9. Valentina #5
Sounds of fucking fill the room—moan and slapping skin and heavy breathing forming a choral symphony. High and low.
My breasts rock back and forth, sometimes grazing the sheets if my arms lose the ability to hold me up.
The sensation of my sensitive nipples against the smooth sheets makes me cry out.
Cillian takes and takes, demanding what he wants. “Spread your legs wider…arch your spine. Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours, I’m yours,” I promise, because it’s true. He has me. Mine. Body. Soul. Cillian is ensnared around every part of me, and I can’t imagine a tomorrow without him. “I’m yours,” I repeat.
“Good girl.” He slams up into me again, hard muscle stroking my clit. His cock is so deep that it grazes part of me I didn’t even know could be stimulated.
The warm press of a body sinking into me. The sweet words of a lover promising he is mine. One who worships my body, arousing my mind, taking care of me.
“Cillian,” I gasp in a deep wave of pleasure, broken and all breath.
“You’re going to come, aren’t you?” He drops over me, balls deep, to speak into my ear. I flatten on my stomach, his weight sinking us to the mattress. He twists both arms around my waist and flip us over so he’s on his back and I’m on top of him, facing the ceiling, still stuffed with his cock.
“Oh, god.” My eyes roll behind my head as his fingers touch my clit, rubbing quick but soft circles, the same pressure as when he had me hoisted against him. My front is suddenly cold, open to the room, while all the parts plastered to Cillian are slick with heat.
“Grind on me,” he rasps.
Unable to resist his demand, I sway my hips, planting my feet flat on either side of his legs to lift myself up and down, side to side. I don’t let his cock out of me but play with the length of what he has inside of me.
“Fuck, fuck, Valentina,” he groans. “Turn around. I want to see your face.”
I sit up, so wet he slips out of me easily, then turn, facing him a second later.
Gripping his slick cock in one hand, I hold it in place to glide my pussy lips against him.
I thrust back and forth, rubbing my clit without granting him entrance, drawing my slick against his toned abdomen.
Mine. He’s all mine.
Cillian squeezes his eyes shut as if he’s in pain. “Oh my fucking—” His words are cut off by a sharp gasp when I draw his tip against my clit, flicking it up and down to make myself come.
The sight of him, unhinged and writhing beneath my body, unable to form a single sentence, coupled with his wet, hard length shooting pleasure along my clitoris, triggers orgasm.
I screw my eyes shut, feeling and feeling and feeling.
Intense vibrations spark between my legs and soar up my spine, spiking my heart rate.
My back arches as sensation takes over, body free to stutter and bend as it pleases, riding out every molecule of euphoria.
When I open my eyes, Cillian is staring up at me like he’s witnessed magic for the first time. He cups my face with a hot hand and strokes my damp cheek. “Beautiful.”
I laugh in pure elation, falling onto my back beside him.
Still hard, Cillian wedges his knee between my legs, encouraging them to open again.
Knowing he still needs release, I open my legs wider, even though I’m not sure I can handle any more pain or pleasure or anything in between, yet eager to watch him come too.
Holding up my thighs, Cillian positions himself at my entrance again and slips into me one last time.
All my senses flare and the intrusion makes me near-delirious with sensation.
Too many feelings, nerve-endings fried, muscles sore, but Cillian needs only that one last thrust before his eyes roll back, his chin pointing up at the ceiling, Adam’s apple sticking out as he gasps my name.
And then he collapses on top of me, coated in sweat, deliciously heavy and warm. I close my eyes, basking in his presence and the clean soapy smell of his skin, now smelling like sweat and arousal, and me.
“Look at me,” he says, softly.
I open my eyes. He’s watching me with such an open expression that it makes my heart catch. “I love you,” he says again, like he needs me to hear it and he needs to hear himself saying it. “You and this baby. You’re my whole world now.”
My eyes fill and I don’t even try to stop it. “I love you too,” I tell him.
Something in these words sounds more like a promise than the ones we made on our wedding day.
Those words were the performance of two people trying to survive an arrangement.
Those were the words we were required to say. This is the one we’re choosing.
He pulls me into his arms and I rest my head on his chest, listening to the sounds of his frantic heartbeat.
I trace his muscles and let myself believe it.
All of it. The baby and the marriage and the love and the completely improbable, impossible, ridiculous fact that Valentina Santoro Brennan is lying here, right now, in the truest version of her own life that she has ever occupied.
Cillian breathes against my temple and his hand rests on me and I close my eyes. Maybe everything is going to be okay.
No. Not maybe. I think for the first time in a long time it already is.