Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Antonella
Bruno lies beneath me on the bed.
I push myself up on my hands and look down at him.
God.
His chest is broad. Sculpted. The kind of muscles that come from years of discipline, not vanity. His shoulders are wide enough to block out the world. His arms are thick.
The scars don't diminish him. They add to him. Battle marks on a warrior's body.
I want to trace every line of muscle with my tongue.
I want to climb on top of him and never get off.
I drag my gaze down his chest to his stomach. The ridges of his abs. The V of muscle.
His cock is still hard. Straining against his open pants.
I want him inside me.
I've never wanted anything this badly in my life.
I hover over him. My knees on either side of his hips. My hands planted on the mattress beside his head.
His eyes burn up at me.
I lower my mouth to his.
The kiss starts slow. Soft. His lips move against mine with a gentleness that surprises me. His hand comes up to cup the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair.
Then his tongue slides against mine.
The gentleness disappears.
He kisses me like he's starving. Like I'm the only thing that can save him. His other hand grips my hip, pulling me down against him.
I gasp into his mouth.
The hard length of him presses against my center.
I pull back. My breathing is ragged. My heart pounds against my ribs.
"Wait." I sit up, straddling his thighs. "Do you have a condom?"
Bruno's jaw tightens.
His hand wraps around my wrist. He pulls me down until my chest presses against his. Until our faces are inches apart.
"I'm clean," he says. "I've been tested. Multiple times."
"Bruno—"
"You're clean too." His eyes hold mine. "I had you checked when you arrived at the compound."
I should be angry about that. About him having me tested without my knowledge or consent.
I'm not.
"Condoms," Bruno continues, his voice dropping lower, "are the only thing that won't be inside you while I'm fucking you."
Heat floods through me.
My core clenches.
"Okay," I whisper.
His grip on my wrist loosens. His hand slides up my arm, over my shoulder, down my spine.
"Now," he says. "It's time to see you fuck yourself like the good girl you are."
Oh God.
I push myself up. My hands shake as I reach for his pants, tugging them down his hips. He lifts slightly to help me, and I pull them off completely.
He's naked now.
All of him.
His cock stands thick and hard against his stomach.
I wrap my hand around him. He's hot. Velvet over steel.
Bruno groans.
I lean down.
My tongue slides along the length of him. Base to tip. Slow. Wet.
"Fuck." His hips jerk. His hand fists in my hair. "Antonella—"
I take the head of him into my mouth. Swirl my tongue around it. Coat him with saliva until he's slick and glistening.
He moans.
The sound is raw. Desperate.
I've never heard anything so beautiful.
I release him with a soft pop. Look up at his face.
His chest heaves with each breath.
"Get on my cock," he says. "Now."
I position myself over him. My knees on either side of his hips. The tip of him pressing against my entrance.
I'm wet. Dripping. Ready.
I lower myself slowly.
The stretch is intense. He's big. Bigger than I realized. My body resists for a moment, then opens for him.
Inch by inch, I take him inside me.
Bruno's hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise.
"That's it," he says through gritted teeth. "Take all of me. Every fucking inch."
I sink down until he's fully seated inside me.
I can't breathe.
He fills me completely. Stretches me in ways I didn't know I could stretch. I feel him everywhere—pressing against places no one has ever reached.
"Bruno," I gasp.
"I know." His voice is strained. "I know, baby. Give yourself a moment."
I don't move. I just sit there, impaled on him, trying to remember how to breathe.
His hands slide up my sides. Over my ribs. He cups my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples.
I shudder.
"You feel incredible," he says. "So tight. So wet. Like you were made for my cock."
I roll my hips experimentally.
We both moan.
Bruno
She rolls her hips again.
My vision blurs.
Fuck.
I've been with women before. Plenty of them. But nothing—nothing—has ever felt like this.
She's so tight around me. So wet. Her walls grip my cock like she was designed specifically for me. Like her body was built to take mine.
I force my eyes to stay open.
I need to see her.
Antonella sits on top of me, her blonde hair falling around her shoulders in messy waves. Her skin is flushed pink. Her lips are swollen from my kisses. Her green eyes are half-closed, glazed with pleasure.
She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
Her breasts are perfect. Full and round, nipples hard and pink. They bounce slightly as she adjusts her position, and my mouth waters.
