Chapter 69 #2
My knee comes off the bed, almost in a dare.
His arm shoots out, and he captures my wrist before I can go any further.
He yanks me forward. I drop onto the bed.
He rolls above me, pinning me beneath his weight, pushing one knee and then the other between mine.
My wrists are captured in one hand and planted on the bed above my head.
He slides his nose up my cheek and into my temple.
His lips follow, delivering a chaste kiss.
I swear Dante’s temple kisses are my undoing, so sweet and tender; and at odds with the way he’s holding me, pinning me to the bed.
A savage lurks beneath the surface of his civilized facade. Some men are just primal. Instinctive.
He knows I crave this. Domination . I ought to hate it, shouldn’t I? Wouldn’t that be normal after what has happened to me?
I groan. All he’s doing is pressing his lips to my damn temple.
“Such a filthy girl,” he says. “Are you sore from last night?”
My breath hitches. “A little.”
He slides his lips across to my forehead and kisses me there. “Well, that’s understandable. But I need you, and you’ll take it, won’t you, Carmela? Because you don’t care, even if you’re a little sore. You need me inside you as much as I need to be inside you. Need me to fill that empty place.”
I try to twist away, but he captures my chin between his fingers and thumb and holds me still. I glare up at him. His expression is perfectly neutral. And then he pinches a little. My lips part, and his mouth covers mine.
I give up all pretenses that I don’t want this. My body knows I do, even if my mind wants to deny it. This inner conflict I suffer only acts as an amplifier for the inferno that sweeps through my blood.
I’m hot for him. Panting. My clothing is an annoyance that I wish was out of the way.
He’s right. I need him. I need him so impossibly, so perfectly, and with such startling clarity, it robs me of breath and thought.
He pauses the kiss long enough to peel my top over my head, then holds my wrists in his hands again. I hair a faint whoosh as it lands somewhere in the room. His lips blaze a path down my throat, over my collarbone until they can enclose the stiff peak of my nipple.
He sucks. My back arches. Pleasure shoots straight to my core, making me mindless, restless, and desperate. He moves to the other side, obliterating the last of my resistance.
God, I should hate this, shouldn’t I? The way he runs roughshod over my desire for space. His possession is all-consuming. Yet where else would I be? What else do I need but him?
The feeling of him against me is heaven. The look in his eyes holds both ownership and adoration. He might well be the devil himself wrapped up in a beautiful disguise come to deliver me into sin.
His lips return to my throat, sucking lightly against the skin.
He leans up onto one forearm, grasps the waist of my sleep shorts and panties, and peels them all the way off.
Then he is back on top of me now with nothing between us, our bodies moving against one another, his lips, once more, against my throat as his fingers find my slick pussy and push straight up inside me.
A moan slips from my parted lips.
He grins. “You’re soaking, baby. Is this for me?”
Why is he even asking when he knows it is?
He rocks back onto his heels, dragging my wrists forward, placing my hands on my belly. And then he drops down, and his mouth is on my pussy. He growls and groans over me, kissing me, licking me. It’s almost like he’s feverish for the taste. The sensations are glorious and intense.
“This is my fucking pussy,” he says. “Tell me it’s mine.”
I shake my head. He moves his tongue up to my clit and flicks it before he closes his lips around it and sucks.
So close, so fast.
I’m about to fly away, barely clinging to the last thread that’s anchoring me to the ground.
“Tell me, Carmela.”
The thread holding me down stretches taut. I feel my pulse beating in my throat and the echoing pulse of arousal as my pussy clenches fruitlessly around nothing.
Why am I fighting this?
“Yes! It’s yours.”
“You’re damn right it’s mine.” And then he closes his lips over me again and sucks.
A wave of pure, undiluted bliss slams into me so hard that light sparks across the back of my closed eyelids.
He surges upward. I blink my eyes open. His lips are glistening where they’ve been on me and as he pulls in each harsh breath, his eyes gleam darkly.
He’s not hiding himself today. He’s not pretending to be anything but what he is. And then he rocks his hips forward and his cock plunges into me.
I’ve just come. I’m tight and sensitive. It hurts a little, but, oh, it hurts so good.
“Whose pussy is this?” he growls.
The thread that once connected me to the ground is gone, obliterated, snapped, broken irrevocably.
I’m floating. Now, the only thing holding me to this earthly world is Dante and the devastation he brings as he pumps into me: slow, deliberate thrusts that make our bodies slap together and pleasure spark.
