28. Georgina #3
“Fuck. Look at you.” His fingers tighten in my curls, guiding without shoving. “On your knees with my cock in that pretty mouth and my ring on your hand. My principessa. So greedy for it.”
I whimper and suck harder. Spit slicks my chin. I work him with my hand where my lips can’t reach, twisting on the upstroke the way he used to beg for, and his hips stutter despite his control.
“That’s it. Take me deeper. Yes. God, Elle. Your mouth is fucking perfect. Been dreaming about fucking these lips since you put that ring back on in the garden.” He watches me through half-lidded eyes, praise pouring out of him. “Good girl. Swallow me. Let me feel that throat.”
I do, eyes watering, moaning shamelessly around him until his thighs tense and he hauls me up by my arms like I weigh nothing. He kisses me filthy, licking into my mouth, tasting himself on my tongue.
“Legs around my waist. Now.”
He lifts me. I lock on. He carries me to the bed and drops me onto the unmade sheets. Clothes come off in a rush of yanked buttons and kicked fabric.
When I’m bare beneath him he flips me onto my hands and knees and puts my palms on the headboard.
“Hold on.”
I grip the wood. He covers me from behind in one motion, chest sealed to my back, one arm hugging hard around my ribs so I can’t escape the closeness even if I wanted to.
With his other hand he notches himself between my thighs, rubs through my wetness until I’m whimpering and pushing back, then thrusts in to the hilt in one claiming stroke.
The sound I make is raw. The bed creaks loud beneath us.
“Max… Dio mio!”
“I know.” He kisses my shoulder, open and wet, then bites as he starts to fuck me. Deep. Steady. Obscene. Every thrust shoves me forward into the headboard; every pull drags me back onto him by that iron arm around my waist. “So tight… so wet. Made for this and made for me.”
“Harder…” It comes out as a moan. “Please.”
He gives me harder. The mattress complains.
The headboard knocks the wall in a filthy rhythm. His hips slap against my ass and he hugs me tighter, mouth dragging over my shoulder blade, my neck, the soft skin behind my ear while he pounds into me from behind.
“Listen to you moan for me. Listen to this bed. The entire household’s going to know exactly what I did to my wife before lunch.
” His hand slides down my stomach and finds my clit, rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts.
“Come on. Clench around me. Soak my cock while I’m fucking you like this. ”
I break with a sob, shaking, holding the headboard so hard my knuckles ache. He fucks me through the climax without mercy, praising every flutter and whimper, then pulls out only long enough to flip me onto my back.
My spine hits the sheets. He hooks my right leg over his shoulder, folds me open, and drives back in so deep my mouth falls open on a silent cry. Then he drops his forehead to mine. Close enough that I feel every breath. Close enough that I can’t look away.
“Stay with me,” he orders softly, thrusting deep and relentless. “Eyes on me. I want to watch you take every inch.”
“I’m here.” I’m whimpering now, continuous, wrecked. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”
“I won’t.” He adjusts the angle, using my leg on his shoulder for leverage, and hits a place that makes me cry out against his mouth. “There. Yes. Feel that. You’re mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours.” The words break on a moan. “You’re mine… Max! Cazzo, I’m going to.”
“Come for me.” Forehead to forehead, sweat between us, his rhythm turning brutal and loving at once. “Come on your husband’s cock with my ring on your finger. Let me feel it. Let me see it.”
I shatter again, louder than before, legs shaking, nails scoring his back. He follows with a groan torn out of his chest, burying himself to the root and pulsing hard inside me while he keeps his forehead pressed to mine through every throb.
We stay locked like that until the room returns. Midday sun, creased sheets. My ring bright against his jaw where my hand has found his face.
From downstairs, Rosa calls something about soup. Max groans and kisses the corner of my mouth.
“We may have been optimistic about half an hour.”
“Worth it.” My voice is hoarse. “Entirely worth it.”
We dress in a hurry that is not entirely successful. I smooth my blouse. He finds his belt. He watches me with an expression that makes me want to forget about lunch entirely.
“Later,” I tell him.
“Later,” he agrees. “I’m holding you to that, principessa.”
“You’d better.”
We go downstairs together a little late, my ring catching the light as I reach for the banister. Rosa gives us a knowing look when we appear in the kitchen, but she doesn’t say anything, just sets two bowls of soup on the table and tells us to sit.
I sit across from my husband in the house my father left me, wearing the ring I thought I’d given up forever, and I think about all the ordinary days stretching ahead of us. The plans we’ll make and the arguments we’ll have and the mornings we’ll wake up together.
This time, I want to stay long enough to find out what we can become.