Page 7 of Thorns of Death
He thrust two fingers inside me. In, out, in, out, faster and faster until my orgasm was impending. It gathered at the base of my spine before it exploded, just like that. He rose and leaned over me, grabbing my thighs and wrapping them around his waist. He slammed into me, all the way. A scream ripped from my throat, his big cock stretching me. My insides clenched around him as he fucked me through my orgasm. Tears sprung to my eyes at the intense pleasure building inside me.
He kept fucking me, my mindless whimpers and moans flowing as he pounded into me, mixing with his grunts.
“Ohhh… my… fucking… God.”
His dark chuckle reverberated through me. “Not God,dolcezza. Say my name.”
His left hand came to my throat, pressing me against the chair while he popped my left leg on his shoulder. On his next thrust, I screamed his name. Over and over again.
My nails dug into his forearms, clinging to him—or maybe to push him away, the pleasure too intense—but it only made him fuck me harder. Tension lined Enrico’s face. Our groans and pants danced through the air, our bodies furiously slapping against each other. I registered the window once more, and just thinking about the whole of Paris watching us as we fucked like rabbits was enough to set me alight. Heat blazed hotter in my body, that familiar feeling building again. Holy fuck! Was it really possible to orgasm more than three times in one night?
This was like a catch-up for all the years of not giving sex another try. So freaking worth the wait.
I clenched around his length. He pressed harder against my throat, faint spots dancing across my vision, as his thrusts turned savage. Brutal. So fucking consuming, I felt ruined. For any other man.
Friction between our bodies built. Sweat gleamed on Enrico’s forehead, and taut muscles corded his neck. He fucked me with full force, hitting my G-spot over and over again.
“Enrico, please,” I sobbed as I fell apart.
“Your pussy feels so good,” he growled. “I think I’ll make it mine.”
“Yes. Fuck, yes.” I gasped. “Please… I’m going to…Fuck!”
I screamed as white-hot pleasure blazed through me. Every thought drifted away, leaving a numbness in its wake. He kept fucking me, hard and brutal, wringing another orgasm out of me, leaving me a boneless heap under him. My pussy convulsed around him with my third—maybe fourth, I didn’t know—orgasm when Enrico finally came, his cock twitching and pulsing inside me.
We lay there—my leg still hooked on his shoulder—our breaths heavy, and him deep inside me. My eyes drooped, grinning like a fool, when his dark chuckle had my eyelids suddenly opening.
He scooped me up and carried me to the bed. As he laid me down, his big body hovered over mine, heating me like a blanket. Burying my face into his warm, tanned chest, I peppered it with kisses.
“I’m so happy you knew where to stick it,” I murmured, smiling blissfully while a languid sensation pulled on my muscles. I’d never felt such peace come over me. Even when I played the violin.
“Excuse me?”
“Ugh, my first… ummm, sexual encounter. The guy didn’t know what to do with his dick.”
His hand—which I just realized was still wrapped around my neck—tightened its squeeze, and I found his dark gaze. “Dolcezza, this is your first and last warning. Never mention another man again.”
I chuckled, slightly uncomfortable. I couldn’t tell whether he was serious or not. “I guess it’s true what they say about Italian men. You are a possessive bunch, huh?”
“You have no idea.” He grinned seductively. Dangerously. “Now, I’m going to make you scream—again—and you’ll never remember anyone else before me.”
I barely had the energy to raise my eyebrow, although that didn’t stop my mouth. “Bring. It. On.”
* * *
When we finally collapsed into bed five hours later, I was thoroughly fucked. My lips were swollen and stubble marks covered every inch of my fair skin. Not to mention bite marks. I was sure the look on my face was testament to the fact that I had been to sex-heaven and back.
I woke up to dark eyes staring me down, five inches from my face. I screeched. She didn’t. I scooted away like she was the plague, pulling the sheets up to my chin.
“What the fuck?” I hissed.
She didn’t answer. In fact, she didn’t even flinch. My eyes darted next to me to find the bed empty. Jesus, where in the hell was Enrico?
“Who are you?” I spat, glaring at the woman. She was pretty. Dark hair. Even darker eyes. Petite. Olive skin that made you jealous. It was easier to hide your emotions with that kind of skin complexion.
Again, no answer. “Where is Enrico?” I asked tiredly.
She reached over to the nightstand and all the wrong scenarios twisted in my mind. She was going to kill me. She was a psycho. I could see the front page already: “Jealous Ex-Lover Kills One-Night Stand.”
