Page 99 of Blood Debt
My fingers curl into my palms, nails biting skin. Isla’s face flashes in my mind, then Bianca’s. Protected? No. Guarded like a weapon, used to destroy anyone who stood in their way.
He steps closer. “Do you swear to protect the Bellarosa name?”
The weight of the moment presses against my chest. I force my lips to move. “Yes.”
He takes my hand, large and warm around my trembling fingers, and guides my thumb to a small sensor on the box. The moment my skin touches it, a pinpoint prick slices into me—sharp, deliberate. I hiss softly at the sting. The strip of light flares red, then green, and a deep, resonant chime vibrates through the room.
“You now guard the Book,” he says. “And its content. As a Bellarosa.”
The box lifts its lid with mechanical precision, revealing a single microchip nestled in dark velvet—a sliver of silicon that looks utterly ordinary, yet hums with significance. The light from above catches its surface, and for a heartbeat, I can’t breathe. This is it. The thing Marcello wants.
He closes the box so suddenly I jerk. His fingers are warm when they slide into my hair, tucking a loose strand behind my ear. The movement is intimate, and when he leans close, I can feel the faint brush of his breath along my head.
“I love you,” Cristofano murmurs, the words heavy, as if he’s offering me something sacred.
I look up at him, forcing my lips into a small, steady smile. My hand finds his, squeezing gently, as though I believe him. As though I want to. I nod once. “I know,” I say softly.
But inside, my chest feels like it’s closing in. This man—this monster—doesn’t know what love is. He knows control,obsession, and loyalty forged in blood. Whatever this is, it isn’t love. And I can’t let myself forget it.
The safe is shut behind him, sealing the Black Book away again. The faint hum of the room fades into the background. I keep my expression serene, even as my thoughts coil tight with resolve.
Chapter 25 – Cristofano
Bellarosa Estate
She’s kneeling on the bed, naked. Her long hair spills over her shoulders in soft waves, brushing against the curve of her breasts. Her back is straight, chin tilted just slightly down, but her eyes—those wide, bright eyes—are locked on mine like they’re searching for something deep inside me. Her skin glows in the low light, the rise and fall of her chest pulling my gaze lower, tracing the soft lines and curves I’ve wanted to call mine for so long.
I walk toward her slowly, my steps feeling heavier than they should. She doesn’t look away, not even when I stop in front of her, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath against me. I lift my hand and cup her chin, my thumb brushing along the edge of her jaw. She tilts her head into my touch, and the corners of her mouth curve upward in the slowest, smallest smile—one that somehow unravels me completely.
God, I’m nervous. It’s ridiculous, I think, considering she’s my wife now. I’ve finally married her. She’s here, in front of me, exactly where I’ve dreamed of having her for years. And yet…there’s so much we still haven’t said. So much we need to tell each other.
I glance down—and that’s when I realize how hard I am. The tightness in my pants is impossible to ignore, my cock straining as if it’s been waiting for this moment forever.
Her voice breaks the silence, soft but steady. “Let me take care of you.”
Before I can answer, her hand reaches up. I feel her fingertips first—warm, delicate—then the slow press of her palm against me through the fabric. She strokes once, twice, and the sensation punches straight through me.
It’s maddening, the way the heat of her touch seeps through the thin barrier of my pants, the way every drag of her hand sends a throb right to the base of my spine. I can feel myself twitch under her touch, my heartbeat syncing with each stroke. The softness of her hand and the deliberate pace she keeps make it impossible to think about anything else—about words we should say, about the vows we’ve made.
All I can think about is how good she feels already…and how much better it’s going to be when there’s nothing between us at all.
Her lips glide down the length of me again, cheeks hollowing, tongue pressing in just the right way. My grip tightens in her hair, not to control her, but to keep myself grounded.
I watch her like I’ve been starved for this view my whole life. The flush in her cheeks. The way her lashes dip for just a second before she looks back up at me, eyes shining. She’s beautiful—achingly so—and the kind of beautiful that makes you want to promise her everything.
I move my hips, pushing deeper, groaning when she doesn’t flinch, just takes me and gives me that tiny, knowing smile around my cock.
I’m right on the edge, and I know if I stay in her mouth another second, I’m done. I pull out, breathing hard, and lean into the bed where she’s still kneeling. I cup her face, kiss her deep, tasting both of us, and the world just narrows to her. Myarms slide around her, pulling her close, and I guide her back until she’s lying beneath me.
Her legs open without a word, like she’s been waiting for this, and I fit myself between them. I hold her there, still kissing her, my cock brushing against her until I can’t take it anymore. I push in, feeling her stretch around me, warm and tight, and it’s like my whole body exhales at once.
Being inside her is….not just the heat, or the way she grips me so perfectly—it’s the way it hits me in my chest. Like I’m not just moving into her body but deeper, into something I can’t name. My forehead rests against hers, our breaths mixing, and I start to move, slow, steady, just to feel every inch of her around me.
She sighs into my mouth, her hands running up my back, and I can’t stop the low groan that slips out. Every time I pull back and slide in again, it’s like she draws something out of me I didn’t even know I had. And all I can think is, I’m not letting this go. Not now. Not ever.
My hands slide up her sides until I’m cupping her breasts, filling my palms with them. I knead gently at first, thumbs brushing over her nipples, and her sharp little inhale makes me push a little deeper. The way her body reacts to me—arching up, tightening around me—feeds that hunger in my gut.
I keep molding her breasts in my hands, feeling them move with every thrust. My hips start to find a quicker rhythm, not rough, but with more need now, each stroke sinking me all the way in before pulling almost out. Her pussy clings to me, wet and perfect, and every time I drive back into her, it’s harder to hold back.
