Chapter 26 Mia
MIA
The doctor arrived—a man whose face bore the scars of one who had seen the darker side of this life and kept its secrets.
Enrico stood beside as the doctor began his examination, but his eyes never left me.
Every brush of the stethoscope, every press of the guy's fingers drew a silent growl from Enrico's throat.
The last thing I wanted was some strange man’s hands all over me. If this would ease his mind, then I’d do it only for that. Besides some small gashes, fucked up nose, and bruises … I’d be just fine.
“I told you I was just fine. Got hurt worse than this in high school fights. Those fuckers were weak.”
The doctor laughed. “You sure have a mouth on you.” He gawked at my husband. “You have your hands full, sir.”
He asked me to take off my shirt to check the gash on my shoulder blade. “You’re going to need some stitches. I’m gonna give you a shot of this to help the pain.”
He pulled a bottle out of his bag and sucked it up and put it straight into my arm. “Fuck! No warning, huh?”
Enrico took my hand, and he worked on my stitches. “Focus on me. What do you remember? Anything of value you can think of?”
“They didn’t talk about much in front of us. Most of the time it was foul remarks about our bodies…”
“Did they…”
I squeezed his hand. “No, baby. But if you would’ve waited a couple more hours… not sure the answer would be the same.”
He ran his fingers through his hair and growled. “Someone put them up to it. Now I have to figure out who. They are going to fucking pay for this.”
My husband was a complicated man, but one thing he knew better than anything: REVENGE.
“Everything appears to be in order.”
“Make sure she has everything she needs.”
As the doctor excused himself, leaving with a quiet nod, Enrico knelt, taking my hands in his.
I was trembling—not from fear, but from the sheer fucking relief of being back in his arms, back where I belonged. His hands were already on me, desperate, mapping every inch of me like he needed to remind himself I was real.
“Fuck, baby,” he growled, voice thick with need. “You’re home.”
His mouth crashed down on mine, hot and possessive. I whimpered into his kiss, my body arching against him, nipples already hard under my shirt.
He didn’t waste time. Didn’t care about time. His hands tore at my clothes, buttons popping, fabric ripping, until I was bare and panting in front of him. His gaze raked over me—every bruise, every fucking mark—and his jaw clenched.
“Gonna make you forget,” he snarled, dragging me against him. “Gonna make you feel better.”
He lifted me like I weighed nothing, slamming me back against the wall, my legs wrapping around his waist on instinct.
His mouth was on my throat, teeth scraping, sucking dark fucking promises into my skin.
One hand gripped my ass, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, while the other shoved between them, ripping open his fly just enough to free his cock—thick, veined, leaking pre-cum like a fucking faucet.
I gasped as the blunt head of him pressed against my soaked slit.
“Tell me,” he demanded, voice rough as gravel. “Tell me you want it.”
“Fuck—yes,” I moaned, nails raking down his back. “Need you—please—”
He didn’t make me beg twice.
With one brutal thrust, he buried himself inside me to the hilt. I screamed, back arching, my walls fluttering around him in desperate little pulses.
“Fuck, fuck,” he groaned, hips snapping forward, driving into me with punishing strokes. “So goddamn tight—gonna wreck this pretty pussy, baby. Gonna make sure you remember who owns you.”
Every drag of his cock lit me up, the thick ridge of him rubbing against my sweet spot with every thrust. I could feel him everywhere—the stretch, the heat, the way his balls slapped against my ass with every brutal snap of his hips.
His hand slid between us, thumb finding my clit and pressing down in rough, filthy circles.
“Come for me,” he ordered, voice dark with command. “Come all over my cock like a good fucking girl.”
And I did—my orgasm ripped through me like a fucking storm, clenching around him. He fucked me through it, growling as my walls squeezed him, his own release building like a goddamn tidal wave.
“Gonna fill you up,” he grunted, hips stuttering.
With a final thrust, he came. I whimpered as he ground into me. “We’re just getting started.”
He carried me to the bed, still buried deep inside me, his cock pulsing with aftershocks. My legs trembled around his waist, muscles weak from the intensity of my orgasm, but he held me steady, hands gripping my ass with bruising force.
