Chapter Fourteen AURORA
The smell hit me halfway down the staircase, rich, warm, and far too comforting for a place like this.
Garlic. Slow-simmered tomatoes. Fresh basil. Bubbling mozzarella. It wrapped around me like a memory I wasn’t ready to face, stirring something deep in my chest that felt dangerously close to safety.
I paused on the landing, inhaling despite myself. My thighs still ached faintly, a delicious soreness between my legs where Santino had claimed me with his mouth and fingers just hours earlier. The faint sting and the memory of my own virgin blood on his tongue made my cheeks heat.
“What is that?” I called down, trying to sound unaffected.
“Heaven,” Matteo shouted back, his voice echoing from the kitchen.
I rolled my eyes and continued down the stairs. “You can’t taste heaven, Matteo.”
“You can in this house,” he replied, popping another piece of mozzarella into his mouth like the little criminal he was becoming.
The massive kitchen glowed under warm pendant lights, all sleek black marble and steel that should have felt cold but somehow didn’t tonight.
Rain hammered violently against the floor-to-ceiling windows, lightning flashing silver across the glass and illuminating the glittering city in the distance.
Everything felt too warm. The air thick with garlic and melted cheese.
The lighting soft and golden. The feeling blooming in my chest.
I didn’t trust it. Not one bit.
The cook was sliding enormous trays of lasagna onto the counter, cheese bubbling and stretching obscenely. Steam rose like an offering to some dark god.
Marco sat at the long table with a glass of red wine. And Santino… Santino was already watching me.
The moment I stepped into the room, his dark gaze locked onto me like I was the only thing that existed. Heat crawled up my neck and spread lower, remembering how that same mouth had licked my blood and cum from his fingers like it was sacred.
“Stop that,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest.
His eyebrow lifted slowly. “Stop what?”
“That.” I pointed at him, lowering my voice. “The way you’re looking at me. Like you still taste me.”
A slow, dangerously sexy smile curved his lips. “Because I do.”
Matteo groaned loudly from the island. “Oh my God, you two are disgusting.”
Marco took a slow sip of his wine, amusement flickering in his eyes. “He’s not wrong.”
My face burned. Santino’s gaze drifted down my body with lazy possession, lingering on my hips and thighs like he could see the faint marks he’d left on me. My pulse raced. I hated how easily my body responded to him now.
Thunder rumbled through the house, vibrating the marble beneath my feet. Santino crossed the room with that predatory grace, pulling out the chair beside him for me. His hand brushed the small of my back as I sat, the touch sending sparks straight between my legs.
The first bite of lasagna nearly made me moan out loud. The rich meat sauce, the perfectly cooked pasta, the stretchy cheese, it tasted like Sunday dinners from a life I thought I’d lost. I froze, fork halfway to my mouth.
Santino noticed, of course. He noticed everything.
“You like it,” he said, voice low and rough, his thigh pressing deliberately against mine under the table.
I took another defiant bite. “No.”
“You’re lying, troublemaker.” His fingers brushed my knee, sliding just high enough to make me clench. “I can still taste how honest you get when you stop pretending.”
He lowered his voice to whisper in my ear. “How sweetly your virgin pussy bled for me earlier.”
I nearly dropped my fork. The filthy words, spoken so casually at the dinner table, made fresh heat pool between my thighs. I pressed them together, but he noticed that too. His smirk deepened.
Matteo made a gagging sound. “Can you two not eye-fuck over the lasagna? I’m trying to eat here.”
Marco rubbed his temple. “I miss silence.”
“No, you don’t,” Santino replied, never taking his eyes off me.
We ate while the storm raged outside, but the real storm was the tension crackling between Santino and me. Every time I shifted in my seat, I felt the lingering ache from his fingers stretching me open, from the way he’d licked my blood like a man claiming his prize.
“You all act like a family,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
The table fell into heavy silence.
Matteo stared at his plate. Marco studied his wine. And Santino… Santino looked at me with something raw and dangerous flickering behind his eyes. Something softer than possession. Something far more terrifying.
Because this place and these people were starting to feel like home. And homes could be ripped away. I knew that better than anyone.
Santino leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear so only I could hear.
“You’re right. And you’re part of it now, Aurora.
My bed. My table. My protection.” His fingers tightened on my thigh under the table, and he leaned closer, whispering in my ear again.
