Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
He eases up with a long, slow lick to calm me. Only to dive back in again, this time sliding two fingers deep inside me, thrusting lazily.
The slow, deliberate rhythm, paired with the rapid flutter of his tongue on my clit, has me gasping, losing all sense of time.
When he hooks his fingers just right, it’s over. My knees give and my vision blanks as my orgasm slams into me like a wrecking ball, shattering me to smithereens. Consciousness obliterated. The scream that tears from my throat is raw and wild as pleasure consumes every part of me.
Stefano licks at me with tender patience, coaxing me down from the high, soft and unhurried until I’m left trembling, dazed, and wrung out.
Once I’m back down on earth, he straightens up and taps my thigh for me to do the same.
Knees still weak, I peel up from the table, and he turns me to face him. Lips glistening, gaze smoldering. “You taste like heaven.”
And you are...a dangerously pleasant surprise, Mr. Castello. “Thank you...that was—”
“Don’t thank me for eating your pussy.” He licks his lips, slow and measured. “That was all for me.”
He grips the hem of my dress and peels it up and off, then clasps my waist and lifts me up onto the pool table. Stepping back, he bites down on his fist as he drinks me in, nostrils flared, eyes molten and ravenous. “Spread for me, baby.”
Flattening my palms to the table, I part my legs. My panties are still on but pulled to the side, my pussy slippery soaked from the mind-warping orgasm he just gave me.
Once he’s had his fill of me, he slides a condom from the pocket of his lounge pants, before he slips them down and off, kicking them aside. Smooth and fluid, he makes quick work of sheathing his thick, veined cock.
Anticipation for what’s about to happen has my heart hammering. How many times have I imagined this? Wished for this? Scolded myself for even entertaining the fantasy? For thinking it could ever even happen?
Now look at me, spread naked before him like an offering. Wet and panting, open and waiting. While he watches me with raving hunger in his eyes, like I’m his greatest desire made flesh.
Wish for it hard enough, and it just might become reality…
My clit throbs, my nipples taut and aching, my stomach coiled tight with unrestrained lust.
Eyes locked on mine with equally feral craving, he steps in and cups my breasts, weighing them in his palms. He kneads, he teases, fondles, giving them all the love.
I reach up and cup his face, every cell in me screaming to feel his lips on mine, to devour his mouth. But I resist the urge and instead press a light kiss to the corner of his mouth, and then the other.
A smile slants his lips, understanding that it’s all he’s going to get. “I’ll take it.” He breathes across my lips, then taps my waist. “Lift your legs for me, beautiful.”
When I do, he hooks an arm around each leg, lifting them onto the table and arranging them so my soles are flat on the edge, spreading me wide open for him.
Positioning his raging cock at my quivering opening, he rests his forehead against mine, his breath husky and sweet with the taste of me, and whispers, “Can I fuck you?”
“Is that a—UhhhgodYES!”
He drives into me, bottoming out in one brutal, perfect thrust, making it clear that was a rhetorical question. Knocking and explosive cry out of me.
“Fuuuck,” he grinds out. “You’re so—fuck, fuck.”
I’m filled. Stuffed. Stretched to the edge of breaking.
I. Could. Cry.
With another muttered curse, he pulls back and slams in again…and again…and again. Each slow, powerful thrust deep and intentional, each one punctuated by a gritted curse. “I want to kiss you,” he whispers against my lips. “I want to kiss you so fucking bad.”
Then as if it’s too much for him, as if being this close to my mouth without being allowed to taste it is unbearable, he cups my shoulders and urges me back until I’m flat against the pool table.
He then hooks my thighs into the crooks of his arms and begins fucking me like a debauchery demon fresh out of hell.
And this part…this part I got right about him. He fucks just as I’ve imagined. Hard and unrelenting. Hot and confident. Deep and rough and penetrating and so damn good. Merciless.
He might be gentle and teasing with his hands, his mouth, his voice, but with his cock buried inside me, he’s every bit the ferocious savage I’ve always suspected he was.
