Chapter 105
She giggled softly.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked. The dominant in him wanted to revel. The man in him needed to know.
“Yes,” she admitted, holding his gaze. “But it was a good kind of hurt p>
He searched her eyes for regret. There was none. Only exhaustion.
“You’re a good girl, love,” he said, brushing his thumb over her lower lip. “You took me like a badass p>
He chuckled softly, but there was pride in it. Pride in her strength. In her surrender. In the way she had trusted him with her pain and let him push her to the edge of herself.
She turned slightly toward him.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“And I’m obsessed with you, pizza girl.” His mouth came down on hers. His tongue pushed into her mouth, deeper, tangling with hers.
He pulled back just enough to look at her. “Can you take me again p>
Vee nodded, breath already uneven.
His hand came down sharply against her ass. The sting shot through her and she yelped instinctively.
“Yes!” she corrected quickly.
He studied her face. “You’re sore. Don’t lie.” He knew her body. He knew what he had done to it.
She smiled anyway, lips swollen from his kisses, eyes still heavy with afterglow. “Yes, I am,” she admitted. “But I do want to feel you inside me over and over again p>
A proud smile curved across his face in approval. He shifted closer, sliding one hand under her thigh and lifting her leg over his hip. The movement opened her again, exposed her to him in a way that felt intimate rather than brutal this time.
He positioned himself carefully.
When he entered her, it was nothing like before.
This time he pushed in slowly, watching her face as he did. She was still wet from earlier, her body pliant and welcoming despite the soreness she tried to ignore. The lubrication made it easier, but not effortless.
Vee held his gaze as he pressed deeper, her fingers instinctively digging into his arm. The first stretch sent a sharp sting through her. She hadn’t realized just how tender she was until he began to fill her again.
He paused halfway in, jaw tightening as he felt the way her body clenched around him.
“You feel so good, Bambola,” he grunted. “Your pussy is so goddamned tight p>
He felt the tremor in her thighs, the way her nails bit into his skin, the way her breathing faltered before evening out again.
He pushed the rest of the way in slowly, stretching her inch by inch.
Her lips parted on a sharp inhale. The soreness burned.
“More, Luca,” she whispered.
Each thrust was measured so accurately that she felt every glide of him inside her.
Her hands slid from his arm to his shoulders, pulling him closer.
He leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers as he moved.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous when I’m inside you,” he muttered.
She arched into him despite the soreness, chasing the rhythm he set. Each thrust reignited the ache between her legs. Her body responded again, betraying the tenderness with renewed wetness.
He felt it.
A low growl vibrated from his chest.
His hand slid down to her hip, gripping it firmly as he increased the pace just slightly, testing her limits. The sound of skin against skin grew louder, more urgent. Her breaths turned into broken syllables, small cries escaping without her permission.
The sting faded into warmth. The warmth into heat.
The first time had been fire and fracture. This was heat and love.
Luca kept his forehead pressed to hers as he moved.
Her nails dragged down his shoulders, leaving faint crescent marks in their wake. She did not look away from him. Even when the soreness flared. Even when her breath caught.
“Cum for me,” he murmured.
“I don’t think I can,” she whispered back.
She trembled when he shifted his angle slightly, her body responding despite exhaustion and soreness.
He noticed the way her expression changed. The way her lips parted. The way her thighs tightened instinctively around him. He really didn’t want to spill himself anywhere but inside her again.
His rhythm deepened.
Her head tipped back against the pillow, exposing her throat, and he leaned down to kiss it.
The pace grew heavier. She wrapped her arms around his neck.
The pleasure built again.
“Luca…I think I’m going to cum.” she breathed.
He tightened his hold on her thigh, guiding her body, feeling the tremor that signaled she was close again. His own restraint thinned with every movement. He could feel the pull in his abdomen, the tightening coil threatening to snap.
He slowed at the last second to stretch the moment. He couldn’t take her anymore tonight. He’d probably kill her.
She whimpered softly, hips chasing him.
“Look what you do to me.” he grunted.
She did.
He resumed his movement, needing her to see the pleasure in his face, the need in his eyes, the want in his hold.
Her cry this time was quieter. It rolled through her body instead of shattering it. She clung to him, shaking, breath breaking against his shoulder.
“You meant what you said? Only way out is death?” he asked.
“Only way out is death.” She affirmed, out of breath.
He followed a heartbeat later, burying his face against her neck as he finally pushed his cum inside her.
He rolled onto his side eventually, pulling her with him, keeping her leg hooked over his hip.
She rested her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat settle.
Living with the Genovese for almost three decades had taught Nonnina the art of disappearance. So Nonnina had learned to fold herself into corners, seen only when necessary.
That morning she instructed the staff in the same sacred discipline.
Luca Genovese did not bring women home. He had always kept that side of himself away. Hotels, penthouses, foreign cities. Never here. It had been a rule he followed without being asked, a strange tenderness in a man feared.
But Zuccherino had broken that rule.
(Once again, brought to you by Jennifer Willard)