I want to taste them again.
I want to taste every inch of her.
"Move," I tell her. My voice comes out rough. Desperate. "Ride me."
She plants her hands on my chest. Her fingers dig into my muscles.
Then she lifts her hips.
Slowly. So fucking slowly.
She rises until only the tip of me remains inside her. Then she sinks back down.
We both groan.
"Faster," I command.
She obeys.
Her hips find a rhythm. Up and down. Up and down. Each movement sends shockwaves through my entire body.
I watch her.
I can't look away.
Her breasts bounce with every thrust. Up and down. Up and down. The motion is hypnotic. I reach up and cup them, feeling their weight in my palms. Her nipples press against my skin.
"That's it," I say. "Just like that. Fuck yourself on my cock."
She moans.
The sound goes straight to my balls.
"You're so tight," I tell her. "So fucking tight. Your pussy is strangling my cock."
Her rhythm falters for a moment. Then she picks it up again. Faster now.
"Bruno—"
"I can feel every inch of you," I continue. "Every time you move, your walls squeeze me. Like you're trying to milk me dry."
She whimpers.
Her pace increases.
The bed creaks beneath us. The headboard taps against the wall. The sounds mix with our heavy breathing, with the wet slap of skin against skin.
"Look at you," I say. "Riding me like you were born for it. Like my cock is the only thing you've ever wanted."
"It is," she gasps. "Right now—it is—"
"Louder."
She doesn't hesitate.
"Bruno!" She throws her head back. Her voice echoes off the walls. "Oh God—Bruno—"
"That's right. Let them hear you. Let everyone in this fucking compound know who's making you scream."
She screams.
Not a moan. Not a whimper. A full, throaty scream that reverberates through the room.
My cock throbs inside her.
Christ.
I don't care if Pietro hears. I don't care if Valentino hears. I don't care if the entire fucking household lines up outside my door.
Let them listen.
Let them know she's mine.
Her hips move faster. Harder. She's found her rhythm now, and she's chasing something. I can see it in her face. The way her brow furrows. The way her lips part.
She's close.
I grip her hips tighter. My fingers dig into her flesh. I'll leave bruises. I don't care.
"Don't stop," I tell her. "Keep moving. Take what you need."
"Bruno—" Her voice is strained. Panicked. "Something's—I feel—we need to stop—"
I know what she's feeling.
"Don't stop," I repeat. My grip on her hips turns bruising. "Keep moving. Don't you dare fucking stop."
"But—"
"Trust me."
She does.
Her hips keep moving. Faster. Harder. Her walls clench around me so tight I can barely breathe.
"Bruno—Bruno—I can't—"
"Yes you can. Let go. Give it to me."
She screams again.
Her whole body convulses.
And then—
Fuck.
She squirts.
It hits my stomach first. Hot and wet. Then she shifts, and it sprays higher. Across my chest. My neck.
My face.
I open my mouth.
I taste her.
Sweet. Musky. Perfect.
She's still screaming. Still shaking. Her walls pulse around my cock in waves, squeezing me so hard I see stars.
"That's it," I growl. "That's my good girl. Give me all of it."
She does.
It keeps coming. Soaking me. Soaking the sheets beneath us. Her thighs tremble against my hips. Her hands slip on my wet chest.
I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life.
My balls tighten.
The pressure at the base of my spine builds to a breaking point.
"Antonella—" My voice is wrecked. "I'm going to come. Lift up."
She's still shaking. Still lost in her orgasm. But she hears me.
She lifts her hips.
My cock slides out of her.
I wrap my hand around myself. One stroke. Two.
I explode.
Hot ropes of cum shoot across my stomach. My chest. Some of it lands on her thighs where she hovers above me.
I groan her name.
The release tears through me like lightning. Every muscle in my body locks up. My back arches off the bed.
For a moment, I can't see. Can't hear. Can't think.
There's only this.
Only her.
Only the pleasure ripping me apart and putting me back together.
When it finally ends, I collapse against the mattress.
My chest heaves.
My heart pounds.
Antonella sways above me. Her eyes are unfocused. Her body still trembles with aftershocks.
She's covered in me.
I'm covered in her.
We're both a mess.
I've never felt more alive.
Antonella
My legs shake as I try to move. Every muscle in my body feels like water. I need to get up. I need to clean this mess.
