Chapter 15
GIANA
I t’s a train wreck waiting to happen. His lips against mine.
I know if he kisses me, I’ll be done for. I’ll lose every ounce of strength and defiance I have, submit to the pull that’s tearing me into shreds.
If I want to survive this, survive him, I need to fight my need for him with everything I’ve got.
With superhuman effort, I pull back and shove against his chest, darting past him, my body wired and set alight. I stalk across the room, and when I turn to face him again, I almost scream, almost cry, but end up laughing because this man pushes me to the brink of insanity.
“There isn’t a bigger asshole than you in this entire goddamn world, Caelian.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“Stop playing these games.”
“Who said I’m playing?”
“I do. This does.” I sweep a hand around the private room, and then I glare. “I did what you asked. I came here, sent my men out, and now you’re…” I place a palm on my forehead, flushed and breathless, “and now you’re…doing this. Jesus.”
There’s a beat, a thickening to the tension in the room and I dart by him to the door, but he’s faster, blocking my way as he leans against it, folding his arms, his expression one of cockiness, but he watches me, hawk-like.
“You want to kiss me.”
I lift a brow. “You have a problem, Caelian.”
“You’re wet, aren’t you?”
I shake my head. “Stop.”
He moves in and wraps an arm around me, making all my senses go haywire.
“No,” I protest, but he only tightens his hold around my waist.
“That sounded like a moan.” His voice is liquid velvet, dark, seductive, and it flows through me.
I tip my head back, and he kisses my throat, right on my wild and pounding pulse point. “It sounded like a no.”
“It feels,” he says, sucking on the spot, “like a yes.”
“Sign the papers.”
“I changed my mind,” he breathes against the hollow below my throat, and I crane my neck as he moves back up, then bites, and my clit’s hit by a bolt of pure electric lust.
God, I can’t do this. Not with him.
I wiggle free and step back, gasping.
He lifts a brow. “You want me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t want you,” I murmur, but there’s zero conviction to it.
“Liar.” He reaches for me again, but I manage to dodge him this time.
“I’m not lying,” I say, my heart pounding.
“Prove it.”
“I don’t have to prove anything. The problem with you is you think you’re hot shit.”
“I am hot shit. Millions of women love me.”
“You don’t know that many women.”
“They don’t know it yet.”
Something in me snaps. “You are deluded, Caelian del Rossa. I’m going. I’ll have the papers redrawn, take you for everything you have.”
“Didn’t we sign some kind of prenup?—”
“Nope. That’s what happens when you force someone to marry you.”
“Huh. There’s a silver lining for you, then. And you thought I was cruel when I carried you to the altar. Seems I did you a fucking favor. There’s a pun in there somewhere.”
“You know what? I’m done. I’m leaving. I’m sure Aurelio will find a way to get me out of this sham of a marriage with you. Fuck knows, he’s desperate enough.” I take my shrug off the table, and he grabs my wrist.
“Don’t.” His voice is low now, raw, dangerous.
“Why? You want me to stick around so you can torture me some more?”
“It is my favorite pastime.”
“I hate you.”
“In our love language, that means you want me. You love me.” He pulls me close. “Can’t live without me.”
“We don’t have a love language.”
“I think we do.” His other hand is on my hip, and he’s gazing down, following the movement of his fingers as he trails a slow path up my side, the swell of my breast. “Your body is practically screaming in a language only I understand, with its own hot, sensual, sexy as fuck accent. I’m thinking French.”
“And it’s telling you to go fuck yourself.”
“Did that already. Just the other night. Almost suffocated myself with a pillow that still smells like you.” He leans close, lips brushing the shell of my ear just as he lightly circles my nipple. “I had cum all over my palm afterward.”
A gasp slips past my parted lips as a heatwave sweeps over me. The way I want him is complete madness. It’s irrational, insane, toxic as fuck, but it's also entirely inescapable.
