Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Bruno
Three days.
Three days of silence. Three days of locked doors. Three days of Antonella refusing to look at me, speak to me, acknowledge I exist.
I sit in my wheelchair outside her bedroom door. Again. Like I have every night since the coffee shop.
Liam delivered his report this morning. Oliver is twenty-one years old. Assistant manager at The Langham hotel downtown. Known Antonella since third grade. No criminal record. No connections to rival families. No threat whatsoever.
Just her best friend.
If she had mentioned him. If she had said one word about meeting a childhood friend, none of this would have happened. But she didn't. She left the compound without telling me who she was seeing, and I found out from Carlo that she was embracing some man in a coffee shop.
What was I supposed to think?
I stare at her door. The wood grain. The brass handle. The silence on the other side.
She's been taking meals in her room. Giulia brings them. Antonella thanks her politely, closes the door, and doesn't come out. She hasn't attended a single family dinner. Hasn't spoken to anyone except Kristen, who visited yesterday and shot me a look that could have stripped paint.
My mother left for Sicily this morning. Before she went, she pulled me aside and told me I was an idiot and I was destroying it with my jealousy and control.
Jealousy.
Is that what this is?
I press my palm against her door. The wood is cool under my hand.
I should apologize. I know I should apologize. But the words stick in my throat like broken glass. I've never apologized for anything in my life. Sartoris don't apologize. We act. We take. We control.
Except I can't control this. I can't control her.
And that terrifies me more than anything.
I shouldn't do this. I know I shouldn't do this.
I do it anyway.
I grab the handle. The door swings open.
Antonella is asleep.
She's lying on her side, facing away from the door. Her blonde hair spills across the pillow. She's wearing those shorts again. The ones that barely cover anything. And a hoodie that's ridden up in her sleep, exposing the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine.
I wheel closer. Quiet. Careful.
She shifts in her sleep. The hoodie rides higher.
I stop breathing.
The fabric has bunched up around her ribs. She's not wearing anything underneath. I can see the side of her breast. The soft curve. The shadow of her nipple.
Fuck.
My body responds before my mind can catch up. Blood rushes south. My cock hardens against my will, straining against my pants.
I can't want her. I told her the kiss was a mistake. I told her she should leave. I told her this marriage is just a transaction.
But my body doesn't care about what I told her.
I grip the armrests of my wheelchair.
My hand drops to my lap. Presses against the bulge in my pants. The pressure sends a jolt through me.
I palm myself through the fabric. My breath catches. My hips shift involuntarily.
This is wrong. She's asleep. She doesn't know I'm here. She doesn't know I'm—
Her eyes open.
Green. Bright. Alert.
She's awake. She's been awake.
I freeze. My hand is still on my cock. There's no hiding what I was doing. No explaining it away.
"Antonella—"
She doesn't scream. Doesn't yell at me to get out. Doesn't reach for something to throw at my head.
Instead, she rolls onto her back. The hoodie shifts. I can see both breasts now. Full. Perfect. Her nipples hard.
She watches me. Her eyes drop to my hand. To the obvious bulge beneath it.
"Come closer," she says.
Her voice is husky. Thick with sleep and something else.
I don't move. Can't move. My brain has short-circuited.
"Bruno." She says my name like a command. "Come closer."
I wheel forward. One rotation. Two. Until I'm beside the bed.
She holds my gaze as her hand slides down her stomach. Over the waistband of her shorts. Inside.
My cock throbs.
"You want to watch?" she asks. "Then watch."
Her hand moves beneath the fabric. I can see the outline of her fingers. The rhythm she sets.
"Antonella—"
"You broke into my room." Her breath hitches. "You watched me sleep. You touched yourself while looking at me." Her back arches slightly. "The least you can do is finish what you started."
I should leave. I should apologize and leave and never speak of this again.
Instead, I unzip my pants.
Antonella
I watch his hand disappear inside. Watch his jaw clench. Watch his eyes stay locked on mine as he pulls himself free.
Oh.
He's big. Thick. The kind of big that makes my thighs clench together instinctively. The head is flushed dark, already glistening. His hand wraps around the shaft, and his fingers don't quite meet.
I've seen men before. Touched them. But nothing like this.
My hand moves faster inside my shorts. I'm already soaked. Have been since I heard the door open. Since I felt him watching me in the dark.
I knew he was there. Knew he was looking. And instead of fear or anger, heat pooled between my legs.
What does that make me?
Bruno strokes himself slowly. His eyes drop to where my hand disappears beneath fabric. His nostrils flare.
"Take them off," he says. His voice is gravel. Broken glass.
I pull my hand free. Hook my thumbs in the waistband. Lift my hips and slide the shorts down my legs. Kick them off the edge of the bed.
I'm bare now. Completely exposed.
Bruno's hand stops moving.
I open my legs.
Wide. Shameless. Letting him see everything.
I'm dripping. I can feel it sliding down, pooling beneath me on the sheets.
Bruno groans.
The sound comes from somewhere deep in his chest. Animal. Desperate. His hand tightens on his cock.
"Touch me," I say.
He doesn't move.
"Bruno." I spread my legs wider. "Touch me."
Something breaks behind his eyes.
He wheels closer. So close the footrests of his wheelchair press against the bed. His hands release his cock and grab my ankles instead.
I gasp.
His grip is iron. Unbreakable. He pulls me toward him in one sharp motion, dragging me across the sheets until my ass is at the edge of the bed.
"Bruno—"
He lifts my legs. Places them on his shoulders. My calves rest against the hard muscle there, my heels digging into his back.