I look down at myself, at Bruno, at the sheets beneath us. Wet. Everything is wet. My thighs glisten. His stomach and chest are covered. The sheets are soaked through in a spreading circle.
What the hell just happened to me?
I've had orgasms before. Quick, quiet things I barely acknowledged. Nothing like this. Nothing that felt like my entire body was being turned inside out. Nothing that made me lose control so completely.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, still trembling. My feet hit the floor and my knees nearly buckle. I grab the nightstand to steady myself.
"Where are you going?" Bruno's voice is rough, satisfied.
"I need to—" I gesture vaguely at the disaster zone that is his bed. "Clean this. Get a towel. Something."
I take a step and my legs wobble again. I catch myself on the dresser, breathing hard. My heart still pounds against my ribs. My skin feels too sensitive, like every nerve ending is exposed.
I turn back to look at Bruno. He's propped up on his elbows, watching me with dark eyes. His chest rises and falls steadily. He looks relaxed in a way I've never seen him.
He also looks thoroughly wrecked. Covered in me.
"Bruno." I press my hand against my chest, trying to slow my breathing. "What was that?"
He tilts his head. "What was what?"
"That." I wave my hand at the bed, at myself, at the evidence of whatever just happened. "I didn't—I've never—" I can't find the words. My face burns. "That much. I didn't know that could happen."
Understanding dawns in his expression. The corner of his mouth curves up.
"You squirted."
I stare at him. "I what?"
"Squirted." He says it like it's the most normal thing in the world. "Some women do when they orgasm. Not all. But some."
I look down at my thighs again. At the wet sheets. At the sheer volume of liquid that apparently came out of my body.
"I didn't know that was real." My voice sounds distant to my own ears. "I thought that was just—I don't know. Something people made up. For movies."
Bruno laughs.
"It's real." He reaches for me. "Come here."
"I need to clean up first. The sheets are—"
"I don't care about the sheets."
"Bruno, it's everywhere."
"I know." His eyes darken. "I watched it happen. I felt it. I tasted it." He reaches for me again. "Come here, Antonella."
The way he says my name makes my stomach flip. I should be embarrassed. I should be mortified that I lost control so completely, that I made such a mess, that I screamed loud enough for the entire compound to hear.
But the way Bruno is looking at me doesn't leave room for embarrassment. He's looking at me like I'm something precious. Something he wants to keep.
I take a shaky step toward the bed. Then another. My legs still feel unreliable, but they hold.
Bruno shifts on the mattress, making room. He pats the space beside him.
"Lay down."
"The sheets are wet."
"I don't care."
"I'm wet."
"I know." His voice drops lower. "I like it."
I climb back onto the bed, avoiding the worst of the wet spot. Bruno pulls me against his side immediately, tucking me under his arm. My head rests on his chest. His skin is warm and damp with sweat.
We're both still covered in the evidence of what just happened. I should feel gross. I should want a shower. Instead, I feel boneless and satisfied and strangely content.
Bruno's hand strokes down my spine. Slow, gentle movements that make my eyes heavy.
"I didn't know," I say again, quieter this time. "That my body could do that."
"Neither did I." His chest rumbles under my ear. "Not until I watched it happen."
I lift my head to look at him. "You've never—with anyone else?"
"No." His jaw tightens slightly. "I've been with women who claimed they could. Who tried. But I never saw it happen. Never felt it." His hand tightens on my hip. "Until you."
"It felt like I was dying," I admit. "In a good way. Like everything inside me was building and building and I couldn't stop it even if I wanted to."
"You tried to stop."
"I was scared." I trace a scar on his chest with my fingertip. "It felt too big. Too much."
"But you didn't stop."
"You told me to trust you."
"And you did?"
"Yes." I press my palm flat against his chest, feeling his heartbeat. "I did."
Bruno doesn't say anything for a long moment. His hand resumes its slow path down my spine. Up and down. Soothing.
"I don't deserve that," he says finally. "Your trust."
"Maybe not." I close my eyes. "But you have it anyway."
His arm tightens around me. He presses his lips to the top of my head.
We lay there in silence, tangled together on his ruined sheets. My body still hums with the aftershocks of what happened. My mind feels quiet for the first time in weeks.
I just want to lay here. With him. In the mess we made together.