Chapter Fourteen AURORA #2
I moaned at his filthy words, hips twitching against his teasing fingers.
“Not tonight,” he continued, pressing a kiss to my throat. “Tonight you’re going to sleep in my bed, naked, with my marks all over you. I want you aching and empty, dreaming about what I’m going to do to you.”
He released my wrists and pulled me against his chest, wrapping his powerful arms around me. One hand possessively cupped my pussy, holding it like he owned it.
“You’re mine now,” he whispered against my hair, voice rough with satisfaction. “Every orgasm. Every whimper. Every drop of blood and pleasure. All mine. And I’m going to enjoy denying you until you’re desperate enough to beg beautifully.”
The storm outside had softened to a steady, relentless rain that drummed against the windows like a heartbeat. Inside, the air felt heavier, charged with everything unsaid.
I lay curled against Santino’s chest, still naked, my skin flushed and sensitive from the orgasm he’d wrung from me.
His hand remained possessively cupped over my pussy, warm and unmoving, a constant reminder of his claim.
Every breath I took pressed my breasts against the hard planes of his clothed chest, and the ache between my legs only deepened.
I couldn’t stop trembling. Not from cold. From need. From the terrifying warmth blooming in my chest that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with the way he held me like I belonged here. Like I was his.
“Santino…” My voice came out small, cracked. I shifted against him, trying to press closer, but his grip tightened in warning. “Please. I need more. I need you.”
His fingers flexed against my slick folds, not stroking, just holding. “You already came, troublemaker. Greedy girl.”
I shook my head, burying my face in his neck, inhaling the scent of him, dark spice, rain, and something uniquely Santino that made my heart hurt.
“It’s not enough. I feel… empty. You made me bleed for you. You tasted it. You own it now. So why won’t you let me see what’s mine too?”
My voice broke on the last word, raw with frustration and something deeper. Vulnerability.
“I’m scared of how much I want this. Of how much I want you. Don’t make me ache alone.”
He went still beneath me. I felt the shift in his breathing, the way his chest expanded sharply. His hand slid up from between my thighs to grip my hip, hard enough to bruise.
“Aurora.” The warning in his voice was thick, strained.
I lifted my head, meeting his dark eyes. Tears pricked at the corners of mine, not from pain, but from the overwhelming press of emotions I had no name for.
“Please. I’m begging. Let me see your cock. I want to watch it. I want to know what it looks like when it throbs for me the way I throb for you.” My voice dropped to a whisper, trembling. “I’ve never wanted anyone like this. It terrifies me. And I still want it. Please, Santino.”
For a long moment, he just stared at me, jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle ticking. The raw hunger in his gaze warred with the iron control he was famous for. Then something cracked.
“Fuck,” he growled, low and guttural.
He rolled me onto my back and rose from the bed in one fluid motion.
His hands went to his shirt first, yanking it open with impatient jerks that sent buttons scattering across the floor.
The fabric slid off broad shoulders, revealing the powerful, scarred torso I’d only felt before, inked skin stretched over hard muscle, a body built for violence and dominance.
There was a huge devil mask tattoo over his whole chest. My mouth went dry.
His eyes never left mine as he shoved his pants and boxers down his thighs.
His cock sprang free, heavy and thick, already fully hard and curving upward toward his stomach.
It was beautiful in a brutal way. Veined, flushed dark at the head, a bead of precum glistening at the tip.
It twitched visibly under my stare, throbbing with every beat of his heart.
“Oh God,” I breathed, pushing up onto my elbows without thinking.
“Don’t move.” His voice was rough, almost broken.
He kicked the rest of his clothes aside and stood at the edge of the bed, towering over me. One large hand wrapped around the base of his shaft, squeezing hard like he was trying to keep himself in check.
“You wanted to see it? Look. But you don’t get to touch. Not yet.”
I whimpered, thighs pressing together instinctively at the sight. His cock jerked again in his grip, another drop of precum sliding down the thick head. He stroked once, slowly, from base to tip, his abs flexing. The motion was controlled, but his knuckles were white.
“Santino…” I whispered, voice thick with awe and desperation. “It’s so big. I can see it pulsing for me. Please… I need you.”
“No.” He cut me off, stepping closer but keeping just out of reach. His free hand fisted at his side. “Hands on the sheets, Aurora. Grip them. You beg so fucking sweetly, but I’m still in control here.”
I obeyed, fingers twisting into the silk, but my eyes stayed locked on his cock. It throbbed visibly again, the vein along the underside standing out as he gave it another slow, torturous stroke. His chest rose and fell faster now.
Control was slipping. I could see it in the way his jaw worked, the faint tremor in his forearm.
“You’re killing me,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “Lying there naked, still marked with my fingerprints and your own blood, begging like you were made for me. Look what you do to me.”
He squeezed the head of his cock, thumb swiping over the leaking slit, and a low groan tore from his throat.
I was panting now, hips rolling helplessly against nothing. Tears slipped down my cheeks, not sadness, but the intensity of it all. The storm, the safety I craved and feared, the raw need between us.
“I’m yours,” I choked out. “I hate how much I need you. But I do. Please lose control. Just a little. Let me watch you throb for me.”
His eyes darkened to black fire. The leash snapped.
He climbed onto the bed, knees bracketing my hips, but he didn’t lower himself fully.