys, each thrust pulling a raw moan from her throat. I watch where our bodies join, mesmerized by the sight of her taking all of me, again and again. Her back gleams with sweat, muscles tensing as she pushes back to meet each thrust.
“Harder,” she begs, and I comply, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.
“Tell me how deep you want me,” I growl.
“Deep enough to ruin me,” she pants. “Make me feel it. Show me what it means to belong to a kingmaker.”
“Tell me,” I repeat, my voice filled with gravel.
She mewls when I slide one hand to her tits, pinching her pert nipple. “Fuck. Ah, okay. Fuck me like you own me,” she chokes out. “Like you own everything else.” She cries out, bucking hard as I circle her clit with ruthless precision.
I’m beyond gentleness now, beyond restraint. I fuck her with everything I am—the monster, the man, the obsessive shadow who has wanted her from the first moment. And she matches me, stroke for stroke, moan for moan, as if she was made for this, for me.
I feel her start to tighten around me; her moans becoming desperate, breathless. My hand slides beneath her to rub her clit, pushing her toward the edge.
“Come for your kingmaker,” I demand, pounding into her. “Come on my dick while I fill you.”
Her whole body tenses, then breaks, clenching around me in waves as she cries out my name. The sight of her—head thrown back, body shaking beneath mine, taking everything I give her—pushes me over the edge.
“Fuck, I love you,” I growl as I break apart inside her, the words ripped from the rawest part of me. The place where she lives now.
My cock jerks, emptying everything I have inside her. Every thrust and every drop is a brand, sealing her to me from the inside out.
I collapse beside her, pulling her sweat-slick body against mine. Her heart races beneath my palm, gradually slowing as we both catch our breath. I press my lips to her shoulder, tasting salt and wine and completion.
She knows me now—my name, my power, my obsession. And still, she’s here. Still, she’s mine. Even if she won’t say the words yet, I can feel the truth of it in how her body yields to mine, in how she turns in my arms to kiss me again, softer now but no less hungry.
I have given her my darkest truths, and she has given me absolution in return. My toy isn’t blind, and she’s definitely not na?ve. She kn ows what being with me means, and she’s staying anyway. Not to be saved, but to burn beside me.