Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Vito
"You want more?" I taunt, giving Teresa another slow, hard thrust. "Or do you need me to stop?"
"No," she gasps, her voice hoarse. "Don't you dare stop."
I chuckle, satisfied and smug. "As you wish, Doctor."
I push her flat against the cushion and use her hair to keep her cheek pressed to it, so she can't move.
She is completely, utterly at my mercy. Her hips are tilted up at the exact angle I want, arching her back just enough. Her legs are trapped between mine. Her hands can only grip the pillows.
She can't move, can't escape. She can only take it.
I’m treating her like nothing but a vessel for my pleasure.
And she doesn’t seem to mind it one bit.
Then I start to move and watch her eyes roll back into her head.
My strokes are long and slow at first, almost languid, pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in, a slow, deliberate impalement designed to make her feel every single inch of me. I watch myself disappear into her, and the sight drives me wild.
"Fuck," I groan, my hand tightening in her hair briefly in reflex. "Look at that. You're sucking me in."
My words are crude, but they are also the truth. She is sucking me in. Her body is hungry for me, desperate for me, trying to pull me deeper, to keep me inside her.
“Your pussy is a greedy little thing,” I pant. “It doesn’t want to let me go.”
I pull out, then slam back in, a punishing thrust that steals the air from her lungs. This is what I meant. I’m not being gentle. I’m not being kind. I’m fucking her. I’m taking what I want and using her body to get it.
I set a brutal pace, a relentless rhythm that is both punishing and exquisite.
The sound of our bodies slapping together, the wet, obscene sounds of our joining, fill the cabana.
I want her world to narrow to the feel of me inside her, to the pain and pleasure blurring into one overwhelming sensation.
"Is this what you wanted, Doctor?" I snarl, punctuating my words with a hard thrust. "When you dared me to lose control? Is this what you were thinking about when you were looking at me with those innocent little eyes?"
I know there should be a professional distance. And awareness of how far we've crossed the line. But it's gone. I want her to feel the undeniable truth of my words.
This is exactly what she wanted. This is the fire she was playing with.
She pushes back against me, meeting me thrust for thrust as much as her position allows. She wants more.
Then, I change my rhythm. My thrusts become shorter, faster, more powerful.
A strangled cry escapes her lips, and her hand flies out to find something to hold onto. Teresa finds my hand and grabs onto it desperately, holding on for purchase.
I respond by taking her hand and angling her forearm across her back, and pinning it there with one of my hands. It's an act of complete dominance, and a fresh wave of liquid heat pools deep within her, wetting my cock even more.
I have her. I have all of her.
Her hips lift as she pushes back against me, meeting my punishing rhythm, her body arching to take me deeper.
Knowing she feels some kind of way about my arrogance, though she’d deny it, I lean down and whisper smugly in her ear, "You like that, don't you? You like being held down and fucked. Helpless and completely at my mercy."
She’s past words. She can only moan and babble a litany of pleas to me and what I’m doing to her.
"I asked you a question, Teresa," I say, my tone dangerous.
I don't bother to slow down. My thrusts are just as hard, just as deep. "Do you like this?"
"Yes," she sobs. "God, yes. I love it."
Her words bring out a groan of satisfaction. "I knew you would. I knew you were a dirty girl under all that professional polish. So desperate for a good, hard fuck."
She knows I’m right. Every word is right. I see her, more than anyone has before. More than she sees herself. I see the dark, needy parts of her that she keeps locked away, and I’m not afraid of them. I embrace them. Celebrate them. Set them free.
My pace becomes frantic. I’m losing control, and the knowledge that she’s the one pushing me over the edge, the professional doctor who doesn’t miss church, is the most powerful aphrodisiac I've ever known.
The cabana is filled with the sounds of our sex, the slap of skin against skin, her whimpers and sobs of pleasure, my guttural groans.
I release her arm, but she doesn’t move. She keeps it there, a silent surrender.
Then I shift, changing the angle of my hips.
My new position hits her G-spot with every thrust. Her body convulses in shock, and she’s riding high on sensation.
Her entire body is a live wire, buzzing with pleasure.
I can feel another orgasm building inside her, and I know this one will be more intense than the last.
"That's it," I growl, sensing her impending release. "Come for me, Teresa. Come all over my cock."
