Page 127 of Blood Debt
I clutch at his shoulders, my whole body shivering at the way he kisses me like he’s starved for it. His hands roam—up the back of my neck, sliding down my spine, fingers tracing lines of heat over bare skin beneath the thin silk of my nightgown.
When his mouth leaves mine, I almost chase after it, but then I feel him tugging gently at the sleeve of my gown. The fabric slips down my shoulder, cool air brushing over heated skin, and before I can catch my breath, my breast is bare.
He lowers his mouth, lips closing over my nipple, and the shock of it sends a moan tumbling out of me. The wet heat of his tongue circles slowly before he sucks harder, drawing me in, making my knees weak. My hands knot in his hair, holding him there as waves of pleasure coil low in my belly.
The corridor feels like it’s spinning around us, the night air cool against my back, his mouth hot and relentless against my skin. Every tug of his lips, every flick of his tongue, makes me ache for more, makes me want to let him take me right here, with the whole house asleep around us.
His mouth is greedy on my breast, sucking hard, his tongue flicking over my nipple until I can’t hold back the sharp gasp that bursts out of me. Then he shifts, sliding lower, lips finding my other breast, his teeth grazing lightly before he sucks that one too. The pull of his mouth makes my whole body arch against him, every nerve raw and aching.
His hands are restless, roaming down over my waist and hips until he pushes at my thighs. He parts my legs, pressing his knee between them, and the sudden vulnerability of it makes my breath hitch. His fingers slip under the hem of my nightgown, curling around the waistband of my panties. With one sharp tug he pulls them down, the fabric sliding down my thighs until they fall uselessly around my ankles.
Before I can even adjust, his hand is between my legs, fingers sliding straight to my pussy. The first touch makes me shudder, wetness slicking his fingertips instantly. He teases me for a moment, spreading the moisture up and down my slit, before slipping two fingers inside. The stretch is sudden, filling, and my whole body clenches around him.
His thumb presses against my clit as he works his fingers in and out, steady and sure, and I hear myself moaning in the empty corridor, the sound echoing off the walls. My hips move on instinct, grinding down on his hand, chasing every pulse of pleasure as his fingers curl deeper into my wet heat.
I grab onto him, both hands clutching at his shoulders like he’s the only thing holding me up. His fingers keep sliding in and out of my pussy, curling just right, and the wet sounds echo softly in the corridor, making me burn hotter.
I bury my face against his neck, desperate for him, and start kissing him there—soft at first, then hungrier, sucking at the skin just below his ear. He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my lips, and his hand works me harder in response.
Every thrust of his fingers makes my body jolt against him, my hips rocking on his hand. I tighten my grip around him, holding him close as I drag my mouth along his neck, kissing,licking, nipping at the pulse racing under his skin. The taste of him—warm, salty, alive—only makes me needier.
My moans spill against his throat, muffled by my kisses, while his thumb keeps circling my clit. The combination is overwhelming, sparks shooting through me, making my knees weak. I cling to him harder, pressing myself fully into his body, wanting nothing between us as his fingers keep fucking me, dragging me higher with every stroke.
His fingers plunge deep, curling inside me as his thumb grinds circles over my clit, and I can’t hold back the sounds spilling out of me. My breath is ragged, every nerve stretched tight as he fucks me with his hand, pulling me closer and closer to the edge.
I cling to him desperately, kissing his neck, tasting his skin as my whole body trembles. The pressure builds sharp and hot, and when he pushes in just right, I cry out, gasping against his ear.
“I love you…. Don’t ever leave me,” I moan, the words tumbling out between broken breaths.
The moment I say it, my release crashes over me. My pussy clenches hard around his fingers, soaking his hand as waves of pleasure ripple through me. My body shakes in his arms, every gasp and cry muffled against his throat as he holds me through it, still working me with steady, relentless strokes until I’m wrung out and boneless against him.
Before I can even process, Cristofano sweeps me into his arms. The suddenness steals my breath, and a startled yelp escapes before I slap my hand over my mouth. My eyes dart instinctively toward the hallway where the children sleep, and Ifeel my pulse race, not from fear but from the way his strength presses against me.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, half scolding, half trembling.
His eyes—those impossible steel-gray eyes—pin me in place. They burn with a hunger I know too well, but there’s something more tonight, something rawer. His lips twitch into that dangerous smirk that both terrifies and undoes me. “I haven’t had you in days,” he says, voice low, thick with intent.
A flutter of heat coils in my stomach. I tilt my head, trying to match his control, though my insides are already unraveling. “Are you going to keep me up all night?” My voice is teasing, but my throat is tight, every nerve waiting on his answer.
“What do you think?” he murmurs back. The way he says it makes my knees weak, though he’s already carrying me as if I’m weightless.
I bite my lip, feigning thought, though anticipation is already thrumming through me like a live wire. “I look forward to it,” I whisper.
He carries me into the study. The soft glow from the desk lamp casts long shadows, stretching over the shelves, the leather couch, the heavy curtains. The world outside ceases to exist. He lowers me onto the couch with aching care, his hands lingering at my waist as if reluctant to release me.
Then his palm is at my cheek, calloused but gentle, brushing stray strands of hair from my face. His eyes drink me in. For a moment, the silence between us is unbearable—because I feel everything: what we’ve survived, the wounds that still throb, and this impossible man who has become both my undoing and my salvation.
“I’m glad I met you in Rome,” he whispers, his thumb grazing along my cheekbone. His voice shakes just slightly, and my heart seizes. “You’re beautiful. I want you in every life.”
Tears prick my eyes before I can stop them. My chest feels too small, too fragile for this man’s love. I think of Bianca’s laughter, of Isla’s baby, of all the blood and betrayal that brought us here. And still, somehow, he looks at me like I am worth it all. My hands rise, trembling, to cup his face, to trace the scar along his jaw that I once despised because it reminded me of who he was—but now, I know it tells me who he became.
“You’re perfect,” I breathe, and my own voice breaks on the word.
His breath shudders out, his forehead tipping against mine. “I love you,” he says, raw, unpolished, heavy with everything he doesn’t know how to show.
“I love you too,” I sob back, my tears slipping free, hot against my cheeks.
And then his lips claim mine—not just with hunger, but with reverence, with a vow. Every brush of his mouth against mine is a promise: no more lies, no more distance. Just us. My hands curl into his hair, holding him close, because for the first time, I am not running, not hiding.
