Chapter 12
Romeo Yovanni
I ignore the desperate pulsing of my cock and pull my soft, warm little doll tighter against me.
With her arm wrapped around me and her leg thrown over my hip, I’m not sure which one of us is holding on tighter, but there’s not an inch of space between us.
She lies with her head on my arm, the side of her face plastered against my chest, her breasts pillowed against my lower ribs, and her hot, slick pussy pinning my shaft to my stomach.
After the horrible way I treated her, she should be running for the hills, but instead she clings to me.
I’m still struggling with the news she was a virgin. I approached every interaction with her as though we were evenly matched. The chemistry between us hid her innocence, but there were signs. So many signs. I ignored every single one.
I wasn’t in control the first time I took her.
Guilt and shame pulsate deep in my soul.
A quick, hard, brutal first fuck isn’t what taints her losing her virginity; it was my inability to stop myself.
Hurting her from a place of cold calculation was always the plan, but injuring her because I lost control was not.
Fuck the plan. Sienna had no part in Mario’s life when he stole my bride. She’s innocent and deserves better from me.
Mario does not. My reputation is the basis of my success. He cannot remain unpunished.
But maybe I don’t have to make a brand-new plan. Adjusting and accelerating the current revenge plot may suffice. The cutthroat mafia lifestyle waits for no one.
Sienna’s stomach rumbles, but she doesn’t rouse. An idea forms.
Alan won’t agree. I reach for my phone but mia bambolina makes a small sound of displeasure and tightens her limbs around me. I smile and cuddle closer.
I never thought cuddling could feel so good. A private place to sleep was a luxury I didn’t have as a child, so I’ve always guarded my bed. None of my sexual partners were interested in cuddling, and even if they were, I would have never allowed it.
Sienna is my first. She’ll be my last. I never want to lie in bed alone ever again.
Her stomach growls once more. Even in the worst days of my life where food was scarce, I never reached the stage where I could ignore my hunger. The magnitude of her suffering strikes me anew.
What the fuck kind of torture has mia bambolina been enduring?
It’s no wonder she rarely flinched while going toe-to-toe with a hardened mafia man.
I tighten my arms around her and crane my neck to nuzzle her hair. She whimpers and digs her nails into my back.
Her breathing stutters. She flinches.
I loosen my hold and rub her back.
Tears pool on my chest. I growl and cup the back of her head.
She pops awake. I brace for an outburst, but she remains statue-still for several seconds before relaxing.
Her reaction astounds me. There were entire years after Gran rescued us where Alan and I had to wake the other up for work—we were too poor for an alarm clock, much less a cell phone—and each time resulted in destruction and bloodshed before we calmed.
“Are you okay, bambolina?”
She draws in a shaky breath and relaxes further.
“I’m awake,” she whispers.
I growl and push her chin up with my thumb. Her tears smear along my skin.
“That’s not what I asked,” I demand.
Her lashes brush against the bare flesh of my arm as she blinks.
“I’m not that awake,” she grumbles.
The band of worry squeezing my chest relaxes at her sassy response.
“Good. You won’t fight this, then,” I rumble.
Her brows scrunch. I tip her head back further and bend until our lips touch.
With as much patience as I can muster, I brush my closed mouth over hers before nibbling and teasing until she parts her lips.
Granted access into her depths, I lick and explore until her curious tongue slips between my teeth.
I groan and close my jaw with just enough pressure to trap her.
She squeaks. I flick the tip of my tongue over hers before releasing her and diving in with more force.
She doesn’t balk. Instead, she moans and grinds her pussy along the underside of my shaft. I yank my head back and curse.
Her hard nipples shift against my ribs as I suck down a breath deep enough to make my lungs ache.
“Are you too sore?” I ask.
When a few seconds tick by without her response, I lower my gaze and meet hers.
She quirks a brow.
“What?” I prompt.
“Are you asking me if I’m too sore for sex?”
“Yes,” I answer.
She studies my face. Blinks. Studies me again.
Tears still clump in her lashes.
“What are you doing, Sienna?” I ask.
“I don’t know. What are you doing?”
I sigh. She shakes her head.
“No, seriously, what are you doing? Are you just being nice to me because you don’t want to break your plaything so quickly or is it pity or guilt or—”
“All of the above are factors but not the reason. Answer the question, amore mio.”
“Fine. No, I’m not too sore and stop with endearments,” she gripes.