No apology in his thrusts. No restraint.
No care or concern. Just ruthless rhythm, pounding into me like he owns me, like he’s trying to ruin me.
And my pussy loves it, greedily clenching around him every time he sends it home, gushing and wilding like she’s never experienced good dick before.
“You’re perfect, my little liar,” he husks out. “Perfect.”
With a deep groan, he kisses my inner thighs, then slows as he grips my hips and pulls my ass to the very edge of the table. When he presses my bent legs down to my chest, my cheeks burn, because I couldn’t be more open and exposed in this position. Couldn’t be more his.
Needing to reclaim even a modicum of control, so it doesn’t feel like I’m being completely served up on a platter entirely at his mercy, I wrap my arms around my own legs and pull them back farther, tucking them beneath my shoulders.
A quiet flex. A show of strength. A warning not to forget who I am.
Stefano stops as his eyes go molten, dark with heat, and with a slow shake of his head, he mutters the Lord’s name in vain, then plunges in deep, knocking a rippling cry out of me that doesn’t sound human.
Holy. Shit. He’s in deep.
So. Deep.
My back arches, my mouth falls open, helpless to control the string of mewls and whispers that spills out of me.
“Don’t cry, my pretty Delilah. You wanted to show off, didn’t you?” he taunts, voice like dark silk. “Show me you can take it, then.”
This demon…
Just like that, whatever illusion of control I had is gone. He owns it now. All of it. Stupid of me to think I ever stood a chance.
He fucks me with sinful intensity, with delicious brutality. Each thrust harder, rougher, deeper. It’s as if he’s trying to reach my heart. As if he’s trying to carve his name on the inside of me. As if he wants to break me down and build me back up again with nothing but his cock.
I’ve never felt more like a girl than I do right now, breathless and whimpering under him. I’m all moans, hoarse cries, broken pleas, all nerve endings and surrender.
People who know me would say I’m tough as nails. But with Stefano Castello inside me, I’m nothing but a soft, soft girl.
“That’s it, beautiful. Keep choking the fuck out of my cock with this greedy fucking pussy,” he grunts out, railing me relentlessly. “You’re being so good for me, aren’t you? Fuck—you’re taking me so—ugghhfuck…”
He’s close.
And just knowing that, knowing he’s this wrecked from fucking me, sends me spiraling and does me in. Watching his neck strain, veins thick and bulging, the sweat glistening along his chest, his eyelids heavy and his jaw clenched tight, I fall apart around him, shattering to pieces.
As violent tremors pulse through me, I have to let go of my legs and claw the edges of the table to withstand the turbulent quake tearing through my body.
Only when I’m wrung dry, limp and boneless in the aftermath, do I realize Stefano has stopped moving.
To watch me.
“You’re a work of art when you come, Delilah,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe. “The sweetest fucking sight.”
Oh God. I cover my face with both hands. Why does he keep making me feel like this? I’m not a blusher, dammit! I don’t get flustered. And yet…here I am.
At the fluttery sensation of tender kisses peppering across my belly, my ribs, my waist, I peek through my fingers and catch sight of him peering up at me through those thick, dark lashes as he trails kisses all over my abdomen.
Voice low, possessive, feral, he says against my skin, “Don’t ever ask me to let you go.”
Before I can ask what the hell that means, he’s upright again, plunging deep inside me once more. The strokes are slower now, languid, drawn out. He’s trying to hold on. Trying not to come. But it doesn’t last.
Before long, his hips are snapping again, pace brutal, rhythm lost, like his body’s taken over. All instinct now. All need.
With a guttural, blasphemous curse, he slams in deep and stills as he comes. Body taut, head thrown back, throat exposed.
I watch him come undone with quiet reverence, chest full of warmth, heart full of butterflies. If this is all I ever get, if this moment is the only one we’re allowed to have, then that’s enough. It’s more than enough. I’ll die content.
The disobedience was worth it. The lies, worth it. No regrets.
I have tasted Stefano Castello. And nothing, nothing will ever compare.