I reach around me and find her clit, my fingers rubbing it in tight, fast circles. The added stimulation is too much. Her body bows, a silent scream on her lips as she shatters into a million pieces.
This orgasm is different. It's not just a physical release. It's an emotional cataclysm. She’s shaking and sobbing. I want her mind wiped clean of everything but the feel of me inside her, the taste of my name on her lips. She’s flying, soaring through a universe of pure sensation.
I continue to fuck her through her orgasm, my thrusts becoming hard and erratic, more desperate. I’m chasing my own release now.
With a final, brutal thrust, I bury myself inside her and release a hot, wet flood that fills her completely. I groan her name, a long, drawn-out sound of pleasure that sends a shiver through her.
I collapse on top of her, my heavy body pinning her to the daybed. We're both panting, our hearts pounding a frantic rhythm against our ribs.
The world dips in and out as we lie there, completely and utterly spent, wavering on the edge of unconsciousness. I can feel the warm, sticky evidence of our union trickling down her thigh, and the thought is both obscene and deeply satisfying.
I stay inside her for a long moment, neither of us moving, neither of us willing to break the spell.
Then, with a reluctant sigh, afraid I’m going to crush her, I pull out and roll off her, immediately missing the heat of her surrounding me.
She curls into a ball, her limbs trembling with exhaustion, a mess of tangled limbs and sweaty sheets.
However, I don’t go far.
I tug her gently, and she’s pliant in my hands, a boneless doll I arrange to my liking.
I lay her on her side and then spoon her, pulling her back against my chest. My arm comes around her waist, holding her close, my leg hooking over hers.
She’s out like a light before she’s even settled properly.
The air in the cabana is heavy and still, thick with the scent of sweat and sex, and the sweet, lingering perfume of her skin. I watch her sleep, her face soft and relaxed in the moonlight, a faint smile playing on her lips.
She looks different like this. Unburdened.
Peaceful. All that professional armor she wears so well is gone, and what's left is the woman I saw glimpses of while I watched her from afar.
The woman I spoke to in the grocery store, to whom I felt a connection, but who was hiding just beneath the surface.
The woman I've wanted since the moment I saw her.
And now she's mine.
The thought is a possessive, primal roar in my head. I've never felt this way about anyone before. This overwhelming need to claim, to protect, to consume. It's a dangerous feeling, a fire that could easily burn out of control.
But with her, it feels right.
I run a finger down her cheek, tracing the curve of her jaw, and she sighs, leaning into my touch, even in her sleep. My chest tightens with an emotion that is so foreign to me, so overwhelming, I almost don't recognize it.
It's tenderness.
And it terrifies me.
I pull her closer, burying my face in her hair, inhaling her scent. She smells like vanilla and coconut, a sweet, clean scent that is a stark contrast to the hot and dirty things we just did to each other.
I think about the way she looked at me when I came inside her, the way her eyes widened, the way she bit her lip to stifle a cry. I think about the way her body shook when she came, the way she screamed my name. I think about the way she tasted, the way she felt.
I'm already hard again.
But I won't take her again. Not yet.
She's exhausted. Spent. I've already pushed her further than I ever intended to go. I saw it in her eyes, that flicker of fear when I told her I wasn't going to be gentle. But there was excitement, too. A desire to break free, to let go of all that control she holds onto so tightly.
And I was more than happy to be the one to help her do it.
She met me, thrust for thrust, surrender and defiance in equal measure. She took everything I gave her and begged for more.
She's stronger than she looks. More resilient.
And more damaged.
I saw it, too. The vulnerability she tried so hard to hide. The desperate need for connection, for acceptance, for something more than the sterile, professional life she's built for herself.
I saw the loneliness in her eyes, the same loneliness I've seen in my own reflection more times than I can count.
I know what it's like to wear a mask. To build walls so high and so thick that no one can get in. To be so afraid of being hurt that you push everyone away, even the ones who might be able to save you.
But with her, the walls are different. They're not made of stone and steel.
They're made of intellect and reason, of carefully constructed arguments and logical explanations.
She's a psychologist, after all. Her whole world is built on understanding the human mind, on analyzing behavior and predicting outcomes.
But she can't analyze this.