Chapter 22
CHANTEL
When we arrive at my house, Cristian methodically clears each room, pretending not to notice as I trail behind him. He seems to understand that it isn’t enough for him to tell me it’s safe. I have to see for myself. And even though I do feel safer now, this routine is ingrained in me.
Eventually, we return to the living room, which is exactly where I want him. When he sits on the sofa, I hitch up my dress and straddle his lap.
“Hi.” I smooth my fingers over his tie while he watches me with dark, hungry eyes.
He doesn’t move as I paw at him, grinding down onto his erection and kissing his jaw. I’m aching to finish what we started earlier, but he’s not participating…and it’s annoying me.
I undo his tie and start working on his shirt when he stops me.
“Not here.”
I pull back to meet his gaze as my chest tightens. “I don’t share my bed.”
He reaches up and strokes my face, and I lean into that touch, hating how much I want it.
“In that case, you should go to sleep,” he murmurs.
“Are you serious?” I stare at him, unblinking. “You won’t have sex with me?”
“Are you inviting me into your bed?”
“No,” I answer stubbornly.
“Then no.” He relaxes against the sofa, completely unbothered by this development.
I scramble off his lap and glare at him. “This has to be a joke.”
“Only good girls get fucked, gattina.”
“Unbelievable,” I mutter, storming down the hall to my bedroom.
I head straight for my closet, stripping down and changing into my nightgown. But when the silky material scrapes against my sensitive nipples, it only adds to my frustration.
“I guess I’ll just use my vibrator,” I call through the open door as I flop onto my bed.
“Enjoy that, principessa,” he replies.
God, that man is infuriating.
There’s no way I’m inviting him into my bed. We’ve already crossed too many boundaries as it is. I spent the entire night in his arms at Sanctum. I’ve touched him in ways I’ve never touched a man. And tonight, he practically announced our engagement—which is definitely not real.
I can’t give him more of myself than I already have.
That thought lingers, but the longer I consider it, the more I try to rationalize the alternative.
I’ve already let him come inside me. The consequences of that could far outweigh the emotionally gray area of letting him into my private space. So what does it matter at this point, really?
I groan in annoyance as I pull out my vibrator. It feels like I’m settling for fast food when I have a five-star meal down the hall. And as I stare at it, I know the lesser option won’t satisfy this craving.
Resigned to my fate, I return the vibrator to the drawer and make the walk of shame back to the living room. When I meet Cristian’s self-satisfied gaze, I sigh.
“You can consider this your official invitation into my bed.”
He arches a brow at me.
“What?”
“Manners, baby,” he drawls.
I don’t want to admit how much I like it when he calls me that, but I still take a few seconds to act like I’m thinking about it.
“Ask me nicely,” he says.
I really have to stop doing everything he tells me just because he uses that voice. Regardless, I walk over to him and crawl onto his lap, as soft and sweet as I can be when I press my lips to his ear.
“Will you please come fuck me, Mr. Vitale?”
He rumbles his approval, hands sliding over my hips as he grinds me down onto his cock.
“Much better.”
That dark, sinful voice drives me wild because it feels like a secret just between us. Around everyone else, he’s the same cold and controlled man I’ve known for years. But now that we’re alone, the filthy, dominant side of him belongs to me.
“You really are a math nerd,” I tell him as he picks me up and carries me down the hall.
“Does that get you hot, gattina?” He tosses me onto the bed and strips off his shirt and tie. “You want me to talk numbers while I fuck you?”
“I wouldn’t complain.”
I really did like seeing him in his element.
I always knew he was calculating and intelligent, but there’s something so attractive about a man who’s the best at what he does.
His analytical brain is like catnip to me, and I might not understand half the things he’s saying, but I could still listen to him explain it all day.
The thought alone has me crawling across the bed toward him. Before I can really comprehend what I’m doing, I sink to the floor, kneeling in front of him as I reach for the waistband of his trousers.
Circling the button with my thumb, I lift my eyes to find him watching me with a gaze so hot it could melt my insides.
I like to undress him, and I think he likes it too.
Working the button free, I drag down his zipper and stroke him through the fabric of his briefs. His hand slides through my hair, fingers pressing into my scalp as a hunger I can’t rationalize carries me away.
When I unwrap his throbbing cock and bury it in the back of my throat, his answering groan settles right between my thighs.
