Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Lucia
Iwoke to the slow, meticulous heat of a mouth between my thighs.
For a hazy second, I thought it was a dream, the kind that still lingered from the night before when Alexei had fucked me against the wall like a man possessed. But the sensation was too real, my pussy too wet, his lips and tongue too hot to be anything but happening right here and now.
My eyes fluttered open to the early morning light filtering through the villa’s tall windows. And there he was, Alexei, my big, strong, Russian mafia husband with his broad shoulders wedged between my spread legs, his dark head bent low as his tongue dragged slowly through my folds.
A broken sound slipped from my throat before I could stop it when he hummed around my clit. My moan of pleasure and shock didn’t stop him. If anything, the low growl that rumbled against my pussy told me he’d been waiting for me to wake.
His big hands gripped my thighs, holding me open wider, thumbs pressing into the soft skin like he needed to feel me tremble under his claim. His tongue circled my clit with filthy precision then dipped lower, pushing inside me like he was tasting the mess he’d left the night before.
“Alexei…” My voice cracked, hips jerking against his face before I could think better of it.
He lifted his head just long enough for his dark eyes to lock on mine, lips shiny with my arousal.
“Good morning, wife,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep and hunger.
“This pussy woke up wet for me again. Good girl.” Then he dove back in, sucking my clit hard enough to make my back arch off the bed.
I couldn’t stop another moan from tearing out of me.
My hands fisted in the sheets then in his hair, pulling him closer even as my thighs shook around his broad, tattooed shoulders.
He ate me out like a starving man, slow, deep licks followed by sharp, possessive sucks.
It had me grinding against his face without an ounce of shame.
Every flick of his tongue reminded me that this man would kill anyone who tried to take me from him. Why did that turn me on so much? Was I so fucked up, maybe too conditioned while growing up, that the thought of Alexei using violence to keep me as his made my pussy wet?
The pressure built fast, coiling tight and hot in my belly. He slid two thick fingers inside me without warning, curling them against that spot that made stars burst behind my eyes while his mouth worked my clit relentlessly.
“Come for me, Lucia,” he growled against my soaked flesh, the vibration shooting straight through my pussy. “Let me taste how much your body knows it’s mine.”
I shattered with a cry, thighs clamping around his head as the orgasm crashed over me.
My pussy clenched around his fingers, pulsing hard while he kept licking and sucking like he could drink every drop of my release.
Alexei didn’t stop until I was shaking, whimpering, and completely spent beneath him.
Only then did he rise up on his knees between my legs, eyes blazing with that dark, obsessive fire I was learning to crave.
His cock was rock-hard, thick and flushed, veins engorged and pulsing, and a clear bead of pre-cum at the tip before dripping off and reforming.
He wrapped one big hand around the base and started stroking himself.
“Look at you,” he rasped, gaze dragging over my flushed body like he owned every inch.
“Spread open and dripping for your husband. My perfect little Italian wife.” His strokes grew faster, rougher, the wet sound of his fist obscene in the quiet room.
His cock was dripping constantly now, clear strings of pre-cum that he used as lube.
“This is what you do to me. One taste of your cunt and I’m ready to mark you again. ”
I couldn’t look away. His muscles flexed, tattoos shifting over scarred skin as he jerked himself harder, eyes locked on mine with that terrifying possessiveness that made my pulse race.
“Gonna paint this belly with my cum,” he growled, voice dropping into that dangerous Bratva accent. “So every time you look down today, you remember who fucking owns you.”
His hand flew over his cock faster, his bicep bulging with the force.
A low, guttural groan tore from his chest as he came.
Hot, thick ropes of cum landed across my stomach in heavy spurts, marking me, claiming me all over again.
He kept stroking until the last drop fell.
He then bent forward and smeared it slowly into my skin with his fingers like he was rubbing his scent into me.
“Mine,” he said quietly, almost reverently, as he stared at the mess he’d made. His free hand pressed down over the warm, sticky evidence, spreading it lower until his fingers brushed my still-sensitive clit. “God, so fucking gorgeous.”
I lay there, breathing hard, covered in him, body still humming from the orgasm he’d dragged out of me before I’d even fully woken up. And the darkest part of me, the part that should have been terrified, only wanted more.