“After dinner, you’re coming upstairs with me.
I’m going to lay you out on my sheets and remind that pretty, freshly claimed virgin pussy exactly who owns it now. ”
A shiver ran down my spine. My breath caught.
The storm howled outside, lightning illuminating his dark, possessive expression. But the real danger wasn’t the thunder.
It was the way I was starting to want this. Him.
The storm still raged outside as we left the dining room, but the real tempest followed me upstairs in the form of Santino.
His hand stayed possessively at the small of my back the entire way, fingers occasionally dipping lower to squeeze my ass. Every step sent a reminder throbbing between my thighs, the delicious ache and faint sting from what he’d already taken in the gym.
When we reached his bedroom, he pushed the heavy door open, guided me inside, and locked it with a deliberate click that made my stomach flip.
The room was pure him: dark charcoal walls, a massive black four-poster bed, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the rain-lashed beach. Low, golden lighting cast long shadows across the space.
Santino turned me to face him, his eyes burning with dark hunger.
“Strip for me, Aurora,” he ordered, voice low and rough. “Slowly. I want to admire what’s mine.”
My hands shook slightly as I obeyed, peeling off my sweater, then sliding my leggings and panties down my legs. I stood completely naked before him, skin prickling under his intense gaze. He was still fully dressed, which only made me feel more exposed.
He circled me slowly, like a predator savoring his prey. His fingers traced the faint bruises on my hips, then drifted lower, brushing over the dried traces of my virgin blood on my inner thighs.
“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured, voice thick with reverence. “Still wearing the evidence of your innocence on your skin. My marks. My blood. My girl.”
He pulled me against his clothed body and kissed me deeply, possessively, before lifting me effortlessly and laying me down in the center of his huge bed. He spread my legs wide, settling between them like he belonged there.
“Keep them open,” he commanded. “I’m not done worshipping this pretty pussy yet.”
I gasped as his mouth descended on me. He worshipped me like a man at an altar, slow, reverent, and utterly filthy. His tongue dragged through my folds, licking up the lingering mix of my arousal and the faint metallic trace of blood with dark groans of satisfaction.
“So sweet,” he rasped against my sensitive flesh. “This cunt is going to ruin me for every other woman on earth.”
He devoured me with devastating skill. Long, slow licks followed by tight circles around my swollen clit.
Two thick fingers pushed inside my sore, fluttering channel, stretching me carefully while his mouth sucked on my clit.
He curled his fingers just right, stroking that spot inside me until my hips bucked off the bed.
I moaned loudly, fingers fisting the sheets. He added a third finger, pumping them deeper, faster, while his tongue flicked mercilessly over my clit. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth and fingers filled the room, mixing with the thunder outside.
“Please, Santino…” I whimpered, already trembling on the edge.
He pulled back slightly, eyes dark as he looked up at me from between my thighs. “Beg me properly, baby. Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”
“It’s yours,” I gasped. “It’s all yours. Please!”
He growled in approval and dove back in, sucking my clit hard while his fingers fucked me relentlessly.
The pressure built impossibly fast until I shattered with a broken cry, my walls clamping down around his fingers as another powerful orgasm tore through me.
He didn’t stop, licking me through every wave, drawing it out until I was shaking and oversensitive.
When I finally went limp, he rose up, kissing his way up my body. He captured my mouth in a filthy kiss, letting me taste myself on his tongue.
I was still panting when I reached for the waistband of his pants, desperate to see him.
“Please,” I whispered, voice hoarse. “Let me see your cock, Santino. I want to touch you. I want to taste you too.”
He let out a low, dark chuckle, catching my wrist and pinning it above my head. His eyes gleamed with wicked amusement.
“Oh, troublemaker,” he murmured, brushing his lips against mine. “You’re not ready for that yet. Look at you, still trembling from just my mouth and fingers. So innocent. So fucking perfect.”
I whimpered, trying to reach for him again. “Please… I need to see it. I want it so badly.”
He laughed again, softer this time, clearly enjoying my desperation. He grabbed my other wrist, pinning both above my head with one large hand while his free hand lazily stroked between my legs, teasing my oversensitive clit.
“You’ll see my cock when I decide you’re ready,” he said, voice dripping with dark dominance. “And when that day comes, you won’t be politely asking, Aurora. You’ll be on your knees, tears in your eyes, begging to choke on it.”