Chapter 4 Alina #2
Tomaso climbed onto the bed, his hands braced beside me, and kissed me with heat and hunger.
His stubble scraped my skin perfectly, rough and real, tethering me to the moment.
Our mouths collided again and again, tongues tangling, breath stolen—like we needed to devour each other before the world ended.
My thighs were pried apart. I gasped softly, lifting my gaze to find Raul kneeling between my legs, eyes dark with want, his grin predatory. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His mouth descended like a man starving.
I whimpered into Tomaso’s kiss as Raul’s tongue flicked along my folds, teasingly. He circled my entrance until I was writhing, my hips lifting off the bed—then, finally, he plunged his tongue inside. A moan tore from my throat.
Tomaso pressed his thick cock against my hip, his pre-cum slicking the path as he rocked gently against my skin. The friction burned in the best way, every stroke feeding the fire Raul’s tongue had lit.
I was trapped between their mouths, their bodies, their hunger—and I never wanted to escape.
I whimpered into Tomaso’s mouth, my hips arching off the bed as Raul’s tongue flicked over my folds—slow, teasing, maddening. He circled my entrance, each pass driving me closer to the edge until I was trembling beneath them, unable to keep still. And then, he dove in.
His tongue slid inside me, deep and eager, and I cried out into Tomaso’s kiss, my body clenching in response.
Tomaso’s thick cock pressed hot and insistent against my hip, the silky trail of his pre-cum gliding along my skin. He rocked against me, each roll of his hips igniting sparks where our bodies met, feeding the inferno Raul had stoked between my thighs.
I was trapped in their rhythm—Raul’s mouth ruthless and unforgiving, his fingers drawing pleasure from me like a symphony, while Tomaso devoured the rest of me with lips, hands, and the claiming thrust of his cock.
They moved in tandem, overwhelming every sense, every thought—until I was nothing but gasps, moans, and raw need.
And gods, I never wanted to be free of it.
Raul’s tongue moved faster, hungrier, as his fingers slipped inside me, curling just right, dragging pleasure from my core until I was gasping. He flicked my clit with firm, wet strokes, sending pulses of pleasure through me, and my moans turned ragged.
Tomaso deepened the kiss, his hand cupping my breast, his fingers tugging and rolling my nipple until I cried out again. His other hand caressed my stomach, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.
My lips tore away from his, breathless and desperate. “Raul—don’t stop! I’m right there!”
With one hand, I reached for Tomaso, wrapping my fingers around his thick shaft. He hissed, his cock jumping in my grip, slick with his need. I stroked him hard as my climax broke, a violent, beautiful detonation that stole the breath from my lungs.
My back arched, my toes curled, and my cries filled the room.
They didn’t stop.
Tomaso and Raul moved like a symphony—synchronized, sensual, reverent.
Sweat glistened on their brows, their chests rising and falling in time with mine.
Tomaso’s mouth was swollen from our kisses, his gaze dark and fixed on me.
Raul’s hand curled possessively over my hip, his fingertips sinking into my skin as if to brand me as his.
The only sound was the ragged melody of our breathing—intertwined, hungry.
I let my hand drift down Tomaso’s body, tracing the hard lines of his abdomen, then wrapping around his pulsing cock once more. With the other hand, I slid my fingers up his chest, then gripped the nape of his neck, digging my nails into his skin, marking him.
Both men fisted their cocks, stroking with frenzied urgency, their eyes on me—watching me writhe in the afterglow of my orgasm, my body still undulating against the bedding like a siren beneath their storm.
Tomaso tilted his head back, jaw clenched, breath hitching. A guttural groan tore from his throat as he came, thick ropes of pleasure spilling across my skin.
Raul followed, his cry unrestrained, his body shuddering as he released beside me, his hand still possessively on my thigh.
I collapsed into the silk sheets, letting out a soft, satisfied sigh as the world faded.
Raul shifted, rolling to my other side, and the three of us lay there, still, tangled, completely spent.
There were no words. No need.
At that moment, we weren’t just bodies. We were bound by something wilder than lust, deeper than love.
The pure, unrelenting force of desire connected us.
A soft noise stirred the air, drawing my attention. I lifted my gaze—hovering in the doorway were the same women Raul had been entertaining earlier. Their eyes found us immediately, pupils dilated, lips curved into wicked smiles.
Raul caught sight of them, too. With an indulgent smile, he crooked a finger, silently summoning them. The redhead led, hips swaying like a rhythmic temptation, followed by a sultry blond and a curvy brunette, each wrapped in sheer fabric and the scent of sex.
Tomaso leaned close, his lips brushing my ear with the heat of a whispered growl. “Let’s go somewhere private... where I can have you all to myself.”
That possessiveness sent a shiver through me, straight to where I still ached for more.
I smiled and rolled away from Raul’s warmth, feeling the air kiss my damp skin as his place was eagerly filled by one of the women.
They fell into each other hungry, and I rose from the bed with Tomaso’s hand tugging mine.
We didn’t bother with our clothes; we just kicked them into a careless heap in the corner. “Where shall we head?” I asked, already trailing my fingers across his bare chest, feeling the residual tension and simmering want under his skin.
“Outside,” he said, eyes blazing. His cock, slick and glistening, hung heavy between his thighs—half-hard, yet pulsing with promise. I licked my lips, already plotting what I’d do to bring him back to full strength.
