Page 55 of Wounded King
I intended to walk her to the bedroom, but my control is no longer skirting the edge of the cliff; it has taken a plunge down an abyss from which, I'm afraid, there will be no coming back.
"Tell me you're ready for me," I growl.
"I'm ready," her voice is hoarse and breathless, against my ear. I've always been a sexual man, but nothing has ever aroused me like her; just the brush of her breath against my ear as she delivers the low murmured words is enough to keep me cliff diving.
For leverage, I press her back against the window, freeing one hand with which I pull up that sexy skirt of hers and rip away the tiny scrap of lace covering her pussy.
I bring it up to my face, inhale her sweet scent, and nearly lose it when I realize her underwear is drenched. Fuck, this woman is hot.
Next, I undo my belt, unzip my pants, and let them fall between my legs. No time to step out of them. I need to be inside her. Now!
My dick, stiffer than it's ever been, agrees with that sentiment wholeheartedly; slowly, I glide inside her. She's so fucking tight.
She lets out a low hiss, and I nearly come.
"So fucking tight," I groan, relishing every inch as it drives into her wet, hot pussy. Her walls are slick around me as they reluctantly open, making me feel like a conquering army. Once I'm all the way in, there is no holding back. All my blood has left my brain and body and accumulated inside my cock. I begin rocking my hips back and forth, battering in and out of her.
I have a short moment of clarity, very short. "Tell me you're on birth control."
She nods against me, her breath against my ear, and her tongue plays with my earlobe. Fuck, that's hot. And with that, any semblance of clarity is gone.
Her low moans mix with mine. Her hands bury in my hair, pull, and dig. It hurts, but the pain drives me forward all the more manically. Her head falls back, exposing her long, elegant neck, and I latch on. Like a vampire, I suck on her fragile throat, set on leaving my mark there before I move to another spot.
"Ah, fuck, Marcello," she pants.
"Come for me, tesoro," I coax while searching out another spot on her throat to mark as mine.
She does. Her walls clench around me as her body spasms. I force my lips off her neck, afraid I might truly hurt her as an explosive wave crashes through me. My head falls back, and I roar my triumph over having her cry out into the silent penthouse.
She falls against me, spent and heaving, but I haven't had enough of her yet, not by a long shot. This was just the appetizer.
It's neither dignified nor painless to walk with my pants around my ankles, especially with the lingering ache in my leg. The cane's somewhere across the room, useless now as my leg protests with every uneven step, but I grit my teeth and keep moving. She's in my arms. A man's got to have his priorities straight. I need to feel her beneath me, writhing and submitting to my touch. The kitchen island, cold and hard, is perfect for what I have in mind. I splay her out like a feast, her heated flesh meeting the unyielding marble, and a gasp escapes her lips. Her nipples tighten under the sheer fabric of her top, begging for my mouth. I rip the blouse off, exposing her perfect breasts, and dive in, capturing one hardened peak between my teeth. She arches into me, a guttural moan escaping her throat as I suck and nibble, marking her flesh.
Her arms flail, searching for an anchor, sending boxes of desserts crashing to the ground. Pastries explode, cream and custard splattering across the floor, her hair, her skin. I watch her, enthralled, as she writhes in the mess, her body begging for more. My hands roam her curves, mapping her territory, claiming every inch as mine. She's a canvas, and I'm the artist, painting her with my touch, branding her with my mouth.
"Watch me, tesoro," I command, my voice hoarse with lust. "Watch what I do to you." Her eyes flutter open, meeting mine, pupils dilated with desire. I grind against her, my cock sliding through her slick folds, teasing her entrance. She's soaked, her body weeping for me.
"Please, Marcello," she begs, her voice a desperate whine. "I need you to fuck me."
A primal growl rumbles deep in my chest. "I'm going to fuck you, tesoro. I'm going to fill you, own you, make you scream my name until your voice is raw." I grab a nearby cannoli, crushing it in my fist, smearing the creamy filling across her breasts, her stomach, her throat. I lick it off, my tongue tracing paths over her trembling flesh, my eyes locked onto hers, watching her unravel beneath me.
I slam into her, one brutal thrust, filling her completely. She screams, her body stretching to accommodate my length. I can feel her, tight and hot, gripping me like a vice. I still, savoring the sensation, watching as her face contorts in pleasure. Then I start to move, setting a brutal pace, each thrust claiming her, owning her, making her mine.
"You're mine, tesoro," I growl, my hand fisting in her hair, tugging her head back to expose her throat. I sink my teeth into her flesh, sucking hard, marking her. "Every part of you belongs to me. Your breath," I thrust deeper, "your moans," another thrust, "your orgasms." I angle my hips, hitting that spot inside her that makes her scream my name.
"Marcello!"
"That's it, tesoro," I roar, my body pounding into hers, our flesh slapping together, her body coated in sweat and cream and us. "Scream for me. Let the whole fucking world hear who you belong to."
Her body convulses as her walls clamp down on me, her orgasm ripping through her. I can feel it, her pleasure pulsing around me, milking my own release. I roar, my vision blacking out as I empty myself inside her, my cock pumping my seed deep into her womb. I collapse on top of her, my body slick with sweat and dessert, my lungs heaving for breath. I lick her skin, tasting the salt of her sweat, the sweetness of the cream, the tang of her desire. She's mine. All mine. And I'll never let her go.
I take her in, the way she's spread underneath me. Her hair is matted with whipped cream and pudding, chocolate frosting is smeared across her cheek, and a cannoli shell is crushed against her thigh. She's a mess, my mess, and I've never seen anything more beautiful. A wicked grin spreads across my face. Round two.
"That was..." she breathes, struggling to find words.
"Just the beginning," I smirk, nuzzling into her neck. "I'm nowhere near done with you yet, tesoro."
She shivers beneath me, her body already responding to my words, my touch. I slide out of her, both of us hissing at the loss of contact. But I have plans, so many delicious plans for her. I scoop her up, her body pliant in my arms, and carry her towards the bathroom. My leg protests the sudden weight, a sharp pain pulls along the healing muscle, but I ignore it. She needs to be cleaned up. And then dirtied again. And again. Until she can't remember her own name, only mine.
