Page 48 of Meet Me in Montreal

If Santino perceived the difference, she didn’t know. But he still didn’t just fucking take her with one brutal thrust as she was dying for him to do. Frustration exploded in her chest all at once.

She didn’t want lovemaking. She needed wrath. Needed to get these three years of sorrow and rage pummeled out of her through her pussy, wanted him to release all his hostility in hot, angry jets of cum. She wanted him to fight her while fucking her.

This…this tenderness was something she couldn’t face.

Still, he didn’t justtakeher. Santino notched himself at her entrance again, pushed in and stayed there until she was dripping. Her trembling thighs widened and then it happened. He reclaimed her pussy one deliciously slow inch at a time, all the while staring deeply into her eyes. When he was fully seated,their combined gasp was the most beautiful sound, sweeter than any music she’d heard that day.

This was happening. He was inside her again, demanding himself a home in her again. And even though she was now more fucking terrified than ever before to allow him in like this, it was also the best decision she’d made in a long, long time.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned.

Santino didn’t move, holding himself still to allow her time to adjust to his size again. His gorgeous length reached every spot, making her feel every bit of that velvety hardness. She’d never told him she wasn’t all that much more experienced than he’d been the first time they’d had sex, since Belle had advised her never to tell a man how many lovers she’d had before him. He’d overwhelmed her then and now, once again, she felt like the virgin at the pain from the stretching that quickly gave way to bliss.

Finally, he thrust, retreated, thrust again, establishing a rhythm as they rocked together. Her hips met his for each one and she moaned as he sank in deeper, with more force.

Clap, clap, fuck this was amazing.

“Pussy was made for me…oh, fuck…your pussy is so good…made for me.” The rasp of Santino’s voice against her lips made her walls squeeze tighter around him, drew an even deeper, thicker groan from his throat. “Is it still good for you? You still love this dick?”

“Yes, I fucking love it,” she said, her voice breathy, embarrassing her with its naked neediness. But he seemed to enjoy hearing that because he grinned and slammed home harder, faster, revving up the pace of that body-destroying rhythm.

“You love me?” Withdrawing slowly, he pumped in deep and fast again, repeating the maneuver until her legs were around his waist and her heels in the dimples of his tight ass, trying tolock him in. Over and over again, he did this, making her claw at his hips to force him to give her what she needed. “Do you love me?”

It was unfair, so unfair, to demand she give him so much, to demand everything from her like this. Vanessa refused to answer, instead lifting her hips and squeezing on his cock to recapture him, and by the way his face twisted and tightened, she knew the tables had turned. Santino pumped faster, deeper again, only separating to slide his hand between them to rub those magical calloused fingertips on her clit. This time when the release came, it was so hard it almost hurt as it tore its way through her.

“Santino, I’m coming,” she moaned shakily.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “My wifey’s the best, thebest…”

Santino’s praise of her made her gush even more. She’d craved it and he was so giving, continuing to whisper it until he moaned. He held himself up with his other hand and pounded once, twice, his face darkened red with a vein standing out on his forehead until a deep, shaking, guttural groan escaped him. That groan of pure erotic bliss was her new favorite sound, his cock throbbing and twitching inside her was her favorite sensation. His sweat rolling down and dripping onto her skin, his cum flooding and filling her, all old favorites made new again.

He fell into her waiting arms, his big body like a hot blanket covering her and keeping her own sweaty body sheltered against the cold of the room. This was her next thing she loved about sex with Santino.This, how he grounded her with his body and anchored her, before she could float off into space or deeper into her own head. He tethered her to the here and now like rich, primal earth, and his scent in her nose made her think of a day spent lying on the grass under the sun, even here in this semi-lit room.

Santino kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her lips, like he couldn’t get enough, even while his body was still shaking and he was still jerking inside her. Each pulse was a delicious after shock.

She’d missed all of this so, so much.

Santino was still peppering her face with his fervent kisses even as he came down from his high. “That’s my wifey…my good little wifey…”

16

HURRICANE

SANTINO

“And now, do you, Santino Antonio D’Alessio Donahue, take Vanessa Annabelle Watson to be your lawfully wedded wife, for the second time? To have and to hold from this day forward, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, till death do you part?”

It was a beautiful day. The sun was blue, the sky was yellow. Vanessa, his bride, stood before him dressed in her cape and body-hugging outfit, now all white and made of lace. They stood holding hands at the altar of the cathedral. The choir above them was invisible but singing loudly. He had to speak even louder or else they would drown him out.

Vanessa’s hands in his were slippery for some reason, like they’d been slathered in baby oil. Santino looked down at them and back up into her eyes. They were shining with such light they could have blinded him, were blinding him.

“Oh hell yeah…Hell yeah, I do!” he shouted over the noise of the choir, which kept growing louder and higher with discordant notes.

But her hands…. He couldn’t keep his grip on them. And as they slipped out of his, he grasped tighter, a sensation of panic starting to ripple through him when an alarm bell started sounding in the distance. He smelled smoke. It was curling up toward the ceiling, but it wasn’t sweet like incense. It was acrid, and choked him.

“Vanessa, wait,” he called out, his voice betraying that growing anxiety.

She didn’t stop, kept retreating. The alarm was closer, louder, right next to his ear. Vanessa was still smiling but floating backward and away, away from him and his outstretched arms.

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