Chapter 25 Carlo
Carlo
It’s so late it’s early when we return home. The idiotic pedestrian escaped unscathed. The taxicab I collided with to avoid them? Not so much. Crunch instead of squish. I’m tempted to track the drunk bastard down and shoot him. “I am so sorry,” Francesca says, miserably.
“It’s just a car,” I mutter. I fucking loved that car. Thinking of my three vintage sportscars parked in the building’s underground garage, I decide we’ll take a limo next time we go out.
“I guess I took you by surprise,” she says, flushing as we step into the elevator.
“You certainly did,” I admit. I'm shocked at how easily Francesca’s innocent fumbling caught me off guard. What the fuck?
“I thought you’d be really mad at me,” she says, sheepishly.
Chuckling, I wrap my arm around her shoulders. “We weren’t injured and the cops were on our payroll so no hassles there. How could I be mad at my horny little wife?”
She gives me a mischievous grin. “Carlo? I’m willing to have sex if you…”
As if she has to ask. When the elevator doors open, I lift her up, relishing her girlish shriek of surprise. Dipping my head down, I capture her lips for a kiss, sliding my tongue in to taste her as I walk us across the marble entry. “Dolce.”
She’s panting when I finish ravaging her mouth, but a flash of nervousness is evident when she glances toward the floating staircase leading toward the bedroom. It vanishes the next second when I stride toward the new piano instead, plopping her down on top of it as I resume kissing her.
With busy hands, we touch as our tongues wrestle, every brush of skin on skin setting off sparks.
Little mewling sounds escape from her slender throat as she rocks her hips, scooting closer to where I stand between her legs.
One high-heeled foot lands on the polished keys, striking a deep, vibrating chord.
I tug her shoes off, throwing them over my shoulders.
She desperately fumbles with my belt buckle again, palming my growing erection with innocent curiosity.
I cup her breasts, my thumbs grazing her pebbled nipples, and she moans.
Slipping one of her straps down, I capture one sweet, pink bud with my lips, tugging lightly.
She arches her back and gasps my name. It’s not going to take much to set her off.
Hands on her knees, I part them, pushing the green silk back and revealing inch after inch of her smooth thighs until I reach her sexy little panties.
I pull my knife out, murmuring assurances when her eyes widen, until the garment yields like paper beneath my blade, baring her pretty pink pussy.
Diving in, I lick her from her ass up to her swollen clit, tasting her arousal and inhaling her heady scent.
I shove my tongue into her tightness and feel lightheaded imagining her squeezing the life out of my cock again. “Mia bellissima sirena.”
More arousal trickles out of her, and I lap it up eagerly as her fingers sink into my hair.
Glancing up, I catch her watching me with hooded eyes, the blue reminiscent of dark sapphires in her lust. Circling her little bundle of nerves with my tongue, I slip my fingers under her ass, massaging the cheeks and forcing her to lay back.
Spread out for me like a feast, I fuck her with my tongue and push the tip of my index finger into her tight ass.
She gasps and her muscles tighten against the invasion but licking her pussy all over soon distracts her from any discomfort.
Mine, every inch of Francesca will be mine and only mine. My cock aches, ready to explode.
Pressing the flat of my tongue against her opening, I flick it up to her clit once more and then suck on her swollen nub until she goes off like a firecracker, her orgasm carrying her away.
Writhing like a wild cat, her feet strike multiple keys on the piano, a discordant noise I take a primal satisfaction in.
“Such a good girl, coming hard for me,” I murmur against her heated center once her thighs have stopped trembling.
She huffs in reply, bracing herself on her elbows to scowl at me.
When I straighten though, her eyes go wide again, seeing my erection bulging against the front of my trousers.
“Are you still willing to do something with that?” I ask, teasingly.
She can say no, but I really fucking hope she’ll be willing.
She moves off the piano until she’s standing between my arms. “Why don’t you take a seat?” she suggests, pointing at the piano’s bench.
I do, smiling at her as she tugs the other strap of her wrecked dress down, the fabric puddling at her feet. “You’re so fucking perfect,” I murmur, appreciating the vision standing before me with her hair coming loose from her up-do.
She grins and sinks to her knees on the marble floor. “No…” I murmur, surprising myself.
“I want to,” she protests.
“And I want you to but not here. It’s too hard and cold for you to kneel for long,” I tell her, carrying her toward the sofa. I’d like to take her in the bed, but I’m growing too desperate for her touch to walk that far.