My body betrays me, leaning into his touch, craving more from the man I’m desperate to leave.
“Please, Caelian. Let me go,” I whisper, and he lets go of my arm only to snake it around my waist, pulling me hard against him.
“Why would I do that when I want you so fucking badly I could set the world on fire?”
I swallow, and he traces a line of flaming flesh with the tip of his nose down the side of my neck, and back up.
“Why would I let you go, New York,” he whispers, “when you’re the woman I love?”
Time stops.
My heart halts in my chest.
My mind pauses.
We stare at each other as his words echo in the silent room, resonating with a severity far beyond their simplicity. And my entire world changes within an instant. Everything. Every last bit of it.
I react, because every action has a reaction. His action is a confession that echoes within me, and it births my reaction, which is as fierce as it is desperate.
As I raise my hand to strike him, he grabs it with a force that makes my bones ache.
With a swift movement, he twists my arm behind my back and pulls me flush against his body. His lips crash into mine, ravaging me with an intensity that steals my breath and leaves me gasping for air. The kiss is an explosion, the floodgates destroyed, and his arms are a steel trap around me, leaving no room for escape—not that I want to.
Not now.
Not while I’m losing control with the man who infuriates and excites me all at once. The man who provokes and tames me with a single touch. A single kiss. Losing control with him is the best kind of chaos, a maelstrom where I hope to find my ruin.
He lets go of my waist to grab my face as he devours me, his tongue claiming my mouth, my taste, my soul, my very essence while he walks me back until I hit the table.
I’m tugging at his belt, my fingers fumbling with the leather strap as I try to pull him even closer, and the second I manage to unbuckle it, he unzips his pants, still kissing me, and I reach for his cock, squeezing, loving the feel of his hard shaft in my palm.
“Jesus, fuck,” he curses, then kisses me again. Harder this time. More out of control.
I slide my hand down and cup his balls. A growl rips from his throat, and he tears his lips from mine only to bury his face in the crook of my neck.
His teeth scrape against my skin, his breath coming out hot and erratic on my flesh, and I wrap my fingers around his cock again.
“You’re gonna make me come like this, New York,” he rasps breathlessly, then abruptly pulls my hand away, spins me around, and shoves me down, face-first on the table. “I’ve waited too long for this. No way I’m coming when my dick isn’t inside you.”
He’s a savage as he pulls up my dress, and I dig my hands into the tablecloth.
“Caelian—”
“How much do you hate me now, huh?” He tears my underwear and shoves my legs wide. “Now that I’ve said it out loud. That I love you.”
“You can’t fathom how much I hate you,” I grit, pushing my hips toward him, this familiar game of push and pull, love and hate adding fuel to the ecstasy.
“Maybe I should say it again. Get you to hate me even more.”
“Don’t you dare.”
He runs a hand between my thighs, spreading my pussy lips. “Oh, I dare.”
With a forceful grip on my hair, he lifts me, and my body reflexively arches. He removes his hand from between my legs and quickly pushes two fingers into my mouth so I can taste myself.
“I love you, Giana Del Rossa,” he bites out, his voice a mix of lust and desire, and that potent flair of rage that twists my body into a thousand knots. “I fucking love you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
He removes his fingers from my mouth and shoves them inside my pussy, pushing as deep as they’ll go. And I come, fisting the tablecloth, my insides set alight.
“Oh, God,” I moan.
“Look at you, sneaking one in.” He doesn’t stop fingering me. “I don’t think you’ve ever been this wet, this…responsive. Is it because I’ve finally professed my undying love for you?”
“I hardly call what you said undying love,” I say between ragged breaths.
“Would you rather I said what I feel for you drives me fucking insane?” His thumb finds my clit. “That I would cut out the tongues of men who dare tell you you’re beautiful?”
My body starts to spasm again, but he pulls out his fingers, trapping me on that edge.
