Chapter 29 – Chiara #2
I grip his shoulders, my nails digging in, leaving red marks, and lean forward, kissing him, our tongues clashing, teeth grazing, the kiss messy and desperate. His hand tightens on my throat, a light choke that makes my head spin, my pussy pulsing around him, wet and tight.
“Harder,” I beg, my voice raw, and he obliges, his thrusts relentless, his cock hitting that spot inside me that makes my vision blur, my moans turning to screams, loud enough to drown out the ocean outside.
He pulls out suddenly, and I whine, but he flips me onto my back, the leather sticking to my skin, the cramped space forcing my legs up, knees to my chest.
He spreads my thighs, his mouth diving between them, his tongue licking a frantic path through my folds, sucking my clit hard, his teeth grazing just enough to make me buck, my hands clawing at the seat, tearing at the stitching.
“Fuck, you taste better than I remember,” he groans, his voice muffled, and slides three fingers inside me, pumping fast, curling, then adds a fourth, stretching me, the sensation intense, bordering on too much.
“More,” I gasp, desperate, and he pushes his whole hand in, fisting me, slow and careful at first, then faster, his knuckles grazing my walls, the fullness overwhelming, making me scream, my pussy clenching, my body shaking as a climax builds.
He pulls his hand out, slick with my arousal, and slides a finger to my ass, circling the tight ring, teasing, then pressing in, slow and deliberate, the intrusion making me moan, my body trembling.
“You like that?” he asks, his voice rough, and I nod, my breath hitching as he adds a second finger, stretching me, fucking my ass while his other hand rubs my clit, the dual sensation pushing me toward the edge.
“Rocco, I’m gonna—” I gasp, and he thrusts his cock back into my pussy, hard and deep, his fingers still in my ass, the combined fullness sending me spiraling, my orgasm crashing through me, my pussy pulsing, my ass clenching, my scream so loud it shakes the car, the windows fogging completely, the shocks groaning under us.
He doesn’t stop, his thrusts wild, reckless, the car rocking violently, the frame creaking, threatening to give way.
He pulls his fingers from my ass, gripping my hips, spanking again, the sting sharp, and I push back, meeting every thrust, my hands braced against the door, my nails scratching the leather.
“Tie me up,” I pant, and he grabs his belt from the floorboard, looping it around my wrists, pulling it tight, the leather biting into my skin, pinning my hands above my head.
The restraint heightens everything, my body at his mercy, and he chokes me again, harder this time, his fingers pressing just enough to make my head spin, my pussy clenching around him, dragging him deeper.
“Fuck, Chiara, you’re gonna break me,” he groans, his voice raw, his thrusts erratic, his control shattering.
I come again, harder, my body convulsing, my pussy milking him, my scream tearing through the car, the windows rattling, the shocks squealing.
He follows, his cock pulsing, spilling inside me, hot and thick, his groan loud, primal, his hands tightening on my throat, my hips, holding me close as he rides out his release, the car shaking, the leather torn, the frame creaking like it’s seconds from collapse.
We collapse together, panting, sweating, the car a wreck around us, the windows fogged, the leather shredded, the shocks still trembling.
His head rests against my shoulder, his breath hot against my skin, and my fingers, freed from the belt, trace down his spine, grounding us both.
I press my back into the torn leather seat, tracing the frayed stitches as my breathing steadies. The salt air drifts through the open windows, carrying the ocean’s roar and the promise of dawn.
I tug my shirt down over my skin, fingertips lingering where his hands had been. He slides his jeans on, each button a deliberate beat between us. He doesn’t look away—his eyes hold mine as he finishes dressing.
I brush a strand of hair from my face, voice low. “This… was real.”
He exhales, fingers curling around mine. “It was.” His hand is warm, comforting, even now.
I meet his gaze for a long moment, words caught in my throat. Finally, I whisper, “I have to go.”
He nods slowly, sliding down the seat to kneel beside me. His forehead rests against my knee. “I’ll keep waiting,” he says, voice steady. “I’ll be here when you come back.”
My heart clenches. I raise his chin gently, meeting his eyes. “Don’t track me,” I say, voice firm but soft. “I need this alone.”
He swallows, eyes dark with understanding. “I won’t follow,” he promises, “but I’ll be here.”
I press a kiss to his temple, tasting salt and something bittersweet. “Then go,” I whisper. “Before I change my mind.”
He pulls to his feet, lingering for a heartbeat, then turns and walks toward the road. I watch until the moonlight swallows him, the engine’s growl fading into the night.
I slip from the car and press my palm to the cool metal door.
I take one last breath of the sea-scented air and step away, the night stretching wide, our separation stretching wider. Yet in the hush of my chest, I carry his promise: he’ll wait. And I carry mine: I have to walk this path on my own.