Settling her on the sofa, I stand in front of her, allowing her the chance to decide if she’s really ready for this.
She reaches for my shirt, pulling it free from my trousers, manages the belt and zipper and then stares at my bulge hiding behind my briefs.
I’m going to fucking erupt if she keeps staring at me that way.
Her hand cups my balls, giving me an experimental caress. I twitch from her touch like an inexperienced boy. “You’ll show me how, right?”
Fuck me, that innocent question and those wide eyes, she’ll be the death of me. “I’ll teach you, mia moglie.”
“And I can really go to Juilliard?”
I frown, disappointed that that’s what's on her mind at a moment like this, but I nod anyway, too eager for her touch to argue.
She shoves my briefs down, giggling when my cock bounces free.
Her touch is curious but not hesitant, and it hits me again that this is all new for her.
She’s never touched another man. She never will.
Something dark and savage burns through my veins at the thought of what Rocco tried to do, but I push that aside.
She’s safe now, and I’ll keep her safe for always. Mine, for-fucking-ever.
One corner of her mouth tips up, her grin turning naughty. I wish I could read her mind.
“Fuck my mouth the way you like it, Carlo.”
“Jesus Christ.” Definitely the death of me.
She shakes her head, laughing. “No, Sister Donnelly didn’t come out to play tonight. Fuck my mouth the way you want it.”
“You shouldn’t tempt a man like me. I might take more than you can give.”
“There’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“Frankie, you’ve never…”
“Take what you want. I want you to. I can swallow or-”
“You don’t have to do that unless you want to,” I say, softly, stroking her velvety smooth cheek. She’s my wife. I may want to do dirty things with her but not until she’s ready for them.
For some reason, she seems angered by my restraint. “No, I don’t have to be your good girl. Show me how to suck cock like a bad girl. I want to please you.” She strokes my cock harder, making it nearly impossible to think.
“You’re still very inexperienced. I shouldn’t-”
“Maybe I want to be corrupted by you.”
A roar of primal lust takes control at the very thought of corrupting Francesca. Who am I kidding trying to hold back? I’m a killer. I torture other killers until they cry for their mommies. If she wants this, I’ll enjoy teaching her, corrupting her for all my days.
Lunging forward, I pin her to the sofa and capture her lips in a harsh kiss, one full of fiery need and the dark desires I intended to hold back until later.
She kisses me with equal fervor, her lithe body twisting under mine, driving me insane.
There’s a triumphant smirk playing on her swollen lips when I’m forced to breathe.
Precum leaks from my cock when I shove my pants the rest of the way down.
“You may have trouble singing tomorrow. I’m going to fuck your throat hard, the same way I want to fuck your pussy and your ass. Lay back with your head over the arm of the sofa.”
She scrambles to do as I say, but her stunned expression has me quickly rescinding my order.
“Wait.”
The word cost me more effort than I would’ve thought possible. I stroke her swollen bottom lip and trail my fingertips along the column of her throat. She swallows hard, and I see the trepidation in her blue eyes I’d allowed myself to ignore a moment ago.
“You don’t want it that way. I’m not sure you want this at all.”
“I do! I want to go to Juilliard… or will you trick me again?”
Ice settles in my stomach like a heavy weight hanging from my heart. She expects to be tricked by me. I thought I was so clever two nights ago, but I don’t want that to determine our entire marriage.
“Those things are not meant to be connected. If you want to go to school, you’ll go. If you want to touch me or for me to touch you, it can’t be because of that.”
“It can,” she argues. “I’m trying to establish our rules. Quid pro quo. You can take what you want if you… I thought if I gave you what you wanted…” She trails off, growing emotional, but not before each word hits me like a sledgehammer.
“And I once told you a little girl like you could never hurt me,” I mutter, turning away.
Sadness is not an emotion I indulge often. I prefer rage. After pulling my pants and underwear back up, I stalk over to the liquor cabinet, pouring myself a strong drink while she continues to kneel naked on the sofa, looking confused and so very young.
“Go to bed, Francesca. I’m not in the mood for these games tonight.”
She opens her mouth and then closes it, perhaps realizing how close I am to a very different explosion than the one she’d expected. Clambering to her feet, she races up to the bedroom. A handful of broken sobs float down the stairs soon after.
I want to tear my goddamn hair out hearing her crying. I have to get out of here. Slamming down the glass, I grab my coat and leave.