“Missed you so fucking much,” he muttered against my neck, teeth scraping the sensitive skin there. “Thought I was going to lose my goddamn mind. Thought I was going to lose you, my love.”
He laid me down on the sheets, finally slipping out of me.
I felt empty without him, clenching around nothing as his cum leaked from between my thighs.
He stood back, eyes dark and predatory. Even after everything we'd been through, the sight of his body still made my breath catch—all hard muscle and tattoos, scars mapping a history of violence across his skin.
“Turn over,” he commanded, voice dropping to that dangerous register that made my stomach flip. “Hands and knees, baby.”
I complied, body still humming with need despite the orgasm he'd already wrung from me. The mattress dipped as he knelt behind me, large hands spreading my thighs wider. His fingers traced through the mess between my legs, gathering his cum and my slick before pushing two thick digits inside me.
“Still so fucking wet for me,” he growled, curling his fingers to hit that spot that made stars burst behind my eyelids. “Could drown in this pussy.”
My arms gave out, face pressing into the pillow as he worked a third finger inside, stretching me further. His other hand snaked around to grip my throat, not squeezing but holding me in place—a reminder of who was in control.
“Gonna make you come until you can't remember your own fucking name,” he promised, the filthy words sending another rush of heat between my legs. “Until all you know is me.”
I shivered as his lips pressed against my spine, each vertebra receiving its own reverent kiss. His hands gripped my hips, thumbs digging into the dimples at the small of my back.
“So fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. “Every inch of you is mine.”
The bed creaked as he positioned himself behind me again, the blunt head of his cock nudging my entrance. This time he went slow—agonizingly slow—pushing in inch by torturous inch until I was sobbing into the pillow, desperate for him to move.
“Please,” I begged, voice breaking. “Need you to fuck me.”
He chuckled, the sound dark and dangerous. “Patience, baby. Want you to feel every fucking inch.”
When he finally bottomed out, his hips flush against my ass, we both groaned. He stilled, buried to the hilt, his hands tracing patterns on my back.
“Five years,” he said, voice tight with emotion. “Five fucking years without this. Without you.”
His hips started to move, building a rhythm that had my toes curling. Each thrust was measured, deliberate, hitting spots inside me that made my vision blur. One hand slid up my back to tangle in my hair, pulling just hard enough to arch my spine.
“Look at you taking my cock so well,” he praised, pace quickening. “Like you were fucking made for me.”
My fingers clutched the sheets, anchoring myself as he drove into me harder. The slap of skin against skin filled the room, mixing with our ragged breathing and desperate moans.
“Touch yourself,” he commanded, voice strained with the effort of holding back. “Want to feel you come on my cock again.”
I slipped a hand between my legs, finding my clit swollen and sensitive. The first touch had me jerking, oversensitized but still desperate for more. I circled it in time with his thrusts, pressure building low in my belly.
“That's it,” he encouraged, watching my fingers work. “Fuck, I love this view.”
His rhythm faltered as I clenched around him, my orgasm approaching like a freight train. He leaned over my back, chest pressed to my spine, mouth at my ear.
“When you come,” he whispered, “scream my name. Let the whole fucking house building know who's making you feel this good.”
That was all it took to send me over the edge, his name tearing from my throat as pleasure crashed through me in waves. He followed soon after, hips stuttering as he emptied himself inside me again.
We collapsed onto the mattress, a tangle of sweaty limbs and racing hearts. His arms wrapped around me possessively, pulling me against his chest.
“Never letting you go again,” he murmured into my hair. “Never.”
In the aftermath, Enrico's chest rose and fell against my cheek. I laid beside him, my body still humming. It was in these quiet moments I glimpsed the enigma of Enrico—the man beneath the mantle of authority. A different version of the man everyone else saw. This version meant only for me.
My fingers traced the outline of his jaw, a path I had come to know with an intimacy that both comforted and unnerved me.
Could someone like Enrico, whose life was etched in blood, truly harbor the capacity for love?
Or were we merely two souls caught in the gravity of an insatiable desire, mistaking the blaze of the connection for something deeper?