Page 78 of Blood Debt
His hand cups my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple before his mouth replaces it.
I gasp, the sound spilling into the air without my permission. His tongue circles, teeth grazing just enough to make me arch into him. A moan escapes me, and his hand tightens at my waist, holding me exactly where he wants me.
His mouth moves back and forth between my breasts, tongue circling one nipple while his fingers squeeze the other, then switching, sucking harder until my breath comes in sharp, shaky bursts.
Between kisses, his voice is hot against my skin. “Do you have any idea…” his lips close over me again, “…how good you taste?”
The words make my stomach clench. My answer is only the sound of my breath breaking, my back arching into his mouth.
He doesn’t stop until I’m trembling, and when he does, it’s only to slide his hands down and peel away the last barrier I’m wearing. The fabric whispers over my skin before pooling on the floor, and suddenly I’m naked under his gaze.
He looks at me like he’s reading a book he’s memorized but still finds something new on every page. His eyes move slowly—over my breasts, my stomach, the soft inside of my thighs—and each lingering second makes my skin feel warmer.
When he leans in again, his lips graze the slope of my shoulder, brushing just enough to raise goosebumps. His mouth drags to my neck, the faint scrape of his teeth making me shiver. Then lower—down the center of my chest, pausing at my stomach. His tongue traces along the curve of it, and heat coils low in my belly.
I bite my fingers, trying to quiet the sound in my throat, but the heat of his breath on my skin makes it impossible to hide the small, helpless moan that escapes.
His hands go to his own shirt, working the buttons slowly, almost lazily, until it hangs open and slides from his shoulders. My arms slip around him without thought, feeling the heat of his bare skin against mine. I turn my face toward him, my lips brushing his jaw before pressing a kiss to his cheek.
His hand cups the back of my head. “Can you be mine?”
A sad laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “I was yours before I even knew I was yours.”
His jaw tightens, something dark flickering in his eyes, and then his hands are at his waistband. The sound of the zipper splitting open is sharp, slicing through the quiet. He shoves his pants down his hips, and when his cock springs free into his hand, it is already slick at the tip.
The sight of him stroking himself makes my pussy ache. Heat coils low in my belly, spreading like fire through my thighs. My clit throbs just from watching the way his fist glides up and down that hard length, veins bulging as his grip tightens. I sink back into the mattress, the sheets cool against my overheated skin, legs falling wider in invitation.
His gaze locks on me as he grips my thighs, parting them roughly. The night air rushes against my bare pussy, cool for half a second before the blunt head of his cock presses against me, teasing at my entrance.
And then he pushes in.
The stretch makes me gasp, a raw, throaty sound spilling from me as my walls part around him. He sinks deeper, inch by inch, until he’s fully buried inside, and I feel impossibly full, stretched tight around his cock. My pussy grips him greedily, wetness spilling down my folds as he holds still, pulsing inside me.
My fingers twist in the sheets, knuckles whitening, as the ache melts into a shivering wave of pleasure. His chest lowers onto mine, our nipples brushing, sparks of sensation shooting between us. His breath is ragged against my cheek, hot and uneven, as he braces himself above me.
His cock drags through my pussy slowly, so thick and deep I can feel every ridge, every vein scraping deliciously along my walls. My lips part, a gasp breaking into a moan, and he swallows the sound by crushing his mouth to mine. His tongue pushes in as his hips snap forward again, harder this time, and I whimper into the kiss.
“Say my name,” he murmurs against my mouth, his voice gravelly, a command wrapped in heat.
“Cristofano,” I breathe, the word catching in my throat as he grinds deep.
He stills, cock pulsing inside me, his thumb stroking my jaw, keeping me pinned to his gaze. “Again.”
I whisper it again, trembling. “Cristofano.”
His hips roll forward, pressing his cock all the way in until I feel him hit the very deepest part of me. My breath stutters, my back arches, and the smallest, wicked smile plays at his lips.
“Again,” he whispers, slower now, voice dripping with control.
He thrusts as I speak his name, and the syllables break apart into a moan. “Cristofano….”
“Good.” His lips brush my ear, tongue flicking against my skin. “Again.”
Each time I gasp his name, his rhythm shifts—sometimes pulling almost out, leaving me empty until I ache, then plunging back in hard enough to make my breasts bounce against his chest. Sometimes it’s slow, torturous, his cock dragging through me so leisurely that tears prick the corners of my eyes. My voicerises and breaks with every stroke, my words dissolving into cries, my cries into shameless moans.
“I want a turn,” I pant, breathless, and his expression sharpens. Then it softens into something else—something tender, dangerous—before he smirks.
In a swift motion, his hands guide me, and we roll. Suddenly, I’m straddling him, my knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his hips, his cock never slipping free. The new angle spears me deeper, stretching me wide, and I choke on a gasp as my pussy clenches hard around him.