I'm completely open to him now. Spread wide. Vulnerable.
He looks down at me. At the wet mess between my thighs. His jaw works.
"You're soaked," he says.
I don't have time to respond.
His mouth descends.
The first touch of his tongue makes me cry out. Hot. Wet. Dragging through my folds in one long stroke from entrance to clit.
My back arches off the bed. My hands fist in the sheets.
"Oh god—"
He doesn't ease into it. Doesn't tease. He devours me like a man starving. His tongue pushes inside me, then withdraws to circle my clit. Over and over. Relentless.
One of his hands slides up my body. Finds my breast. His fingers close around my nipple and squeeze.
I moan. Loud. Too loud.
His other hand grips my ass. Pulls me harder against his mouth. His fingers dig into the flesh, holding me exactly where he wants me.
I can't think. Can't breathe. Can only feel.
His tongue flicks against my clit. Fast. Precise. His hand kneads my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers until it aches. His other hand squeezes my ass, spreading me wider for his mouth.
"Bruno—" His name comes out broken. "Bruno, please—"
He growls against my pussy. The vibration shoots through me.
I'm going to come. Already. Too fast. But I can't stop it. Can't slow down the wave building inside me.
His tongue circles my clit one more time. His fingers pinch my nipple hard.
I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me. My thighs clamp around his head. My hands tear at the sheets. I'm screaming.
He doesn't stop.
His tongue keeps moving. Slower now. Gentler. Lapping at me as I come down. Drawing out every last tremor.
When I finally go limp, he pulls back.
I'm panting. Shaking. My legs slide off his shoulders and fall open on either side of his wheelchair.
Bruno looks at me. His mouth is wet.
Bruno
She's shaking. Her legs fall open on either side of my wheelchair, and I can see everything. The wet mess I made of her. The way her pussy still clenches around nothing.
My cock throbs. Painfully hard. I haven't come. Haven't touched myself since I put my mouth on her.
Antonella moves.
She rolls off the bed. Her legs are unsteady, but she doesn't fall. She drops to her knees in front of my wheelchair.
She looks up at me. Green eyes dark. Lips swollen. Hair a mess from thrashing against the pillows.
I know exactly what she wants.
"Antonella—"
She doesn't let me finish. She shuffles closer on her knees, positioning herself between my legs. Her hands land on my thighs. Slide upward.
I should stop her. Should tell her she doesn't have to do this. That what I did was for her, not for me. That I don't expect anything in return.
But the words die in my throat when her fingers wrap around my cock.
Fuck.
Her hand is small. Soft. Her grip is firm but not tight. She strokes once, base to tip, and my hips jerk.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to," she says.
She leans forward. Opens her mouth. Sticks out her tongue.
The first touch of wet heat against my cock makes me groan. She licks the underside. Slow. From base to tip, tracing the thick vein that runs along the shaft.
My hands grip the armrests of my wheelchair. The leather creaks under my fingers.
She reaches the head. Swirls her tongue around it. Laps at the precum leaking from the slit.
"Antonella." Her name comes out strangled.
She looks up at me. Holds my gaze. Then opens her mouth wide and takes me inside.
Hot. Wet. Tight.
Her lips stretch around me. She takes me deeper. Inch by inch. Until I hit the back of her throat.
She gags.
The sound shoots straight to my balls. Her throat convulses around my cock, squeezing, and I see stars.
She pulls back. Gasps for air. Saliva drips down her chin.
Then she does it again.
Takes me deep. Gags. Pulls back. Over and over. Her hand works the base where her mouth can't reach. Her other hand cups my balls, rolling them gently.
I'm going to lose my mind.
My hand moves without permission. Buries itself in her hair. Fists the strands.
She moans around my cock.
I pull. Not hard. Just enough to tilt her head back. To make her look at me with those green eyes while my cock fills her mouth.
"How much can you take?" I ask.
She doesn't answer. Can't answer. Instead, she relaxes her throat and pushes forward.
Deeper.
Deeper.
Until her nose presses against my stomach.
Holy fuck.
Tears stream down her cheeks. Her throat spasms around me. She's gagging, choking, but she doesn't pull back. Doesn't tap out.
She holds.
One second. Two. Three.
Then she pulls off with a wet gasp.
She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"Again," I say.
She obeys.
Takes me deep. Holds. Gags. Cries. Pulls back. Breathes. Does it again.
I'm fucking her throat now. Using my grip on her hair to guide her. To set the pace. She lets me. Takes everything I give her.
The pressure builds at the base of my spine. My balls tighten.
"I'm close," I warn her.
She doesn't slow down. If anything, she moves faster. Sucks harder. Her hand twists on the upstroke.
"Antonella—" My voice breaks. "Where do you want it?"
She pulls off just long enough to answer.
"Inside," she says. Her voice is wrecked. Hoarse from taking my cock. "Inside my mouth."
Something shatters inside me.
I pull her back down. She takes me deep one more time. Her throat convulses around my cock.
I come.
Hard. Harder than I've come in years. Maybe ever. My vision whites out. My whole body shakes. I'm pouring down her throat, and she's swallowing. Taking every drop.
When I finally stop, she pulls back slowly. My cock slides from her lips with a wet pop.
She looks up at me. Opens her mouth. Shows me her tongue.
Clean. She swallowed everything.
Then she licks her lips.
Like she's savoring the taste.
I can't breathe. Can't think. Can only stare at this woman kneeling between my legs, lips swollen and wet, looking at me.
She's so fucking hot.