Page 91 of Unholy Union
“Like what, prinicipessa? Tell me!”
“Like I’m yours!” I whimper. “Like I belong to you!”
A wicked smile curves his lips. “That little pussy’s hungry for it, huh?”
He lifts me and I rise to meet the motion, thighs burning as I undulate my hips and ride his cock. Our bodies quickly find a rhythm that works for us both. My skin slaps against his, the moans and groans we release all coming together like an obscene melody that fills the booth up.
The photo session we’ve started has long been over. Our roll of film dangles from the chute under the control panel, evidence of our crimes.
But neither of us give a damn.
We’re too caught up in each other. My mouth’s gaped open in ecstasy as I bounce on Cato’s dick, and pleasure sparks through my body like thousands of tiny burning fires. I’m hot and flushed, curls swinging everywhere without a care, while I rock my hips and Cato gropes my bare ass.
He latches onto one of my breasts and starts sucking away at my nipple, making the already hard bead ache.
His mouth, so wet and warm, sends another frisson of pleasure shooting through me. My eyes roll back, and I slide my fingers into his damp hair. Our mouths find each other again as his hips take over, his thrusts harder and punchier.
Everything becomes a fever dream. I’m floating, taking his cock deep, every part of me lit up in pleasure.
“Cato… oh fuck!”
His mouth is everywhere—my throat, my collarbone, the hollow between my breasts—branding me with kisses and bites as I come apart on top of him. The pressure coils tight until the tiny fires explode into one gigantic blaze.
And then I’m coming so hard my thighs tremble and I’m crying. I clench down around him and he lets out his own broken growl, shoving himself deep into my pussy and following me over the edge.
We come together, wrapped in each other’s arms. I’ve buried my face in the crook of his neck and he crushes me against his chest like he needs to feel every naked curve of me.
It takes us another ten minutes to compose ourselves.
When we finally do, we walk out of the photobooth with the guiltiest faces, our clothes wrinkled and skin still flushed.
But no one’s waiting outside the booth. The Out of Order sign’s worked. Something that makes me snicker and clap a hand over my mouth.
We abandon the scene of the crime and head in a different direction, putting as much distance between ourselves and the photobooth.
The sun dips low on the horizon, smearing the sky with streaks of pink and lavender, casting the boardwalk in a dreamy haze. The wind’s salty and warm, tugging gently at my curls as Cato and I stroll side by side. Our steps are slow and lazy, unhurried like neither of us wants to admit the day’s winding down.
We’re still flushed from earlier, exchanging naughty smiles over the secret only we share.
His arm drapes over my shoulder as we walk. I’m tucked into his side, feeling lighter and happier than I have in a long time.
It hits me then, as I inhale the sea air and listen to the buzz of the tourists in the distance—this might be one of the most perfect afternoons of my life.
Not because everything was extravagant or grand. But because it wasn’t.
It was simple. It was fun and carefree.
All with a man whose guts I swore up and down I loathed. The same man I was forced to marry, and who I once hated breathing the same air as.
But who I’m now sneaking smiles up at.
Cato Valente could be more than my arranged husband.
This thing between us… it could bereal.
Cato’s hand tightens around mine. His entire body tenses. He stops walking and turns his head just a fraction, gaze scanning the crowds.
“Cato?” I ask, brows knitting. “What is it?”