“Would you rather I said I’d bleed out anyone who tries to touch you, and have their blood pool around your feet while I fuck you?” He plunges into me, and I cry out, his cock deep, stretching me, filling me, and he pulls me up by my hair, his breath hot against my ear. “Is that love enough for you? That I’ll murder and maim for you?”
“You’re sick,” I breathe out, and gasp when he pinches my nipple before rolling it between his fingers.
“If I’m sick, what does that make you while you’re taking my cock like a brat?”
“A glutton for punishment.”
“You call it gluttony. I call it indulgence.” He slides a hand down my spine then roughly forces me back down, bracketing the back of my neck with his fingers as he pushes me harder onto the table, his other hand now on my hip, pulling me closer to him, each thrust deeper than the last.
I shudder, my pussy clamping on him, like the thing that’s been missing is back. He’s so hot. So big. So perfect.
So mine.
He grabs my hips, digging his fingers into my flesh, pounding me. It’s savage, rough, wild, and exactly how I need it.
I close my eyes and arch my back, trying to meet each thrust, trying to get more. He’s so deep, hitting something that’s a dull ache, an ache that resounds each time he hits it, and I welcome it, because the more he does it, the more brutal he is, the deeper he is, the better everything feels. His cock, his hands, the way his balls slam against my pussy lips. It’s all too much, yet not nearly enough.
“God, I’ve missed fucking you,” he says between pants. “I’ve missed everything about you. How your mind fights while your body submits.”
My entire body starts to glow, and the pleasure radiates, building with each powerful hammer of his cock, the slap of his balls against me.
He pulls almost all the way out only to slam back in as hard as he can, and the more he gives, the rougher he becomes, the more I want it. The rougher I crave it.
I start to roll my hips, pressing my pelvis against the table, needing that friction.
“See,” he says behind me, “sometimes indulgence is necessary. Now, be a good girl and come for your husband.”
It’s like my body has a direct line to his command, and it’s this live, electrifying thing that starts in my bones, vibrating to every corner, filling me to the brim.
My pussy clamps down around him, throbbing as the first sparks of orgasm start to flicker, taking control of every move, every breath, every moan I make. And when it explodes, I scream. I cry. I sob, because it’s too much. The heat, it’s everywhere, scorching and searing, his name spilling from my soul while I come around his cock so violently. So beautifully.
Caelian’s thrusts turn erratic, struggling to keep rhythm as his own climax builds. He moves hard and fast, the chase for his release only prolonging mine.
“Jesus. Fuck, Giana. I love this,” he rasps, out of breath. “I love us. I fucking love you. Fuck!”
His body shakes, and I feel him jerk inside me as he comes. I’ll never get tired of that feeling, the pulse of his cock against my pussy walls while he comes inside me.
His pace slows, each movement becoming more deliberate as the intensity of his orgasm overtakes him, and I’m so wet, so lubed up with his cum and mine, that each slide of his length is a slick glide, a final tender caress.
I expect him to pull out as he collapses onto me, but he stays there until his dick goes soft and slips out, and with that, reality slams back in as the ecstasy fades.
Tears prickle my eyes. This is the part I hate. The part after we lost ourselves in one another, lost every sense of real life and the shitstorm we’re trapped in.
It’s as if he feels it, too, the weight of everything slamming back in with a force that shatters and breaks, and lifts himself off me, stepping away.
Slowly, I ease up, his cum sliding down my thighs as I straighten.
Something like paper crinkles, and I suck in a breath when he’s behind me again, this time crouching, one hand delicately touching my leg while the other drags something hard and rough up my inner thigh, wiping up the cum that’s dripping from me.
As he straightens, I’m desperately holding on to a sob when he places, on the table before me, the crumpled-up, cum-stained papers.
Our divorce papers.
With searing lips, he places a tender kiss on the back of my neck, featherlight, then leans in close to my ear and says, “The only way you’re getting rid of me is by putting a bullet in my head.”