Chapter 13 #7
He groans, low and rough. He adjusts his grip, holding me like I weigh nothing, and his hand slides between us, pushing my underwear aside. His fingers find me, slick and swollen and aching, and he makes a sound like I’ve wounded him.
“So wet.” He strokes through my folds, circling my clit until my thighs are shaking. “All this, just from kissing me?”
“From you telling me you wanted to kidnap me and keep me prisoner.” I don’t know why I say it. Maybe because I want to see his reaction.
His eyes flare with heat. “That turns you on?”
“Apparently.”
“Fuck, Mina.” He pushes two fingers inside me, and I clench around him, gasping. “You’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect.”
He works me hard, his thumb on my clit, his fingers curling to find the spot that makes stars burst behind my eyes. I’m close already, embarrassingly close, and he seems to know it, reading my body like a map he’s memorized.
“Not yet.” He slows his hand, keeping me on the edge. “Not until I’m inside you.”
“Then get inside me.”
He laughs, dark and breathless, and withdraws his fingers. I whimper at the loss, and he lifts his hand to his mouth, sucking my arousal from his skin while holding my gaze.
“I’ve dreamed about how you taste.” His voice is low and rough. “I need you so badly I can’t think straight.”
He sets me down just long enough to shove his trousers down his hips and pull my dress over my head. Then he’s lifting me again, my back against the window, his cock notching at my entrance.
“Look at me,” he commands.
I do, my arms wrapped tight around his neck. His amber eyes are burning and feral.
“I’m going to fuck you against this window,” he says.
“And you’re going to scream my name. And tomorrow, when you’re sore and aching, you’re going to remember that you chose this.
You pulled me down and kissed me. You begged me to fuck you.
This isn’t something I took from you, Mina. It’s something you gave me.”
He pushes inside.
The stretch is overwhelming. It’s been five years, and he’s big, and my body has to remember how to take him. I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders, and he holds still, trembling with the effort of restraint.
“Breathe,” he murmurs against my ear. “Breathe, Mina. Let me in.”
I make myself relax, and he sinks deeper, inch by devastating inch, until he’s fully sheathed inside me, and I feel impossibly full.
“There.” His voice is strained. “There you are. My Mina.”
He starts to move. Slow at first, giving me time to adjust, but the gentleness doesn’t last. Soon he’s pounding into me, the city lights blurring behind my head.
“Was he like this?” His voice cuts through the haze of pleasure, deceptively calm even as he thrusts into me.
“Who?” I pant.
“The man who fathered your son.”
My nails dig into the flesh of his shoulders.
“Did he fuck you like this?” Cristiano’s hips thrust against mine, driving the breath from my lungs. “Did he pin you against a wall and make you scream?”
“You can’t ask me about this now.”
“Answer me.” He pulls almost all the way out, then slams back in, and I cry out, my nails raking down his shoulders. “Did he make you wet, Mina? Did he make you beg?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I do.” He shifts his grip, hitching my thigh higher, changing the angle so he’s hitting something deep inside me that makes my vision blur. “Did he fill you up like I do? Did he make you feel like this?”
“No.” It comes out broken and wrecked. “No one’s ever—”
I stop myself, biting down on my lip so hard I taste copper.
There’s been no one. There’s only ever been you.
The truth is right there, pressing against my teeth, begging to be spoken. I almost confess everything. That I lied about Leon’s age, there is no other man, and that I’ve been keeping his son from him for four years.
But if I tell him that, I’ll lose everything. Tonight is about devastating sex with Cristiano and my foolish choices. Not my son.
So instead, I lie.
“He was gentle,” I gasp, forcing the words out as Cristiano pounds into me. “He was kind. He was honest.”
Cristiano’s rhythm falters. His fingers dig into my thighs, bruising.
“He never—” I’m so close, pleasure and cruelty tangling together on my tongue. “He never tricked me. Never followed me in secret. He made me feel safe.”
A growl rumbles through his chest.
“He made love to me.” I’m being deliberately vicious now, painting a picture of everything Cristiano will never be. “Slowly. Sweetly. He held me afterward and told me I was precious. He made us pancakes for breakfast.”
Cristiano goes still. Buried to the hilt inside me, his whole body rigid with fury.
For a moment, I think I’ve gone too far. That I’ve broken something between us.
Then his hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back, and his mouth finds my ear.
“I don’t care how gentle he was.” His voice is ferocious. “I don’t care how safe he made you feel. You don’t need gentle and safe, Mina. You need me.”
