Chapter 17 #2
I stare at him, heart beating so rapidly, so loudly. His touch on my wrist is scalding. I want to throw myself at him. To feel his mouth on mine. But that’s stupid. My hormones talking, along with the severe case of Stockholm syndrome I’m clearly not over just yet.
“What do you want? It’s late, and we should both get some rest.”
“What about you?” His eyes blaze into mine, the same way his muscled body radiates heat. “Is rest what you want, cara?”
No. Yes. No.
Definitely no.
I stare at him, not knowing what to say. It doesn’t help that he’s naked and I’m in my bra and panties, that he’s close enough to lick, or that his body looks like it was chiseled by a master sculptor. Not to mention the heat rolling off him, the dominant, barely leashed strength.
Thankfully, I don’t have to answer.
“Cazzo, that’s what I thought,” he growls, pulling me into him.
The breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh. My breasts are flattened against his chest, his rock-hard cock bare and pressing into my belly. Our lips are a millisecond apart. I want him so badly, I can taste it. It’s a need, boiling in my blood, spreading through me like poison.
I don’t know which one of us makes the final move, but somehow, our mouths collide. He didn’t kiss me at the ceremony when we got married. Not on the lips anyway, just a quick peck on the cheek that left me longing for more, even though I knew I shouldn’t.
But this.
This kiss is everything I didn’t know I wanted. His mouth is hot and demanding. He cups my nape with one hand while the other goes to my ass, fingers digging in to hold me tight. His tongue lashes mine as he deepens the kiss, and I wrap my arms around his neck, clinging to him just as desperately.
He devours me, kissing me like I’m the next hit he needs, groaning into my mouth.
Then he bites my lower lip and wraps my hair around his fist, pulling with a firm insistence that has me gasping and dropping my head back to give him what he demands.
His lips are on my throat, delivering hot, openmouthed kisses that make a rush of heat flood my pussy.
I’m so wet I can feel it practically dripping down my thigh.
He kisses lower, finding the lacy edge of my bra. When he grabs it in his teeth and yanks it down with an animalistic growl, my breast pops free, my nipple tight and pointed up to him like an offering. He takes it in his mouth, sucking hard.
It’s my turn to groan when he catches my nipple in his teeth and tugs. My clit pulses wildly. I don’t think I’ve ever needed to come this badly. It’s a bone-deep ache inside me.
He releases his grip on my ass to grab the other lacy bra demi cup and drag it down.
Then his mouth is on the aching tip, sucking so hard my knees almost give out.
The way he’s pulled down the bra leaves my breasts pushed up in an obscene display.
He takes his time, pinching and twisting one nipple while devouring the other.
My hands are on his shoulders, the heat of him electrifying. I can’t resist running my fingers through his hair. It’s still damp from his shower, thick and smooth. My eyes close, and he bites my nipple hard enough to sting.
But even that sends a surge of excitement through me, landing between my legs.
“Eyes open, cara. I don’t want you to pretend it’s anyone else who makes you come.”
I give in again, lashes fluttering open, and watch as he draws my nipple back into his mouth.
“You didn’t make me come,” I point out, not willing to entirely surrender.
He straightens and gives me a look that’s enough to set my panties on fire. “Not yet, but if you ask nicely, maybe I’ll even let you come twice.”
His smug arrogance makes me want to slap him and kiss him. It’s hot and maddening.
I release my hold on him and pull the lace of my bra over my swollen nipples. “I can make myself come as many times as I choose.”
I start to walk away from him, needing to put some distance between us.
A stinging swat on my butt stops me.
“No one is touching that pussy except for me.”
I whirl back to him. “I can touch myself whenever I want, however I want.”
His blue eyes smolder into mine, the intensity scorching. “Wrong, cara. Now that we’re married, it’s mine. I own you, body and soul.”
He takes a step toward me. He’s still naked, still hard, and I can’t keep my gaze from slipping from his to drink in the rest of him. His dick is massive. I think he’ll split me in two with that thing.
I take a step back. “You don’t own me, Andriani.”
“You’re my wife.” He prowls forward.
“By force. Not because I want to be.” I cross my arms over my chest, but that move backfires. It only pushes my breasts together like ripe offerings. “But my body, my rules.”
He comes closer, shaking his head slowly. “The only rules in this marriage are going to be the ones I make. Don’t worry, cara mia, you’ll like them. Now lie on the bed like a good girl, and I’ll prove just how much.”