“You like showing me what a good girl you are, don’t you, gattina?”
I moan around him, sucking deep and hard as his grip on me tightens reflexively.
“You take it so fucking well.”
His rough praise heats my blood and urges me on.
My thoughts dissolve as he scrapes his fingers through my hair, lighting up every nerve in my body. It feels so good, I surrender to it completely. But when my eyes fall shut, he halts me.
He pulls his dick from my mouth and nods at my nightgown when I glance up at him in question.
“Take it off.”
I push the material up over my head and toss it aside, leaving me bare.
He lets out a low sound of approval as he palms my breast and feeds his cock back into my mouth.
“Now keep your eyes on me, principessa.” His accent deepens. “I want you to watch me wreck that pretty mouth.”
Those words flood my brain with a dizzying rush of chemicals as he takes control, winding my hair around his fist.
He fucks my mouth as he praises me, alternating between gentle and rough. It gets me high and makes me so wet, I feel a visceral ache between my legs.
As the tension in his body reaches the tipping point of agony, his muscles contract and his breathing shallows. But just as I’m prepared to swallow what he gives me, he drags his cock from my mouth.
Stroking himself, he soaks up every detail of my body with a drunken gaze.
“Show me where you want me to come,” he rasps.
That question sparks between us, awakening a baser desire within me.
I want him to mark me as his property, no matter how temporary it may be.
Easing myself back, I offer up my body as his canvas.
An undercurrent of possession darkens his voice as he issues me one final directive.
“Finish me.”
Taking him into my hand, I stroke his cock as his fingers caress my face.
Like everything he does, it’s a bit of a mind fuck. Not only does he get the pleasure of watching, he’s made me complicit in carrying out this claim. As I edge him toward climax, I’m the one reinforcing that I belong to him.
I’m not sure what he likes more—his psychological warfare, or the end result.
A guttural sound of pleasure bleeds up his throat as I bring him to completion, soaking my breasts with his release. There’s something so feral about watching his cum drip down my body, but this is what he’s turned me into.
When I’ve milked him dry and wrung out every last shudder, I dip my tongue into his slit and lap up the last bit of liquid.
He murmurs something in Italian, petting my face as his heavy gaze sweeps over me.
“Touch yourself,” he orders softly, nudging his shoe between my legs and spreading them apart.
Drawing my fingers through his release, I paint it across my breasts, then slide my hand between my thighs. When I push my cum-soaked fingers inside myself, a primal claim flickers in the depths of his eyes.
He tips my head back, gripping my face as he drags his thumb across my lips. When they part for him, he sinks two fingers into my mouth, and I take them deeper while I hold his gaze.
We linger in that moment as he slowly fucks his fingers in and out of my mouth, and I echo his rhythm where I need him the most.
A current of heat arcs between us, inevitably catching fire when the tension reaches a breaking point.
He pulls me to my feet, bends me over the mattress, and untethers one of the bracelets around my wrist. Binding them together, he stretches my arms behind my back and uses them for leverage as he buries his cock inside me.
He fucks me into the bed, hard, slow, and everything in between. I don’t think my poor body has ever taken as thorough a battering as it has these last two days. But I can’t find it in me to care when he fists a handful of my hair and growls his rough praise against my ear.
He tells me how good I feel, how goddamn infuriatingly pretty I am, and asks if I have any idea how hard my fucking pussy makes him come.
It floods me with an overwhelming rush of pleasure and sends me spiraling into one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had.
He pushes me through two more, fucking me like he could do this all night—and I think he actually could. But when I nearly collapse from exhaustion, he takes mercy, lifts me into his arms, and finally fills me with his release.
I’m too boneless to move as I laze in the afterglow, and he waits for me to recover before he convinces me to let him clean me up.
After he carries me to the bathroom and washes me off, I gather enough strength to stand on my own. He gives me some privacy, and when I return, I find him stretched across my bed.
He waits patiently while I hover at the edge of the room, slowly coming to terms with this new level of intimacy.
I’ve never allowed any other man into this space, and it makes me feel…exposed.
Sensing my nerves, Cristian gestures for me. “Come here.”
I follow his directive because it means I don’t have to think about it, but when I climb onto the opposite side of the bed, he pats the space beside him.
“Here.”
“Why?” I ask hesitantly.
“Ten minutes, remember?”
“Are we doing that again?”
“You can end it when you want,” he reminds me.