Page 24 of Unworthy Ties
Rocco’s eyes locked with mine as he began to thrust slowly, his hand finding its way to my clit again. He teased me expertly; each thrust sending shivers of pleasure throughout my body. The feeling was overwhelming—I wrapped my legs around his hips, digging my heels into his lower back for leverage.
It was painful. But with each thrust of his hips it would slowly fade, the pain being replaced by an all-consuming pleasure.
With each thrust, I felt him getting closer, the head of his dick brushing against that sensitive spot inside me again and again. Rocco’s hand never left my clit, teasing and pleasuring me until I couldn’t take anymore. He thrust once more, and I cried out as I came apart beneath him.
Watching this stern man come undone was more beautiful than looking at the most expensive piece of art in the world. Rocco’s eyes squeezed shut, his jaw clenched, and a deep groan rumbled from his chest as he finally let go. His hips pounded against mine, his cum filling me up like a promise of forever. He growled my name, his body trembling as he emptied himself inside of me.
Our breaths came in ragged gasps as we clung to each other, the sweat and sex slicking our skin. Rocco collapsed on topof me, his chest heaving as he pressed gentle kisses along my jawline and neck.
“I want you to know,” he murmured against my skin, “you have always been mine.”
In that moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us entwined in a bond that transcended time and space.
Chapter 12
Gabriella
Rocco was gone when I woke up the next morning. A pang of hurt shot through me. He had just taken my virginity and then left without saying goodbye?
Was I insane? I let him make out with me once, and the minute he said “I need you” I just let him between my legs. Maybe not insane, but definitely stupid.
I sat up in bed, clutching the sheets to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart. The room still smelled like him—that intoxicating blend of expensive cologne and raw masculinity. My body ached in unfamiliar places, a delicious reminder of how he’d claimed me last night. My cheeks flushed as memories flooded back—his strong hands gripping my hips, his lips traveling down my body, the way he’d whispered my name like a prayer when he finally entered me.
A note on the pillow caught my attention. I hadn’t noticed it before. With trembling fingers, I unfolded the crisp paper.
I’m sorry I couldn’t be there when you woke up. Early meeting that couldn’t be rescheduled. I’ll be back by noon.
I stared at the note, tracing my fingers over his elegant handwriting. Last night wasn’t just an impulse or conquest for him. He was coming back.
My heart fluttered as relief washed over me. I hugged the note to my chest, breathing deeply, letting the tension drain from my shoulders.
I checked the clock—9:30 AM. Two and a half hours until he’d return. I slipped out of bed, wincing slightly at the unfamiliar soreness between my thighs. In the bathroom, I caught my reflection in the mirror. My lips were still swollen from his kisses, my neck dotted with faint marks from his passion, and my hair was a mess. I needed to freshen up before Rocco got back. I didn’t want him to see me in this state.
After a long shower, I wandered towards our kitchen. Admittedly, I hadn’t been using it much—I grew up with maids doing all the cooking and had never learned how to cook. I felt like I should learn for my husband, but I knew he’d never expect that of me.
Rather than risk burning down the kitchen, I made myself a cup of coffee. My thoughts wandered as I drank, thinking about the whirlwind that had become my life.
Suddenly, I felt a spark of inspiration. My creativity had been stifled since I had ended up in this arranged marriage, but now I felt it flowing again. I abandoned my cup of coffee and walked into the closet, trying to remember which box I had seen my camera equipment in.
After rummaging through two boxes, I finally found it—my beloved Canon that had accompanied me since my 18th birthday, capturing moments I’d deemed worthy of preservation. I ran my fingers over the familiar surface,remembering the seemingly endless amounts of photos I had taken.
The newfound inspiration flowing through my veins had me desperate to take a photo of anything. I set up my camera on the tripod by the window, adjusting the settings while glancing occasionally at the clock. The light streamed through the curtains, casting a golden glow across our bedroom. Perfect lighting conditions. I started with simple shots of the rumpled sheets, capturing the subtle indent where his body had lain. The twisted fabric told a story of its own—one of passion and discovery.
Time slipped away as I lost myself in the art I’d neglected for too long. I experimented with different angles, adjusting the aperture to capture the play of light and shadow across our intimate space. Each click of the shutter felt like reclaiming a piece of myself.
“Enjoyed it so much you wanted to document it?” Rocco’s amused voice startled me. I spun around to find him leaning against the doorframe, his eyes dancing with curiosity as they took in the camera setup.
“I-I”,” I sputtered, embarrassed to have gotten caught. I hadn’t realized how much time had passed.
“It’s not what you think,” I finally managed, my face flushing hot. “I just... I used to take photos. Before.”
Rocco pushed away from the doorframe and walked toward me, his movements fluid and deliberate. He studied the camera, then me, with an intensity that made my pulse quicken.
“Before me, you mean,” he said softly, no accusation in his tone. “Why did you stop?”
I lowered my gaze to the camera in my hands. “Everything happened so fast. The arrangement, the wedding, moving here... I guess I just forgot about this part of myself.”
He closed the distance between us, his fingers gently lifting my chin until our eyes met. “I’d like to see your work sometime. If you want to share it.”
