Page 56 of I Would Die For You

So that’s his problem? We agreed on this plan. Well, albeit reluctantly for him, but I’d thought the biggest hurdle was getting him into the Henley. Uber-Italian Stefano refused to be caught dead outside in anything without a collar.

“And what’s your plan? To remain celibate for the rest of your life? Because you sure ain’t touching me.”

The words erupt out of me, and it’s something else that erupts from Stefano. A growl, feral and raw. Next thing I know, he’s crushed me to the car with his weight and his mouth is on mine, devouring, taking, seeking. It feels like an assault at first, and my first instinct is to fight him. Until my fire blazes just as hard and I’m kissing him back as savagely as he is plundering me.

Mouths are crashing, teeth are clashing, the inner skin of my lips is probably opening from all the nipping and biting, but fuck this feels good. This feels alive. This feels like us.

Stefano and I, we don’t need to make love. No, we’re made for fucking. Why didn’t I see this before? I don’t want the puppy. I want the werewolf that gets unleashed from him.

Scared.

That’s what happened to me back in Torino. His intensity, the man he became when he was activated, the one he really is at the heart of him, he scared me. And I ran.

Not anymore. This man, I’m taking him. This man is mine. He’s my husband, for God’s sake.

I don’t know how I manage to fumble into his pocket for the key fob. One press and the car unlocks. I push him away only long enough to move from the door so I can open it. Clutching him to me, I press my hands back on the seat and haul myself up, clenching his shirt and tugging him in on top of me.

I don’t know how the door closes, if it even does. Something to be said about luxury SUVs is the roomy expanse of their interior. I’m flat on my back on the seat, Stefano is on top of me, and it isn’t hard to make quick work of the waistband of his jeans. My work is halted somewhat when he buries his face in my neck and expands the scope of the love bite he placed on me as one hand finds my breast and the other is pushing my dress up.

Then he’s free, and hard, hot, dripping with precum already. My mouth is watering, but it’s my wet pussy begging to be filled by him, and I grant myself this. He’s on me, in me, pushing, retreating, panting along with my breaths as he fucks and ruts and pounds. He doesn't let up his aggressive pace. My orgasm doesn’t take long to build, and I’m keening out my release just as he clenches my breast hard with a hand and my hip even harder with the other as he comes inside me. That’s gonna leave bruises, but fuck if I care.

Our breaths are labored and heavy as we come back up for air.

“Hello, husband,” I say quietly, the moment calling for reverence.

Stefano watches me with narrowed eyes for so long, every beat of each second that passes drives the chasm erupting between us wider.

“Kaya,” he finally says, his face emotionless.

The note of finality in his tone is like ice.

Just my name. Nothing else.

As if I’m nothing else to him.

I thought I knew what hurt means, what a broken heart feels like. Boy, how wrong I was, how clueless.

Fuck, this is what it feels like. As if he cut through my tender heart with a broken shard of glass.

Would I ever be the same again?

Chapter 18 Stefano

WhatthefuckhaveI done?

I’m staring at Kaya’s body under me, the light slowly dying in her eyes as she watches me for long seconds, then turns her head away. Her dress is askew, her legs bared, my cock still between her parted thighs, a mixture of my cum and her fluids painting her inner thighs.

This wasn’t supposed to happen! I wasn’t meant to touch her until we got back to Torino, until I knew where I stood in the whole clusterfuck of this mess involving me and her and my don. It would break me to surrender her to him should he demand it. I always knew that. Keeping away from her was meant to allow me to keep a clear head.

Then she had to go and talk dirty in that bar. Granted, it hadn’t been that filthy, even, but when she asked who was going to fuck her when I was otherwise occupied, I just saw red. Passion clouded my mind, my judgement. It thrummed in my blood until the clarion call echoed just one word: Kaya. Mine. She’s no one else’s.

And now, she is, even before God. We took vows in front of an Elvis impersonator, but ultimately, we knew who was really watching us. I’m not a religious man, but some things, it’s good to believe happens via a greater power.

I can’t go back on my word now. I never wanted to, but myOmertàis the vow that supersedes it all. Should the Don ask—

Fuck!

She’s pulling her legs from under me, scrambling away as much as the tight confines of this SUV backseat will allow.

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