I roll her onto her back and pin her down with my weight. She grimaces but wraps her legs around me.
“It looks like you’re not ready,” I snarl.
She rolls her eyes.
“I’m fine,” she insists.
I brace my weight on one forearm and wrap the other around her lower back. She hisses and writhes when I lift her ass off the mattress. I thrust my hips and groan at the hot, slippery glide of her pussy along the underside of my shaft. Her gasp travels down my spine.
Despite her insistence—and eagerness by the slick coating us both—I don’t believe she’s ready for what I want to do to her.
“Kiss me,” I demand.
“Make me,” she challenges.
She almost wins. I almost dive down and plunder her mouth. She’s too addictive. I’m too desperate.
I refuse to lose control again. Her lips tremble. I slip my arm out from underneath her and trail my fingertips up her side. She shivers. I cup her breast. Her lashes flutter. I bite my bottom lip and glance at the bandage on her shoulder as I let it slip free of my teeth. She swallows.
I take a page out of her book and respond the way she has to me countless times.
“Fine. I’ll just have to kiss you, then.”
Her chest rises and falls along with the rapid beating of her heart against my fingers.
Keeping my weight on her, I slide down and press my lips against her sternum. She gasps and buries her hands in my hair. The sheets feel like sandpaper on my cock compared to her silky skin, but the friction zings up my spine and down my legs so hard my ass muscles tremble.
I lick and kiss a winding, sensual path over her chest. Closer and closer to her nipple but not quite there, I tease her as I should have during her first time.
When goosebumps rise on her flesh and her nipples stand at full little peaks, I chuckle and brush my lips along the bottom edge of her areola. She whines and tugs my hair as though to guide me. I nip. She yelps.
The sound almost breaks the dam and floods the sheets with my jizz. I take as much of her breast in my mouth as possible, run the flat of my tongue over the whole of her nipple, and suck.
She screams and bucks. I growl and consume until her nails scrape my scalp and her screams morph to pleading.
“It’s too much. Not enough. Please, Romeo, I—”
I sneak a hand between our bodies and find her clit. After circling and flicking along the sides, ensuring she’s wet and ready, I pull back the hood and flick my middle finger directly over the sensitive bundle of nerves.
I angle my head, unwilling to relinquish her delicious breast, and watch mia bambolina’s face as she comes apart under the ministrations of my mouth and hands. Her release coats my fingers and wets my chest.
The moment she sags, I pull my head back until her breast pops free of my mouth, crawl up her body, wedge my thighs under her ass, and wrap my hand around her throat. She shudders and meets my eyes as I slip my drenched fingers to her entrance.
“Still not too sore?” I challenge.
She shakes her head. I smirk and look down our bodies.
My cock jerks at the sight of her wet, shiny, swollen nipple from my teeth and tongue.
Her tiny waist and slim hips are beautiful and will only become more so as she gains healthy weight.
I freeze at the sight of blood mixed in with her arousal.
It isn’t much, but anything other than period blood is too much.
“Sienna,” I growl.
She hums an ascending note.
“You’re not ready.”
I watch in my periphery as she follows the direction of my eyes. Her lashes widen, but her surprise fades so quickly I suspect she knew there’d be blood already.
Anger simmers in my veins.
“I—”
“No, Sienna.”
“But I—”
“No. This is for me.”
Her brows scrunch. I move my hand from her throat to her breast, swipe my hand over her sex to gather as much of her release as possible, and stroke my cock with my drenched fist.
“Don’t move, bambolina, unless you want me to use your mouth,” I snarl.
Hunger brightens her caramel eyes. She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth.
“Mio Dio, you’re trying to kill me. Fuck,” I growl with a vicious twist of my wrist on the upstroke.
She squeaks as I pinch her nipple and grind my base against her pussy.
After a few gloriously wet, painful pumps of my fist, magma erupts from my balls.
Pearly white streams splash onto her stomach and chest. Not as epic as the one I had inside her body, my release still hollows my brain and floods my veins with endorphins.
I groan and rub my tip through the mess, enjoying the sight of my seed on her flesh.
She blinks up at me, still absently chewing on her lip, and inhales through her nose. Her eyes slip closed and her blush deepens.
“Holy fuck, Sienna, you’re perfect,” I groan.
She lets her lip pop free of her teeth before lifting her lashes and piercing my soul with melted-caramel eyes.