Page 95 of Blood Debt
“God,” he whispers, almost to himself. His cock jerks, thick and heavy between us, and I know he’s fighting the edge of restraint.
I curl my hand around him, wrapping my fingers around his shaft. The heat of him throbs in my palm, slick pre-cum smearing across my skin as I stroke him once, slow and deliberate. His head drops back, a guttural sound rumbling from his chest, and my pussy clenches hard in response.
I step closer, pressing my naked body to his—breasts flattening against his chest, nipples dragging over his skin. Our heat mingles, his cock pressed against my belly, twitching as if begging to be inside me.
“I want you. Don’t make me wait.”
His breath shudders against my lips. His hands slide down my back, gripping my ass, holding me tight. His cock nudges my stomach again, and I know he’s as undone as I am.
I guide him back toward the bed, my hunger sharp and raw now, the storm inside me breaking open.
I climb onto the mattress, straddling his lap. The heat of him presses against me instantly, the thick head of his cock nudging my belly as I settle against him. My breasts brush his chest, my nipples grazing his skin, and I shiver at the sensation.
He starts to say something—maybe another warning, another hesitation—but I silence him with a kiss, tasting his lips. When I pull back, I’m already panting, my body lit up and begging.
My hand finds him again, wrapping around the thick length of his cock. He’s hot and slick in my grip, veins throbbing under my fingers as I stroke him slowly, deliberately, smearing his pre-cum over the swollen head. His groan rumbles low in his chest, his hips jerking up into my hand.
With my other hand, I reach between my thighs, parting my pussy. I can feel how wet I am already, my folds slippery, my clit swollen and throbbing. My fingertips brush against my own slickness, and I gasp at how sensitive I am, my body aching to be filled.
I guide the blunt head of his cock down, pressing it against me. The first contact makes me shudder—hot hardness against my soaked slit. I rub him through my folds, coating him in my wetness, sliding him up and down, letting the thick head bump against my clit. My thighs tremble at the shock of pleasure, and a broken moan slips out.
He grips my hips like he’s holding himself back. “Fuck…are you sure?” he rasps, his voice tight, strangled.
I lean forward, bringing my mouth to his ear, whispering fiercely, “I’ve never been more sure. I need you inside me. Now.”
I angle his cock to my entrance, the thick head pressing against my opening. The pressure alone makes me gasp, my pussy clenching around nothing, desperate for him. I sink down slowly, inch by inch, stretching around his thickness. The burn is sharp, hot, but it’s swallowed by the rush of pleasure as he fills me.
My nails dig into his shoulders as I push lower, taking more of him. My pussy squeezes tight around his cock, pulling him in, wetness dripping down my thighs. The stretch is overwhelming, making me moan, raw and helpless against his throat.
When I finally sink all the way down, his cock buried to the hilt inside me, my whole body trembles. My clit presses against the base of him, throbbing with every beat of my heart. I sit there for a moment, panting, chest heaving, my breasts pressed against him, nipples hard and aching against his skin.
The fullness is dizzying—his cock pulsing inside me, my pussy fluttering around him, my stomach tight with hunger. I roll my hips, and the friction makes me cry out, the sound breaking free before I can stop it.
I grip his face in both hands, forcing his eyes to mine. “Feel me,” I whisper, desperate, fierce. “I’m yours. All of me. Now fuck me.”
****
The sunlight spilling through the heavy drapes is the first thing I notice when I wake.
The second is the empty space beside me.
My fingers press into the cool linen where Cristofano should be, and something tightens in my chest before I can stop it. I inhale, reminding myself exactly why I’m here.
A flash of white catches my eye on the nightstand. I sit up, reaching for the thick sheet of stationery. His handwriting is bold:
Prepare for your wedding gown fitting.
Beneath it, in smaller script: Don’t keep them waiting.
My pulse kicks. I smooth the paper flat to stop my hands from trembling.
A knock at the door jolts me.
I slide off the bed just as the door opens a crack and one of the maids peeks in, head bowed. “You are needed,” she says softly.
I nod, managing a faint smile as she retreats. Alone again, I glance around the room. His scent still lingers. I lift my arm and sniff discreetly. Yeah…definitely need a wash.
My fingers sweep over my cheeks, patting away the last traces of sleep. My heartbeat is annoyingly quick as I walk down the hallway.