Each one remakes me and connects me more deeply to him.
He was right. I crave this; I crave them. Without him and Christian, I’m nothing but wreckage.
His fingers close around my throat. His lips are beside my ear. “I want to breed you, Carmela. I think about it all the time.”
A sob escapes me. My pussy clamps down tightly over his thrusting cock.
“You like the sound of that, baby? Like the sound of carrying my child?”
I do. God, I do. I’ve thought about it so many times.
“Maybe I will,” he says, tone implacable. “Maybe I’ll fill you all up, shoot my cum right where it needs to be.”
He hooks his arms around my legs and bends me nearly in two and then he fucks me. Hard, brutal thrusts. And all I can think about is him breeding me.
Breed? The very word is animalistic. What man would say a thing like that? It’s not like he can, when I’m still on birth control.
Except it’s not fail-safe, is it?
And he doesn’t know I’m taking it. Maybe he thinks I can get pregnant.
The thought is like a detonation going off inside my womb.
“Oh God!” I come. This time, it sideswipes me. His fingers apply pressure to my throat, and I’m floating, nothing but a vessel that has lost all connection to the world, beyond my desire for him.
His neck arches, and he growls. His cock feels like it grows thicker and longer, sinking more deeply into me. He’s so hard that it hurts, and then he stills, and a hot flood fills me.
We’re both panting. Looking up through bleary eyes, I find him staring down at me.
His lips tug up in a lazy smirk. I guess he got off on the thought of breeding me as much as I did.
He winks, slides out abruptly, and with what seems to be ungentlemanly haste, rolls off me. I’m barely beginning to process what feels like a dismissal, when another man steps into view.
Christian. He’s naked and his cock is hard and bobbing.
“My turn.” He bites his lower lip as he closes in. “My turn to breed the good girl.”
“Have at it,” Dante says, dropping down next to me.
Christian climbs onto the bed and slides on top of me. His lips cover mine; the kiss is hungry and full of a fire that reminds me of our hate fucks.
Do I miss them? Is that possible?
Maybe I do. This bitter anger I taste on his lips may be the medicine I need.
He pushes straight into me. I feel hot and swollen down there, and feel every glorious inch of him.
“You feel fucking amazing,” he says. “You get hotter and tighter after he’s just come inside you. It feels so fucking good. I can’t get enough of it.”
I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t want them .
Dante anchored me to him a moment ago. Now Christian takes that same thread, wraps it around his fist, and tugs.
And I’m immediately connected to him with the same desperate need.
It’s inevitable, inescapable, the feel of him inside me, moving, reigniting the pleasure that has barely tempered.
He nips at my throat and then sucks sharply against it. “Did you forget you were mine, too?”
How could I ever forget that? He bound me first. I couldn’t shake that now if I wanted to.
“Tell me you’re mine.”
No hesitation. “I’m yours.”
“Forever.”
“Yes, forever.”
He’s moving inside me—in out, in out. I’m so wet. Drenched down there. My cum, Dante’s cum. Christian just slides in and out so easily. Everything is swollen and fluttering and throbbing and pulsing. My skin feels impossibly sensitive.
My fingers sink into his hair. His lips seek and find mine. Our kiss is full of anger and oblivion, bitterness and regret.
Hope and renewal.
“I bled for you. I’d do it again: all day, any day.”
I don’t deserve him. I’m not worthy. Despite my many times standing before the mirror where I tell myself that I am, I still don’t believe it deep down inside. But, at moments like this—with them—I don’t care anymore.
I don’t care anymore. If all I have is this pleasure, this sublime sensation of connection, then I’ll take it.
“Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours, Christian. You know I am.”
“You’re damn right you are.”
He’s not like Dante. Dante can sometimes mask the savage that lurks beneath his skin. Christian doesn’t try to pretend he’s anything else. He is utterly unashamed.
He has saved me so many times.
If he needed him to, I know he would save me again.
Do I believe in myself? Maybe not quite yet, but I’m getting there. It’s time to pay forward my trust. To believe in their love for me. And if I belong to them, if they demand this, they’d best understand that they, likewise, belong to me.
CHRISTIAN
We tag team her.
It’s not a very civilized approach to claiming a woman who’s having some commitment issues, yet here we are.
Dante can’t let her go, and neither can I. She’s scared. We need to be strong for her and protect our woman, even from herself, by whatever means we must.
It’s fucking hot. I swear she goes into a kind of heat. The more we fuck her, the more she wants.