Page 41 of Dario DeLuca

“I hate you,” she whispers.

We collide with the bookshelf, a cascade of knickknacks and paperbacks tumbling around us like the remnants of a world fading to black. Her grip on my shoulders tightens, nailsdigging in—half plea, half defiance—as if she could hold back the relentless surge of our combined recklessness.

"Dammit, Dario," she hisses, her breath hot against my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

"Dammit, indeed," I growl back, my hands finding purchase on her hips, drawing her even closer until there's no air, no space, nothing but the intoxicating blend of will and want.

With one hand under her juicy ass for support, I yank the fabric of her bikini top with the other, a move of pure desperation. Her bikini yields like the last bastion of modesty, and I draw her left nipple into the warmth of my mouth. The sensation is electric, a live wire sparking between us as she arches into me.

"God," she breathes, no longer a sharp retort but a surrender to the flame we've kindled.

The scent of her arousal mingles with the aged musk of leather-bound books, an intoxicating perfume that fuels my hunger. Books continue to thud to the floor, their scholarly protests drowned by the pounding of blood in my ears. She's all softness and curves against the edge and angles of my tattooed skin.

Without breaking our connection and through sheer determination, I manage to undo my pants and move them down to free myself, every muscle tensed with urgency, as I slip her panties aside with a roughness that speaks of instinctual need. There's no space for gentleness now. This moment belongs to the raw force hidden beneath a veneer of civility.

I press into her, close enough to feel her heartbeat racing against mine, the rhythm erratic but perfectly synchronized. The solid wood of the bookcase digs into her skin, but it's the pressing heat of me that draws a gasp from her lips—a sound that etches itself into the air, a claim stamped upon the silence.

We move together, skin to skin, breath to breath. The world narrows to the space where we are one, where her cries mingle with the deep groans that rumble from my chest.

I lose myself in her, my resolve weakening with each tilt of her hips and with every rake of her nails down my back. In this union, there’s a power here that humbles and exalts me—a paradox that only she could embody and awaken within me.

With my fingers splayed under her ass, I spread her open, stretching her sweet pussy while I pound into her. Over and over, I pump forward, the sound of our sex filling the air. It doesn’t matter that she just told me she hates me or that she irks every nerve in my body, not even that neither of us bothered to close the door.

All that matter is this, her perfect fucking tits in my face, her plush body against my hard exterior, her soft moans. Moans that are enough in themselves to ruin me. This started as a just plan for power, but little does my bride know, she’s the one staking her claim with each passing day.

As I piston my hips into her, I lean back to watch her. Mia mews and thrashes against me, taking from me what she wants—a release. Her pussy is drenched and needy, and I love every inch of it.

“So fucking tight, Bella,” I confess.

“Mm,” Mia moans and wraps both arms around my neck for balance.

“You say you hate me.”

I thrust forward.

“But you don’t have to love me to come for me.”

Another thrust.

“You’re so fucking pretty taking my cock.”

“Shit.” Mia’s pussy clamps around me, and her eyes roll heavenward.

“That’s it, Bella. Fuck me, make yourself come on my dick.”

Her back curves, and I lose myself in her sweetness, feeding her greedy pussy until my vision blurs.

“Fuck, Mia,” I grunt as my cock twitches inside her. White-hot pleasure explodes, and I watch her face contort in ecstasy. Sweet fucking Nirvana.

My body quakes, and my heart jackhammers, and I hold her up by her ass. The last thing I want is to crush her. I’m caught off guard because I’ve never cared about a fucking soul. Mia. My Bella. My bride.

“I’m coming,” she announces while clenching around me again, and that’s all it takes for me to finish.

Without thought, I spill my seed inside her, staying put for just a beat longer. Every nerve ending in my body is charged and sensitive, and I can barely move. It’s not that I want to; being inside her has become my new favorite thing.

Once my heart rate settles, I pull out and look down at her, breathing heavily. I love the way her hair cascades down her shoulders. She’s a goddamn angel. One I’d kill for.

As I lose myself, I know that this is only the beginning. In this moment, we are everything and nothing, the alpha and omega of each other’s worlds. Though we will return to reality, to the roles we play and the masks we wear, right now, there's only us—Dario and Mia, innocence and destruction.

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