Page 9 of Carlo
I pull away and laugh while she writhes. “No. Not yet.” I flip her over, burying her indignant face in the pillow and lifting her out of her dress’s torn remnants. “But I will take care of you.”
I lick her back. Her spine bows. I continue lower, my fingers slipping between her cheeks. My thumb presses against her virgin hole. She shudders. “Carlo. Carlo. Please,” she begs.
“You’re not ready for that,” I whisper as I kiss her tailbone. My fingers slip into her slit, testing her readiness. She’s soaked, dripping down her thighs. Her scent fills the air. Fuck, she’s ready. She’s so ready. But I’m not done.
I slide off the bed and kneel behind her. My hands cup her cheeks, pulling them apart. Her pussy bared and glistening before me. I stare for a moment before I lean forward and lick her from her clit to her ass. She gasps and bucks. “Carlo,” she gasps.
I smile against her mound. She’s so damn close. I lick her again, then again. Her body arches and bows. Her fingers twist in the sheets. Her juices pour into my mouth, and I swallow every drop. I suck her clit into my mouth. Suck and bite it. Then I move on to her hole. My finger slips in, and she shrieks. I can’t help but grin as I push her to the edge.
She’s begging, pleading. But I don’t relent. Not yet. I want her so damn wet and ready. Her body is an inferno, her voice a broken sob when she screams, “Please, Carlo.” I love how she’s calling my name. But I want more. I slap my hand against her ass, and her cheeks instantly redden.
“Who’s ass is this?”
“Yours,” she gasps. “All yours.”
Not good enough. So I ask again. Reddening the other side. “Who’s ass is this?” Her forehead furrows, and she repeats her previous answer, and I continue paddling her with the palm ofmy hand. She’ll get this shit right, or she won’t sit down for a week.
Valeria is sweaty, and her limbs tremble when she lifts her head and meets my gaze. Her eyes are hazy with desire. Her lips are swollen, and her voice hoarse. “Carlo Falcone’s.”
“Say it. Who do you belong to?”
Her body arches up, and I cup her mound. My personal lie detector to see where she is with this. The sweet, sticky fluid that greets my palm tells me that she’s right here. Her words confirm it when she says in a voice that strengthens with each word. “I belong to Carlo Falcone.”
Earlier, I made my vow, and this is hers. Even if she never understands or acknowledges it.
I nod my satisfaction. “Good girl.” I kiss her tailbone again, and she quakes. Turning her over, I pull her to the edge of the bed and spread her thighs. I push them up, knees to tits. She doesn’t complain. My cock throbs in my pants from the sudden exposure, and I free it. She’s not ready for it. Not yet. I’m not taking a chance that she’s still packing that bastard away somewhere. Leaning forward, I kiss her clit again. This time, my tongue slips and slides over it. She shrieks. Her hands grab my hair and pull me closer. I flick my tongue against her clit until she shatters. Thrusting my fingers inside, I let her pussy squeeze me as she climaxes. She’s panting and moaning, and as she crests, I rotate my fingers and press against the soft pad behind her clit. Rubbing a spot so sensitive, she boomerangs from the bed before slamming down harder on digits. Sinking down and riding my hand until I’m buried to the wrist.
I don’t move. She’s too far gone to care. But I let her ride each wave as she pulses around me. Valeria’s face is a picture of ecstasy. Her mouth open and wet. Her cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. Her nipples are berry red and swollen. Her body is one huge exposed nerve. And that’s when I know she’s mine.
When she finally collapses, I slip my fingers out. I lick them clean and meet her gaze. She watches me with wide eyes. She doesn’t know what to expect next. Neither do I. But I’m ready.
I lift her and move her to the middle of the bed. I pull her onto my lap and settle her there. I want to see her. All of her. Her breasts are jiggling with her every movement. Her body still twitching from her orgasm. I lean forward and bite one nipple. She hisses but doesn’t fight me. Instead, she grinds her pussy against my cock. “Please, Carlo.”
I lean back. “What do you want, baby?”
“You know what I want.”
“No, I don’t.” I shake my head. “Tell me. Beg for it.”
She grinds against me again. “I want your cock. All of it, buried inside me to the ribs.”
I look down and give her the smirk she hates. “You mean to the throat, baby?”
“Whatever,” she huffs like I expected. “No more waiting, no more teasing. Now,” she demands like the warrior she is.
“Okay.” I grin, lifting her up and slamming her down on my cock. She screams as she takes all of me. Every single inch. My body shakes from the effort to hold back. To let her adjust. But she doesn’t need it. She starts moving, sliding up and down on a shaft lubricated by our juices. Her hips rock and grind. She’s so fucking tight, so wet. I thrust into her. This was supposed to be about her. Until I fucking lose it…
My hand grips her hips and slams her down harder. Her tits bounce, and her hair flies around her. My fingers dig into her ass. Her nails scratch my shoulders. She’s wild and so damn beautiful. We are lost in each other, our bodies twisting and turning, writhing and thrusting. She leans forward, her lips meeting mine. I slow down to catch the kiss. Accept the salute as the thank-you it is. Then we’re back to fucking. Hard, fast, furious. She’s on me, and I’m on her. She’s mine, and I’m hers.
She’s screaming now, and I can’t hold back. I roar with my own climax. Her pussy squeezes me, milking me of every drop. We collapse against the bed. The sweat on our bodies mingling, and our heartbeats racing.
And all I can think is—
Again.
Chapter 7
Carlo slides me from his shoulder and sits up. The sun licks his back in laps of golden yellow, and I sink into my pillow, admiring its foreplay. His back tenses, and his words are sharp and brisk. One-word questions that receive equally concise responses. He ends with, “I’m on my way. Call Bruno and Mariano. I want my brothers in on this.” He disconnects and takes a deep, shuddering breath. We’ve only spent one night together, but my psyche etched each reaction. I read the heft of his shoulders like a lit marquee sign. In our families, wives don’t expect answers. But I ask anyway, “What’s wrong?”
