Page 402 of Rosetti Family New York
"Then take me," I whisper, surprised by my own boldness.
He stills above me, his eyes searching mine. "You sure about this? About me?"
The question catches me off guard. There's vulnerability in his voice, uncertainty that I've never heard before. This man who kidnapped me, who controls everything around him, is asking for my permission. For my trust.
"Yes," I breathe, my hands framing his face. "I'm sure."
"Thank fuck," he groans, his forehead dropping to rest against mine. "Because I don't think I could stop now if you asked me to."
The words seem to unlock something in him. He positions himself at my entrance, and I can feel the blunt head of him pressing against me, hot and demanding.
"You sure?" he asks again, his voice tight with the effort of holding back.
"Yes," I breathe. "Please."
He pushes inside me slowly, stretching me, filling me completely. The sensation is overwhelming, this feeling of being claimed so thoroughly, so completely. I can see the struggle for control in his face, the way his jaw clenches as he gives me time to adjust.
"You feel so fucking good," he groans, his forehead dropping to rest against mine. "So tight. So perfect."
When he starts to move, it's with a reverence that makes tears prick my eyes. This isn't just sex. It's worship, devotion, the physical manifestation of something neither of us is ready to name.
"Look at me," he commands, his voice rough with need. "I want to see your eyes when I claim you."
I meet his gaze, and the intensity there steals my breath. Dark eyes that see straight through to my soul, that strip away every defense I've ever built.
"You're mine," he says, his hips moving in a rhythm that has me climbing toward another peak. "Say it."
"I'm yours," I gasp, my body arching to meet his.
"That's right. You belong to me." His pace increases, becomes more demanding. "This perfect little cunt belongs to me. Do you know what I'm going to do to you?"
The filthy words send me spiraling, make me clench around him in a way that has him cursing under his breath.
"I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk straight," he continues, his voice dark with promise. "Until you're so sore from my cock that you'll feel me for days. And every time you sit down, every time you move, you'll remember who owns you."
"Christ," I breathe, my nails digging into his shoulders.
"You like that, don't you?" His mouth curves into that wicked smile I've come to know so well. "My sweet, proper Isabella likes being told she's going to be fucked senseless."
The words should shock me, but instead they send liquid fire through my veins. "Yes," I admit, past the point of shame.
"Good girl." His hand slides between us, finding that sensitive spot that makes me cry out. "Because I plan to ruin you for anyone else. No other man will ever make you feel like this."
"No," I agree, my voice breaking on the word. "Only you."
"Only me," he confirms, his movements becoming more urgent. "And you know what the best part is? You're going to beg me for it. You're going to wake up wet and aching, thinking about my cock inside you."
The pressure builds inside me like a dam about to burst, and I can feel myself teetering on the edge. His words, his touch, the way he moves inside me—it's all too much.
"I can feel you getting close," he murmurs, his voice dark with satisfaction. "Your sweet little pussy is squeezing me so tight. You're going to come for me again, aren't you?"
"Yes," I breathe, my body trembling on the edge.
"When you do, I want you to scream my name. I want everyone to know who makes you feel this good. Can you do that for me, bella?"
The command sends me over the edge. My orgasm crashes through me with devastating force, and I do exactly what he asked—I scream his name until my throat is raw.
"That's my girl," he groans, his movements becoming erratic. "Fuck, you're perfect. So perfect."
