Page 137 of Sinful Lies

“I’ll give you everything you need,amore. I’ll ruin you so thoroughly you won’t remember how to breathe without me.”

And he did.

Over and over.

Until there was nothing left of me.

As my orgasm ripped through me, my scream was swallowed by the mattress beneath me. My body trembled uncontrollably, my nails clawing into the sheets as Angelo didn’t let up—not even for a second. He kept pounding into me, relentless, dragging every ounce of pleasure from me until I thought I’d break in two.

And then, just as the aftershocks of my orgasm left me boneless, he pulled out, letting me collapse forward, my entire body flat against the bed.

I felt the heat of his gaze on me before I even turned my head, my cheek pressing into the mattress as I looked over my shoulder.

There he was, standing over me, his cock gripped in his hand—slick, hard, and ohso freakingbig.

His eyes locked on mine, dark and ravenous.

“Stay just like that.”

Him jerking off just above my ass? Best fucking show I’ve ever seen.

I couldn’t move, didn’t even want to.

His gaze dropped to my back, following the curve of my spine, right to the ink etched on my skin.

“You drive me fucking insane, Jade,” he growled, teeth gritted, his hand working faster. “This tattoo, this body… all of it.”

I let a breath out, running my tongue over my lips. “Then come on it.”

He cursed under his breath, and I felt it a second later—hot and thick—as his cum coated my skin. It dripped over my tattoo, marking me.

He gasped, chest heaving, but his eyes never left mine.

“Bellissima,” he muttered, almost to himself, his hand gliding over my lower back, smearing his mess into my skin.

For a moment, as I lay there, breathless and tangled in something dangerously addictive, I realized I’d just made a fool of myself.

Now that I’d had a taste of what it was like to be fucked by him, there was no going back.

All I could think was—more.

I wanted it all.

“Do you get them often?”

I sucked in a shaky breath as his fingers traced lazy patterns down my back.

My head was on his chest, right over the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Soannoyinglycalm. Meanwhile, I was trying not to spiral.

Our legs were tangled, and there wasn’t a single part of me that wasn’t pressed against him.

We fit together too perfectly, like he’d been cut from the exact mold to fill the hollow ache in my chest. But instead of fixing it, he just made me hyper-aware of how broken I actually was.

Bythem,I knew exactly what he’d meant—my panic attacks.

Great. My favorite topic.

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