Page 59 of Blood Debt
I pull back just enough to whisper against her lips, “You feel that?”
She nods, whimpering, and I thrust again.
And she kisses me again—arms wrapped around my neck. Her lips cling to mine, mouth warm, breath shaky as I move inside her, thrusts that drag across every tight, wet inch of her.
I slide one hand beneath the bend of her knee and lift, guiding her leg up and over my hip. Her body opens wider for me, tilting her pelvis just enough, and I feel it the moment it changes.
The angle. The depth.
I thrust again—deeper.
Her mouth tears from mine with a gasp. Her head falls back, lips parted in a silent cry as I sink all the way in, bottoming out in one long, slow stroke.
“Shit,” I breathe, eyes closing, jaw tight.
She’s velvet heat, wrapped tight around my cock, squeezing me with every breath she takes. I stay there for a moment, buried inside her, feeling the tremble of her thighs against my hips, the flutter of her cunt clenching around me.
Then I start to move again.
Her raised leg gives me everything, that impossibly tight spot I hit now with every grind of my hips. I can feel her breath catching, her hands fisting in my shirt, her nails pressing into my shoulder blades.
I kiss her again.
Her lips part for me, and her tongue meets mine with heat and hunger as my cock drags in and out of her, deeper, fuller, pushing her to the edge with every stroke.
“You feel that?” I murmur again.
She nods, whimpers, her leg tightening around my waist as if she never wants to let me out.
Chapter 13 – Serafina
Bellarosa Estate – Cristofano’s Office
The first thing I register is heat.
Heavy, slow-breathing warmth at my back, an arm curved possessively across my hip, anchoring me in place.
The blanket draped over us is thick. The room is dark and quiet. His office smells like cologne, old paper, and now…us.
I blink slowly, staring into the muted shape of the sofa’s backrest.
My skin is bare beneath the blanket. Naked. The ache between my thighs is enough to remind me that last night wasn’t a dream. Not a nightmare either.
It happened.
I shift—carefully—lifting his arm from my body inch by inch until I can slip free. His breathing deepens slightly but stays even. I sit up, pressing a palm into the sofa to steady myself.
Cristofano doesn’t move.
I gather my clothes silently, slipping into the soft cotton of my shirt, smoothing my skirt down over my thighs. My hands are quick, practiced. No wasted motion.
I glance at the desk.
The laptop sits closed, untouched since last night.
Not for long.
From the hidden slit sewn into the inside of my waistband, I slide out the flash drive Tony gave me. Sleek. Matteblack. Built to bypass logins, encrypted passwords, and even a timed security screen. Insert and wait. That’s all I need to do.