The house around us throbbed with heat and moans—bodies tangled on chaise lounges, against walls, even in the flickering candlelight of stairwells. I stepped through them with a rush of exhilaration, still glowing from our earlier pleasures and greedy for more.
The night air wrapped around my naked skin like a lover’s sigh—hot, thick, humming with possibility. We stepped outside, our hands clasped, the grass dewy underfoot and the sky ink-black above us.
“This way,” Tomaso murmured, lifting my hand to his lips. He kissed each fingertip, reverent, teasing, as he led me toward the outbuildings at the edge of the estate.
But then… I felt it.
That prickle on the back of my neck. That shiver had nothing to do with lust.
I turned my head.
A shadow moved.
Standing just beyond the lantern’s reach beneath the trees was a man—a silhouette etched in the moonlight. Tall, still, and watching, his eyes glinted like obsidian. His mouth pulled into a grin, too knowing, too dark.
It was him.
The stranger from before—the one who had beckoned to me with nothing but a stare. The one who had felt like a warning.
My breath caught. That lust-drenched heat in my belly cooled to ice.
He looked like temptation carved by the devil’s hand—razor-sharp jaw, long black coat, and a smile like he already owned my soul.
Fear slipped beneath my skin.
Tomaso didn’t notice. He kept walking, tugging me with a lightheartedness that now felt brittle and blind.
I clung tighter to his hand, trying to leave that wicked grin—and the cold that followed it—far behind. But something in the air had shifted, subtle and sour.
As if the night had just turned its face… and a presence was about to follow me into the dark.
The figure vanished into the shadows, swallowed by the folds of darkness.
But the fear didn’t disappear with him. It morphed into a tight, nauseating knot of knowing. I glanced around, searching, the masked laughter and candlelit wonder of the masquerade now a distant blur. He was gone—completely.
“Let’s slip into the barn,” Tomaso murmured, brushing his lips against my ear. “I want you all to myself, cara mia.”
I hesitated. The mention of the barn sent a cold shiver down my spine.
Francesco.
The hay. His broken body. His cries. His curse.
The images collided with the present: Tomaso’s eager hand, the scent of barn dust, and the rustle of animals nearby. My desire twisted into something uneasy.
Still, I followed. Numbly. Willingly.
The barn was dark and thick with the stench of sweat, horses, and straw. Tomaso closed the door behind us, sealing us into shadows. He didn’t wait—he pulled me close, his mouth claiming mine with unrestrained hunger.
And just like that, the fire returned.
My body betrayed the memory of pain. It wanted the now—the way he touched me, the pressure of his hands, the way his desire pulsed against me. My core grew wet, aching for more.
“I’m going to fuck you,” he growled, lips brushing mine. “Hard.”
“Yes,” I gasped. “Please—”
And then he was inside me, slamming me against the cold stone wall of Pietro Costa’s barn. Our moans tangled with the quiet nickering of the horses, bodies moving in a frantic rhythm.
It was rough and beautiful.
We climbed higher, closer to that edge—
And then—
A shadow appeared. And a scream trapped in my throat.
A woman stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by moonlight.
Before I could speak, she moved.
A dagger gleamed. And in one swift motion, she plunged it deep into Tomaso’s back.
He arched. Stiffened. A strangled cry escaped his lips.
And then—nothing.
I screamed, the sound piercing, but she was already gone—vanished into the night like smoke from a dying fire.
Tomaso collapsed, his body splaying across the hay-strewn floor. His once-vibrant eyes were wide, glassy, and empty. Blood spread around him in thick, vivid crimson, soaking the golden straw until it looked like fire.
My body shook as I knelt beside him.
His lips didn’t move. His chest didn’t rise.
He was gone.
Francesco’s voice echoed in my mind, sharp as the blade that had just ended Tomaso’s life—
Your lies will never go unpunished.
Was this the curse?
Was this retribution?
The blood on my hands… had finally found its way back to me.
I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t breathe.
The warmth of his blood soaked into the hay beneath my knees, mingling with the scent of earth and fear.
Around me, the barn erupted in chaos. Shouts rang out. Women screamed. Footsteps pounded against stone and straw as people flooded inside, drawn by the horror. Voices blurred together—panicked, disbelieving.
Some tried to reach for me, to offer words or comfort. I barely noticed.
I was drowning in the silence between Tomaso’s last breath and the moment my heart cracked open.
Someone—an older woman with gentle hands—wrapped a blanket around my bare body. She draped it over my shoulders and guided me outside, her arm cradling my frame like a mother sheltering a wounded child.
But no comfort could reach me.
The night air hit my skin like ice. Moonlight poured over the courtyard in silver streaks, too beautiful for a night so stained in blood.
I needed answers. I needed to understand.
Why?
Why would someone do this?
Why him?
The questions screamed through my mind louder than the voices around me. Grief surged like a tide, but beneath it, something hotter and darker rose.
Vengeance.
I pushed past the gathering crowd, ignoring the hands trying to hold me back and the pleas for me to rest and breathe. My feet hit the cobblestone with wild purpose, the blanket billowing behind me like wings torn from an angel.
Tears streamed down my face, but my jaw had set with steel.
Whoever had done this would pay.
The hunt for justice had begun.
And I would stop at nothing to deliver it.