He pulls back and slams into me so hard the window shudders.
“I’m going to fuck you until you forget he ever existed.”
He’s relentless now. Brutal. Every thrust punishing, possessive, driving the memory of my invented lover out of my head with pure sensation.
“Did he feel like this?” he demands. “Did he fill you up like I do?”
“No,” I sob. “No one feels like you.”
“That’s right.” He bites down on my neck, hard enough to bruise. “Because you’re mine. You’ve always been mine. And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.” His voice is ragged. “No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to taste you. No one else gets to feel you come apart.”
The pleasure is building in a way I don’t recognize. Not the focused intensity of fingers or tongue, but something deeper. A pressure mounting at my core that seems impossible.
“You’re so tight.” He groans against my ear. “So wet. Squeezing my cock like you never want to let go.”
The pressure keeps building. I’m gasping, confused, my body chasing something it’s never caught before.
“That’s it.” He can somehow feel me fluttering around him. “That’s it, Mina. Give it to me. Give me everything.”
My orgasm hits me like a wave. It rips through me, white-hot and devastating, and I’m clenching around him, screaming his name, my whole body arching in his arms. No hands, no help, just his cock inside me, filling me, and I didn’t even know my body could do this.
He fucks me through it, relentless, but then his pace changes and slows. His thrusts become deeper, more deliberate.
He pulls out, and I whimper at the loss.
“I’m not done with you,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Not even close.”
He carries me away from the window, as I’m still trembling with aftershocks, and lays me down on the bed. Dove gray cotton, impossibly soft against my oversensitive skin. He follows me down, covering my body with his, and slides back inside me in one smooth thrust.
The fullness makes me gasp. Everything feels heightened now, every nerve ending alive and aching.
He starts to move again, slower this time. Deeper. Like he wants to feel every inch of me. His hand slides down to rest low on my belly, pressing gently.
“I think about this constantly.” His voice has changed too. Still rough with want, but softer now. “Being inside you with nothing between us.”
The real world resurfaces for a moment. He’s not wearing a condom.
“Cristiano. We should—”
“Filling you up.” He rolls his hips, grinding against that spot that makes stars burst behind my eyes. “Watching it drip out of you and pushing it back in.”
His hand presses harder against my stomach.
“I think about your belly growing round.” His thumb strokes across my skin, tender and possessive. “My baby inside you. Everyone would know you belong to me.”
“We can’t—” I’m panting, trying to think through the fog of pleasure. “I’m not on birth control.”
For one moment, I think he’s going to pull out. Be sensible. Remember that we’re not teenagers anymore and actions have consequences.
Then his eyes meet mine, and I see something dark and satisfied flicker in their amber depths.
“Good.”
He starts moving again, harder and deeper, like he’s trying to reach my very center.
“Cristiano, stop.” But my legs are wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer even as the words leave my mouth.
“No.” The word is soft, almost tender, even as his hips thrust against mine. “I’m going to come inside you, Mina. I’m going to fill you up, and you’re going to let me.”
“This is insane.”
“And if I put a baby in you tonight, you won’t be able to run again.” His voice catches, raw with desperate want.
I should fight and push him off. Demand he stop. I already have one secret I’m keeping from him.
But his thumb is circling my clit again, and his mouth is on my throat, and he’s whispering against my skin. “Let me. Let me give you this. Let me give you everything.”
Another orgasm is building, bigger than the first, coiling tighter with every thrust.
“I want to watch you swell with my child.” His rhythm is faltering now, his control slipping. “I want to see you grow round and know that I did that. That you’re carrying me inside you.”
“Cristiano—”
“I want everyone to know you’re mine.” He’s pounding into me now, chasing his release. “I want to fuck you when you’re heavy with my baby. I want to feel it kick while I’m buried inside you—”
I come again, clenching around him so hard he groans.
“Yes.” He buries himself to the hilt, and I feel the pulsing thrusts of him spilling inside me. “Yes, Mina. Take it. Take all of it.”
He keeps coming, keeps filling me, his whole body shuddering as he empties himself deep.
We stay like that for a long moment, his forehead resting against mine, both of us trembling with aftershocks.
He doesn’t pull out. He stays there, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his face buried in my neck.
“Mine,” he mumbles against my skin. “My Mina. Finally.”
I stare up at the ceiling of his penthouse, my body still humming, and I think about my son sleeping at Rosa’s apartment right now. Cristiano’s son with amber eyes.
The son Cristiano doesn’t know exists.