Chapter 4 #3
My fingers hook inside the waistband of her pants. I push the fabric down over her hips. I drag her slacks and her underwear down her thighs in one violent, impatient motion. They pool around her knees, trapping her legs.
She is exposed to me.
The heat radiating from between her thighs hits my face. The scent of her arousal is overwhelming. It is musk and spice and raw need.
I look down.
The slick, wet gleam of her arousal completely coats her engorged pussy. She is dripping soaking-wet juices down her thighs, entirely ready for my intrusion.
I reach up, cupping her wet pussy with my massive, calloused hand.
Priya screams.
The sharp sound echoes off the clinic walls as she arches her spine off the table, pinning her hands behind her.
My palm presses flat against her drenched skin, dragging rough callouses directly across her highly sensitive, swollen clit.
She thrashes violently against the vinyl, her wet thighs clenching tight around my waist.
I rub the heel of my hand over her dripping clit in a ruthless, heavy rhythm. The wet friction creates a loud, rhythmic slapping sound that fills the sterile room.
"Please, Nico."
She is sobbing, breathless and desperate, her hips bucking upward as she chases the heavy pressure of my hand.
I slide my thick fingers down, parting her wet pussy lips wide.
Her slick fluids thoroughly coat my hand.
I spread her wetness over her raw skin before pressing my middle finger against the tight, clenching opening of her pussy, testing the desperate stretch of her anatomy.
The urge to to unbuckle my pants, tear my cock free, and bury myself to the hilt inside her tight, burning heat is a madness clawing at my skull.
I want to penetrate. I want to claim the deepest part of her. I want to fill her until she can only breathe my name.
I can’t.
The sudden, brutal realization slams into my brain like a freight train.
I am a soldier. The perimeter is not secure.
My men have not finished the sweep. The camera feeds are not up.
The doors are locked, but glass breaks. The Bellanti threat is not neutralized.
I can’t blind myself by burying myself inside her.
If I go inside her now, the entire world could burn down and I would not notice.
I would let them slit my throat as long as I was allowed to die thrusting into her heat.
I must protect her. I can’t lose my mind. Not yet.
Agonizing restraint locks my throat until I cannot breathe.
I pull my fingers away from her entrance. I shift my hand higher. I press my thumb directly against her swollen clit.
Priya whines, a high, desperate sound of frustration.
I lean forward. I catch her lips with mine. I swallow the sound. I swallow her frustration.
I bear down. I begin to circle. Fast. Brutal. Unforgiving.
Her hips buck off the table. She grinds her wet center violently against the pad of my thumb. The slick heat coats my skin. The friction is a rapid, frantic burn.
I increase the pressure. I lock my arm. My thumb works her most sensitive nerve.
Priya breaks the kiss. She gasps for air. Her nails dig into the vinyl of the therapy table, tearing the material.
I bite the sensitive skin under her ear. I whisper the dark truth against her neck.
"Cum for me. Mine. Just for me."
The command snaps the final thread of her control.
Her body bows off the table like a drawn bowstring. Her thighs clamp down around my ribs with crushing force. A high, broken scream rips from her throat.
The climax hits her like a physical detonation.
Her whole body clenches violently. The wetness floods over my hand. Her hips jerk against my thumb in rapid, uncontrollable spasms. She shakes apart in my arms.
I hold her down. I keep the pressure steady until the very last tremor fades from her legs. I absorb each violent shudder. I watch her face. I watch the devastation of pleasure wipe away her professional armor.
She collapses backward onto the table. Her eyes are closed. She is panting, wrecked.
I am standing over her. My hand is still coated in her wetness. My pants are painfully tight, the ache in my groin practically blinding. The physical torture of not taking her is a white-hot knife in my gut.
I slowly pull my hand away.
I brace my fists on the table on either side of her hips. I drop my head, struggling to force air into my lungs. The beast inside me is thrashing, screaming for penetration, screaming for blood.
Then, the sudden, sharp vibration of my encrypted phone breaks the quiet.
The tactical ping echoes loudly in the small room.
The soldier snaps back to the surface. The enforcer returns.
I pull the phone from my pocket. I stare at the screen. The text is from my brother, Vincenzo. The words are short, brutal, and terrifying.
Target moved. Armory feed offline. Bellanti strike force inbound.
I close my eyes. The war is here.
I look down at the beautiful, wrecked woman lying on the table wearing my bloodstained shirt. She’s unaware that the world outside this room is about to explode into violence. She is mine. I will burn the entire city to ash to keep her safe.
I turn toward the door.
"We need to move. Now."