What is wrong with me? I like this side of him, dark and possessive and dominant.
I want to do everything he asks. To get on my knees for him, to take his big cock in my mouth and suck him until he shoots down my throat.
My panties are already soaked, my lips still imprinted with the memory of his kisses, my nipples aching from the expert way he played with them.
As if he can read my mind—or maybe it’s just the direction of my stare—he strokes himself from base to tip. “Like what you see?”
Yes, even if I am a bit worried about his size. Even if everything about him sets off major red flags and alarm bells. Lorenzo Andriani is a beautiful man, and there’s no denying it. Judging from the smug expression on his handsome face, he knows it too.
He doesn’t stop until we’re pressed against each other again and there’s no place for me to go, the bed behind me keeping me from retreating any farther. “Looks pretty average to me,” I lie just to taunt him.
Fighting him turns me on. It has since the moment I woke up chained to a bed in his shitty little cabin. And now that we’re here like this, husband and wife, his naked body against mine, the lust burning through me is off the charts.
He grazes my panties with the backs of his fingers, and it takes all the willpower I have not to grind myself against him, seeking more.
“I think your pussy disagrees with you. Your panties are fucking soaked.”
Then he runs the head of his cock over my clit, up and down, exerting just enough pressure that I can’t stop the needy sound that rises from me. Can’t stop my hips from chasing his touch, can’t keep myself from loving the way the blunt head of his cock feels, working my clit through the damp lace.
I want more.
I grip his powerful forearms, careful to avoid the bandage on his wounded arm as I steady myself. “That doesn’t mean you can control me.”
Touching him proves a mistake, because it just makes me needier.
“Watch me, cara.” With a cruel smile, he drags himself faster, lower, alternating between strumming over my clit and teasing my entrance.
I don’t even realize his other hand has gone to the hooks on my bra until they’re undone and it pops open, leaving my breasts to spill free as the straps glide halfway down my arms. Then he sucks a nipple back into the hot recesses of his mouth.
“Scorpion,” I protest, but it’s breathless.
Annoyingly so. I’m already on the edge, this cat-and-mouse game we’ve been playing from the start an aphrodisiac every bit as potent as his touch.
He bites my nipple. “Lorenzo.”
“Ouch,” I protest, but the sting sends a jolt of lust arrowing through me.
I like it. I want him to be rough with me. To take what he wants. Is that the lemon drop talking, or has being with Lorenzo brought out a part of me I didn’t previously know existed?
“Say my name,” he demands, then moves to the other nipple as he continues using his big cock to torment me. “I’m not Scorpion when we’re in bed together. I’m Lorenzo.”
For a moment, I’m thrown back to Chiara.
I press my nails into his uninjured arm and try to angle myself away from him. “We’re not in bed.”
I don’t even know how he does it. One second, I’m on my feet and he’s edging me through my panties, and the next, I’m flat on my back on the bed.
“Problem solved,” he announces, then reaches for my bra, tugging it the rest of the way off.
“Hey,” I protest, reaching for it.
I’m too slow. He whips it over his shoulder and stands at the edge of the bed, fisting his cock. He’s as turned on as I am by this rough back-and-forth. There’s a bead of precum seeping from the slit on the head of his cock.
“Tell me you want this big cock in you, cara mia,” he commands, his voice gravel wrapped in velvet. “Tell me you want me to stretch your pretty pussy and fuck you so hard and so deep and so good that you forget your name.”
Damn.
I can feel a new rush of wetness seeping from me at his words. I want that. And I want to say it. To beg him. What’s wrong with me?
“But first,” he continues while I watch, mesmerized, as he keeps stroking that magnificent cock, “you’re going to take off those panties for me.
Then you’re going to spread your legs and beg me to lick you and suck on your clit.
” His thumb swirls over the tip, slicking precum across the ruddy skin and making it glisten.
“But you have to be a good little wife. I’m not going to let you come unless you beg me first.”
I could come from his words and nothing more at this point, but I still have my pride.
And I decide that two can play this game, so I cup my breasts and pinch my nipples, twisting and pulling.
“I don’t take orders, Andriani.”
A muscle tightens in his jaw, the only sign that I’ve pushed him too far. “You do now.”
But I don’t care, and neither does his dick, which is still rigid and leaking.
“Nope,” I tell him, popping the p for emphasis the same way he does as I release my right breast and slide my hand slowly down my stomach toward the elastic waistband of my panties. “And I don’t beg.”