Page 8 of Carlo
“Please, Carlo.” She whispers. Her eyes are pleading and wet with tears. She’s so fucking beautiful. She takes my breath away. I want to give her what she wants. I want to give her everything. But I can’t let her off easy. I can’t let her think that I’m doing it for her. I have to make this about me. “Say it. Beg for it.”
“No.” She lifts her chin, but she knows she’s beaten. Her fingers grab at what’s left of my shirt. The shirt she damn near ripped to pieces trying to remove it. My buttons scattered acrossthe room, making my cock swell and pulse. Her eagerness was sexy as fuck. Yanking me closer, she snarls. “Make me.”
I lift a brow. “Do you really want to challenge me? You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
She swallows. She knows she doesn’t, but she’s not backing down. “Yes, I do. Do I really need to beg? Or should I just find someone—”
I cut her off. Pushing the words that would hurl me out of my mind back down her throat. “No one else will touch you. Not as long as you’re mine. You are mine, Valeria Falcone. And I’m not giving you up. Never.”
She smiles then. The smile of a wicked temptress. One who knows she’s won. “Good. Now prove it.”
Her words shoot straight into my heart. My hands grab her wrists and pin them above her head. As soon as I clamp down, she flinches and presses her lips together. She grits, “Please, no. Anything but that. Any. Thing. He used to…” Shame glistens her eyes. The tiger temptress of a minute ago fading beneath me. I release her wrists like hot coals.
“You okay?” She gives a tremulous nod that turns to a grin when I add. “You with me now? Can I get back to fucking the shit out of my wife?” She nods again, but this time gives me a saucy, challenging arch of her brow. My soldier is back and reporting for duty. I skim my eyes over the fine lines of her face. There is an undeniable beauty in broken things. The rip, the scar that makes one piece of art invaluable. I thought I was marrying a mafia princess. But this wounded, war-weary veteran is so much better. So I offer her what I’ve offered no one else. “Do you need a safe word?”
Valeria gives me an owl-eyed blink before she answers. “Am I safe?”
“Yes,” I answer. “From everything and everyone.” Her lashes fan her cheeks. So I wait, before finishing. “Except me.”
Then my lips swoop down. Because I’ve always been a man who would rather show you than tell you. I’m done talking. I’m done waiting. She’s mine, and it’s time for her to learn what it means to be the woman of Carlo Falcone. Her body melts beneath mine. Her fingers dig into my back. I kiss her until she’s breathless. Until she’s panting and writhing against me. Taking with my mouth all the things she holds back from others. Pulling her breath and giving mine in exchange. She tastes like flames on my tongue. I’m not proud that I’ve tortured our enemies with live wires. It’s cruel and brutal. Kissing her, I experience the same electricity jumping between our tongues. Tongues that battle. Mine demands submission while hers demands… I don’t know what she wants other than fucking. So my tongue gives her what she wants as I mouth fuck her until neither one of us can speak. Can breathe…
“Oh God. Now. Now. Now.” She demands through ravaged lips. As she turns back into my tiger.
I laugh. “Not yet. You’re not ready.”
“I’m ready. I’m so fucking ready.”
I trail my hand between us. My finger dipping into her warm channel before bringing it to my lips and sucking her juices off. Her eyes buck at my actions. Still so innocent. “You’re not ready until I say you’re ready. Got it.”
She nods quickly, but I’m already moving on. Leaving the cinnamon sweetness of her mouth to trace the line of her jaw.
Her hands dig into my hair when I bite her earlobe. Her body arches into mine. Seeking my heat, my weight, my presence. My cock throbs. Painting the fabric of my slacks with precum. But I won’t give her my cock. Not yet. Not until she begs for it. She will beg for it. She will scream for it. My name, not his. I will fuck that bastard out of her mind, rip that asshole from her soul. I swear. These are my real wedding vows. My promise that I’m the only asshole that she’ll have after tonight.
God, I’d love to tie her up. But when my hands move to encircle hers, she tenses, and I move on. She’s not ready for that, but she will be. I continue to suck and nibble at her neck. She moans and pants. Her nails claw at my back. “Yes, more. More,” she moans.
Her legs wrap around me as if she can force me into her. I laugh and push her away. She whines and bucks. She’s so damn wet, her juices smear my abs. I can smell her. Fuck, I want to taste her. I pull away from her completely. I want to see her. All of her. I take the edges of her dress and tear them apart. I don’t rip, but I do destroy. Savoring each new revelation of her skin. Drink in each inch as she glows from the moonlight caressing her body. Her eyes go wide, but she doesn’t stop me.
Good girl.
I’m moving slowly, arrogantly. Until… Holy shit. My hands stutter when I reveal the thigh-high stockings held up by white lace garters and suspenders. My cock plasters itself against my zipper, straining for a peek. Its eye already leaking copious tears. Covering her center is a tiny lace triangle, held in place by three spaghetti-sized strands on each side. The triangle is so small that it’s little more than an arrowhead. Covering the opening of her slit. Her pussy has been shaved clean. Bared except for the small triangle of curls that her panties cover. I swallow to stop the drool from dripping onto her body. Her body flames beneath my gaze, and she gives her legs a little wiggle. Impatient with my perusal. But damn that. A man needs to take his time with perfection.
My hand trembles when I reach out and cup her mound. Her body bows, and she moans. “Please. Please. Please.”
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
She growls at me. Her nails raking my back, my chest. She’s so close, her body vibrating with need. I slip a finger into her slit, and she bucks against it. Her pleasure is an aphrodisiac. Shestirs something in me I haven’t let myself feel since my mother died. I want to give her kindness. Gentleness. But that’s not what she wants or needs. She needs my fierceness, my savagery. My wife wants to evict someone, and evictions are never easy. So I can’t be. She needs my monster, and he’s all hers.
I growl and let him out, attacking her neck first. Biting, sucking, leaving my mark. She shivers in response. I move lower. Sucking and biting her nipples through the lace of her bra. She whimpers, her head tossing from side to side. I ignore her attempts to push me lower. I want these buds, the ones stiffening through the thin material. I want them bared and swollen. I want them pink and ripe. I bite the tip of her nipple through the lace until she gasps. Then I lave it with my tongue. Her fingers dig into my scalp. Her pelvis thrusts against mine. I suck and lick the other one. Her moans echo around the room. My hands wrap around each one in a bruising grip. She hisses, but then her fingers lock me to her chest. Daring me to retreat. She doesn’t have to worry. I’m not going anywhere… yet.
Her moans grow louder, more desperate. I suck her nipples, twisting and biting them. The sodden material is no defense from my ministrations, and she screams, “Oh God. Please. I need…”
I lift my head and admire the way she arches from the mattress. Her body is a sculpture. Her breasts are crimson, and her face flushed with desire. “What do you need?” I ask her as I flick the hooks holding her bra together. Baring her drenched breasts and blowing across them.
She bites her lip, her eyes flicking to me and then away. “I don’t know. Just… please.”
“Begging now? You’re ready?” I ask her as I trail my lips down her body. Sucking and licking, marking each inch of her soft skin. She trembles beneath me. Her body is so tight it vibrates. “You need me to fuck you, baby?”
“Yes. Yes,” she pleads.
