Page 60 of Until You Break
Adrian’s head snapped toward the alley. Two blacked-out cars slid onto the main road. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” His tone was low but urgent, slicing through the standoff.
“Come on, kitten. Inside. Let me take you home.” Damiano pushed me into the SUV. The door shut, engine turning over. The guards shifted outside, knuckles whitening on their weapons before settling, the tension of the standoff still in their hands.
“Thank you for today,” I murmured, still watching the street fade. Guilt pressed in sharp. I’d left him behind again. Enzo’s voice still clung to me, softer than the street would ever allow. I wanted to hold onto it, but Damiano’s presence was heavier, swallowing every thought until nothing was left but him.
“As I said, I keep what I adore,” he said, almost gentle. “You’re for me to worship and to keep.” Damiano’s gaze caught mine in the reflection, unreadable for a beat before it sharpened. “I also keep my promises.”
His zipper rasped slow, deliberate, loud in the hush of the SUV. He leaned back, spreading his thick thighs, a cruel smile pulling at his mouth. “What did I promise you last night?”
Heat crawled up my neck at the memory of him bending me over the table, of fucking me into oblivion. “That I—that I—” I swallowed, throat suddenly dry. My cock throbbed in my pants.
“That I, what?” His eyes flashed, hand guiding his cock free, heavy and flushed. He pushed me onto my knees, tapped the blunt head against my lips, smearing precum like a signature. “Come on,marito mio, thank your husband properly. Spread those pretty lips around my cock.”
CHAPTER 19
EMILIO
The SUV hummed low, steady as his hand pressed heavy at my nape. My lips stretched around him, the blunt head dragging over my tongue, wet heat choking me full. Spit slicked down my chin, tears burning as I gagged. His grip tightened in my hair, holding me steady while he drove deeper.
“Good boy,” Damiano murmured, voice a dark growl. “That’s how you thank me. Sloppy. Hungry. Mine.”
I tried to breathe, failed, swallowed instead, shame sparking hot through my chest. My cock strained in my trousers, humiliating proof of how much I wanted what I hated.
Adrian’s chuckle drifted from the front seat, sharp as glass. “Don’t mind me.”
Damiano ignored him. His hips rolled, measured, relentless. Precum smeared my tongue, thick and bitter. His moan rumbled, low and satisfied. He pulled me off, slapped his cock wet against my cheek, then shoved me back down. “Take it. Every inch. You’ll drink it all.”
I gagged again, my airway raw, but obeyed. His hand forced me deeper until he spilled down my throat, hot, merciless. He held me there until I swallowed once, twice, messy and desperate. Cum streaked my lips, spit clung to my chin. Histhumb dragged it up and pushed past my lips. “Clean it. That’s mine.”
I sucked his thumb clean, trembling, lungs scraping for air.
Then his mouth was on mine. Sloppy, rough, licking into me, sucking my tongue, biting my lip until I gasped. He groaned, greedy, like tasting himself on me was the sweetest thing he’d ever had. “Fuck,piccolino,” he growled against my mouth. “I can taste myself on you. Best taste in the world, because it’s on your tongue.” His tongue traced the mess at the corner of my mouth, licking it up, claiming every drop as his.
His hand shoved into my trousers, fisting me hard. I moaned into his kiss, hips jerking helplessly. “That’s it,” he said, voice thick. “Give it to me. Spill for me,marito mio. I want you ruined from both ends.”
He stroked me rough, thumb smearing precum over the head, grip unrelenting. His mouth never left mine. Kissing, sucking, owning every sound I made until my moans broke into whimpers. My body buckled, hot release spilling over his hand, wetting my shirt, my thighs. He swallowed my cries with his tongue, groaning like he owned my orgasm too.
When I sagged back, shaking, he licked his palm slow and filthy, eyes burning. “Sweet. All mine. You’ll remember this every time you open your mouth tonight. Adrian. Spare clothes.”
The bodyguard’s eyes flicked to the mirror once, then he reached for a bag at his feet and passed it back without a word. Damiano set it beside me, watching, intent and unblinking. “Change.”
My hands fumbled, still unsteady. I peeled my ruined shirt off, skin flushed and sticky. The fabric rasped my neck as I dragged it over my head. When I reached for the trousers I froze, the weight of his stare sharp against my back. “Look away,” I muttered.
A pause, then his voice, incredulous. “What?”
“I mean it. Look away.”
A low sound escaped him, half a laugh, half a growl. “You’re my husband. Per Dio.”
“Look away,” I repeated, sharper, shame curling hot in my gut.
For once, he did. I slid into the clean shirt and buttoned the fresh trousers, my pulse thudding. When I turned back, his mouth tilted in a crooked smile.
I let out a shaky breath, tried to make light. “Do you always have extra clothes ready, or did you know what you were going to do to me?”
His grin deepened, velvet and cruel. “Both.”
I rolled my eyes, muttering, “Yeah, right.”
