Chapter 14 #2
It wasn’t the hateful kiss in the office…
it was gentle and hesitant. It had the salty taste of her tears and the warmth of a surrender I didn’t understand.
It was a kiss that asked for nothing and, at the same time, seemed to contain everything.
Little by little, my tongue yielded to his, in a touch that began as tenderness and a subtle exploration and gradually intensified.
My first instinct was to take, deepen the kiss, and claim her; yet the vulnerability of that gesture broke me. Instead of dominating, I responded.
My arms, which had been holding her with the strength of desperation, relaxed. My hands moved up her back, caressing her, pulling her closer—not possessively, but with… care.
The kiss deepened, but remained slow. I was grateful that Bianca wasn’t screaming, that she hadn’t pushed me away, and that she was there, touching me.
Every movement of her mouth on mine felt like a question: Why? What is this? What are we? And I had no answers.
The longing I’d always felt for her burned through me, yet my heart was terrified. I didn’t know how to navigate this, nor how to be the man she needed in that kiss. My hands slid to her face, and my thumbs wiped away the fresh tears on her cheeks.
I broke the kiss, just enough to rest my forehead against hers, and our uneven breaths mingled.
“Bianca…” My voice was a hoarse whisper. “What…”
“Shut up, Marco,” she murmured against my lips, resolutely. “Just for a minute… shut up.”
She kissed me again.
This time, there was no more hesitation, only the raw need of two people who were completely lost. I lifted her into my arms, and her legs wrapped around my waist. The movement was fluid, natural, as if our bodies knew what to do, even though our minds were at war.
I carried her to the bedroom and didn’t throw her onto the bed. I laid her gently on the silk sheets, as if she were made of glass. Her clothes came off, but they weren’t torn off—they were removed with unsteady, gentle hands, amid electric touches that made us both shudder.
When I positioned myself on top of her, I stopped.
The sight of Bianca paralyzed me. I froze. The sight of her, naked, vulnerable, her eyes fixed on mine, was the most terrifying and beautiful thing I had ever seen.
She was beautiful, even more so than on that first night.
Her body had changed; her breasts were heavy and full, with blue veins visible beneath her pale skin, her nipples dark and hard.
Her belly… Dio mio. It was the center of everything.
The curve of her belly was high, round, taut, her skin stretched and gleaming.
It was living proof of my sin and my only salvation.
“You’re…” I began, my voice faltering, unable to finish the sentence.
“I know,” she whispered, and a single tear slid from her eye and fell onto the pillow.
I couldn’t resist. My mouth moved down… I didn’t kiss her; I adored her. My lips traced the taut curve of her belly, and I felt a faint kick, a movement beneath my cheek. My heart stopped. She gasped, clutching the sheets.
So I moved up. My mouth found her breasts. They were sensitive; she moaned the moment my lips touched them. My tongue circled a hard nipple, tasting her—a new flavor, a taste of milk and salt, that drove me wild. I sucked, gently at first, then harder, and she dug her nails into my shoulders.
I moved down the bed, running my lips along the dark line that traced her belly. I was crazy with desire, but I was afraid of hurting her. I got down on my knees beside the bed, positioning my head between her spread legs. Her scent hit me: musky, pregnant, and sweet.
I buried my face in her. My tongue found her clitoris and she screamed, a high-pitched cry, arching her back on the bed. I sucked her, licked her, with desperate, tender devotion, tasting the flavor of the woman I had abandoned. Her hands grabbed my hair, pressing me closer to her.
“Marco… please…”
I moved back up, aching with a thirst that bordered on pain.
I positioned myself between her legs. I couldn’t put my weight on her. I supported myself on my arms, hovering over her, brushing against her sensitive breasts.
I didn’t enter her with the violence of before. I moved slowly, with a reverence that was almost painful.
I pressed the tip of my cock against her soaking-wet entrance.
I watched myself enter her, millimeter by millimeter.
I watched Bianca’s beautiful face, her eyes tightly shut, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
Fear and pain crossed her features, then softened into an unsteady sigh of relief when I filled her completely.
Our bodies fit together. I was propped up on my arms, my chest hovering over hers, careful not to touch her belly. The confusion was there, in the rhythm. Sometimes my hips wanted to move with the memory of rage, with the thirst of six months, but the sight of her face held me back.
I began to move slowly, and she arched toward me in a silent plea.
My mouth found hers again, in a deep, desperate kiss, tasting my own apologies on her lips. Each thrust was a plea. Forgive me… Every time she moaned softly, the sound vibrating through me, it was a forgiveness I didn’t deserve.
When the pleasure began to build, I fought against it. I didn’t want it to end; I wanted to stay there, in that confusing limbo between hatred and something that looked dangerously like hope.
But she tightened around me, her inner muscles clenching tight, and her nails dug in hard, scratching my back. Our eyes remained locked on each other. I saw the moment when pleasure hit her. Her eyes rolled back, and a ragged moan escaped her.
Seeing her melt away, vulnerable and mine, shattered my last shred of control.
I came with a groan that was more a sigh of pain than of pleasure, spilling myself inside her in a total and terrifying surrender. Bianca followed me, shuddering through a wordless climax, clutching me tightly. Tears streamed down her temples again.
I fell—not on top of her, careful not to crush her belly, but beside her, pulling her against me. I buried my face in her neck, inhaling her scent, feeling her pulse against my lips, and we stayed there.