CHAPTER TEN
Tierney
The seaside hotel we were staying in was patrolled by Camorra soldiers. I guessed he didn’t want to take me to the Ferrante household, to avoid tipping off his father. Although I was sure that, by now, Don Vello already knew things had veered off plan and his precious deal gotten screwed over.
The dozen or so soldiers monitoring the hotel inside and out were all carrying, so I knew better than try to escape them, if and when Achilles left me alone.
I didn’t know why, exactly, I didn’t want to die.
I certainly had no particular reason to live.
Maybe I just wanted to survive as a fuck you to all the people who had hurt me.
I was still reeling from our spat at the cliff, so when we reached the presidential suite on the highest floor, I quickly paced toward the fully equipped kitchen and fixed myself a drink. I chose a brandy on the rocks and knocked it back in one go.
Nothing particularly noteworthy stood out about the suite. I’d been to more luxurious hotel rooms, but this one seemed to have that enigmatic charm of a place that wasn’t trying to compete with expensive hotel chains.
I stared at the marbled kitchen counter, still holding my empty tumbler, my back to Achilles.
I was thinking I should probably hop into the shower to wash off the long flight. And maybe take a nap. It didn’t matter how many hours I slept on the plane, nothing beat a good bed after a long journey.
Achilles appeared by my side, snatched the tumbler from between my fingers, and to my surprise, filled it again, handing it back to me. “Drink.”
My spine stiffened, but I decided, for once in my life, not to argue with him. Another drink would probably do me good. I took a generous sip, glaring at him suspiciously.
“All of it.” He placed his fingers on the bottom of the tumbler, tilting it to my lips again. I swallowed it all. He grabbed the tumbler and placed it on the counter, then snatched my waist and hoisted me onto the marbled countertop. I let loose a squeak, surprised by the contact.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I huffed.
“Showing you that you don’t need violence in order to come.”
Flipping my dress up to expose my bare thighs, he dropped to his knees and positioned himself between my legs.
Rough, hot palms pushed my knees apart, the back of my thighs dragging across the cool surface.
A heady, pleasant feeling of drunkenness, exhaustion and lust swirled in my head.
He’d gotten me drunk to have sex with me.
He wasn’t a good guy. And yet, I knew I would’ve consented to this if I were sober as a nun, too.
His palm slipped into my panties, stretching the fabric and pushing them aside.
I bowed my back and searched out the heat of his touch some more.
He brushed his finger over my slit, staring at it intently, and maybe it was the brandy, but I could actually feel myself blush.
I hadn’t thought I was capable of that bodily function anymore.
“I’d wondered,” he mumbled, eyes transfixed on my pussy, “if you were a redhead all around…”
My breath stuttered inside my lungs shakily as I watched him. “I am.”
“I can see that.”
I decided not to ask him what he made of it. I shouldn’t have cared. But he spoke, anyway.
“What a curse it must be, sweetheart. To be such a divine creature, so utterly seductive, and yet unable to feel a goddamn thing.”
With that invisible arrow to the chest, his head disappeared between my legs giving me a long, satisfying lick. My fingers immediately threaded into his hair, and I arched, tossing my head back and moaning.
“This is the only time I will go down on you, Little Flame.” His words reverberated inside my body as he licked and nipped at my pussy. “Just to make a fucking point.”
Panting, I watched his head moving between my legs, felt the sensation of his hot mouth and wet tongue inside me, every fiber in my body coming alive.
He sucked my clit, drawing circles around it with the tip of his tongue, adding two fingers to penetrate me when I bucked my hips forward in desperation.
I didn’t want to come. Didn’t want to show him that he was right.
That he managed to do what no one else before him could—bring me to a climax without hurting me.
But my body didn’t ask for permission. It convulsed and trembled, my muscles tightening like a bow as an orgasm slammed into me anyway.
The sensation unsettled me, ripping through my body head to toe.
Before I could get down from that high, he grabbed me by the back of my thighs and hoisted me up, pushing me against a round dining table.
My stomach was flush against the surface.
He pushed his shorts off, using his cock to tease me from behind.
“Do it now,” I growled. I didn’t recognize myself in this desperation.
He pressed home, and I cried out, the sharp sensation robbing me of my breath for the first few seconds. He gave me a second to adjust, for my muscles to relax, and then he started moving.
Again, I tried reasoning with my body.
You can’t come from just penetration. You need him to spank you. Slap you around. Maybe choke you a little. This is just the way you’re wired.
“Slap me,” I growled.
“No.” His voice was smooth. Measured.
My fingernails raked the wooden table. “I’m not asking—I’m ordering you to.”
“If anyone here will be taking orders, it’ll be you.” He picked up his pace, slamming into me harder without actually hurting me.
Dammit.
“This is boring,” I said.
He picked up his pace some more, now screwing me so hard the table moved with each thrust and me with it. “Tell that to your pussy. It’s trying to choke my cock to death convulsing around it.”
I was so close to orgasm, it was frightening. How did it happen? What sort of trickery was this?
“Stop this now.”
“You have a safe word.” He slammed into me again. “Use it.”
But I didn’t want to use it. I just didn’t want him to know that he won.
“Ugh.” I thumped my forehead against the table, letting it happen—letting my body take this pleasure and make it its own, and damn the consequences.
The second climax was just as earth-shattering as the first, making my teeth chatter as it blew through my nervous system. When he withdrew from me, I could barely keep myself upright.
I wobbled up after a few moments, examining my surroundings through a haze.
“Fuck.” He chuckled low, patting his pocket for his cigarette pack. “I hope your spine is better than your resolve because it took me five seconds flat to break you and make you come. How easy.” He shook his head, lighting himself a cigarette with a derisive smile.
I watched him amble toward the open doors of the balcony without a care in the world and realized belatedly that the windows were also open.
People could’ve seen us. I was being sloppy, providing him no challenge.
I just let him bulldoze in and prove to me that he’d managed to do what no other man could before him.
“Don’t look so smug,” I answered. “Your father will probably kill you when you get back.”
“Oh, you’re not that important.” He settled on a chair in the sun, tilting his head up and closing his eyes. “But desperation looks good on you, Piccola Fiamma.”
Something was off, but I couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
I crawled to the shower, flicking it on and turning the water to extra hot. I stood under the spray for a full ten minutes before it came to me.
Reaching between my legs, I patted my carefully trimmed slit, then slipped a cautious finger, checking my sore insides. My suspicion was confirmed.
Achilles hadn’t climaxed.
He gave me my pleasure—the two orgasms that were robbed from me in both our sexual encounters—and he left unsatisfied.
It was the first time a man had given me something instead of taking something away from me.
And it made me want to claw myself to shreds.