Page 91 of Blood Debt
“Mmm,” he hums, lips grazing my ear, tongue flicking out. “God, I missed how soft this is.”
His words make my cunt clench around him, my cum flooding his hand. I can feel how soaked I am, even underwater. He pumps his fingers in and out of me, slow at first, deliberate, dragging along my walls so I feel every inch. Then he picks up the pace—thrusting deeper, harder, his thumb circling my clit at the same time.
The combination wrecks me. My hips rise of their own accord, water sloshing violently, spilling over the rim of the tub. My thighs spread wider, leaving me open and vulnerable, and he takes advantage of it—his fingers plunging in harder, curling, stroking, filling me again and again until I’m gasping for air.
I can’t stop the moan that spills from my throat. My pussy gushes around his hand, milking his fingers, sucking them back inside with every retreat.
His other hand grips my hip to hold me still, his strength undeniable. I can squirm all I want, but I can’t escape his control. His mouth finds my neck, teeth grazing, tongue dragging a hot line up to my ear. The wet flick of it makes my clit twitch, my cunt squeezing his fingers in wild spasms.
“Stay still,” he murmurs, his voice a growl, thrusting into me harder. “I want to feel you come apart on my hand.”
His fingers piston faster now, relentless, pounding into my pussy with wet sounds muffled by the bathwater. His thumb grinds my clit, sharp circles that make me cry out, my voice echoing in the steamy room. My tits bounce with every jolt, nipples hard, begging to be touched.
Then he reaches up with his free hand, cupping one breast, pinching my nipple between his fingers. He twists, pulls, rolling it until my back arches violently against his chest. The dual assault—his hand on my clit, his fingers curling inside, his grip on my breast—sets me on fire.
I claw at the porcelain edge until my knuckles ache, trying to ground myself, but every nerve in my body is unraveling under his hands. Water splashes over the side, soaking the floor, but I’m too far gone to care.
The tension in my belly builds fast, a wild, unstoppable storm. My pussy clamps down around his fingers, spasming, clenching tighter with each thrust. My thighs shake uncontrollably, my breath breaking into ragged sobs.
“Oh, fuck—fuck—” I moan, the words shattering into cries as my orgasm slams into me. Heat explodes, tearing through me in brutal waves. My pussy convulses around his fingers, milking them, refusing to let him go. My clit throbsunder the ruthless press of his thumb, forcing me higher, harder, until I scream.
Water spills everywhere as my body bucks, thrashing, my cunt gushing around his hand. My thighs clamp tight, but he doesn’t relent—he keeps fucking me with his fingers, driving me through the orgasm, holding me captive to every pulse.
“Yeah,” he snarls in my ear, teeth scraping the shell. “That’s it. Come for me, baby. Give me every drop.”
I cry out again, helpless, as another wave tears through me, sharper, almost painful in its intensity. My clit is swollen, oversensitive, but his thumb won’t stop. My pussy clamps down so hard around his fingers I feel the stretch of his knuckles, the raw ache of being fucked open.
My vision whites out. My breath comes in sobbing gasps. I can’t hold myself upright anymore—my head falls back onto his shoulder, mouth open, moans spilling without restraint. My body convulses wildly, muscles trembling, nerves sparking until I don’t know where the pleasure ends or begins.
By the time the aftershocks finally slow, I’m limp, wrecked, sagging against his chest. He slips his fingers out with a slick sound, leaving me empty and dripping, but he doesn’t move his hand far. He cups my swollen pussy possessively, fingers pressing against the messy, oversensitive folds like a reminder: This is mine.
And even through the haze of my orgasm, the wild part of me aches for more—wants his cock to replace his fingers to fuck me until I’m screaming again.
****
The water is cooling, lapping gently against my skin, the faint bergamot scent now mingling with the heavier musk of him. My body is still trembling in the aftermath, muscles loose yet charged, every nerve aware of the man behind me. His arms are heavy across my waist, his breath warm against the damp skin of my shoulder.
Cristofano shifts, his lips brushing the sensitive edge of my ear. “Come out with me tomorrow,” he says quietly. “A date…before the wedding. There’s a place I want to take you. In the forest. Just us.”
The words pull something taut in my chest. I force a smile over my shoulder, letting it reach my lips but not my eyes. “Yes.”
He studies me for a beat too long, like he’s trying to read the truth under my answer. Then his hand skims over my thigh, slow and proprietary. “And tonight…stay with me.”
My voice is steady, light enough to hide the heaviness sitting in my gut. “Yes.”
He presses a kiss into my hair, satisfied, and pulls me closer until there’s no space left between us. I let him, my smile fixed, the warm water swirling around us as my thoughts drift elsewhere—past this bath, past the forest, past the vows.
Marry you. Get the Black Book. End you.
Chapter 22 – Cristofano
Bellarosa Estate
The kitchen smells like fresh coffee and toasted bread, which makes the morning almost tolerable. Matteo’s already at the long wooden table, one leg stretched out, his fingers curled around a mug like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
I slide into the chair beside him. “You’re up early.”
Matteo doesn’t even glance at me before saying, “The workers are gossiping.”
