He thrust then, making me cry out.
“I want to hear you cry out. I like it.”
Another thrust, harder this time.
“I like feeling you come.”
He slid one hand beneath me, trailing it over my breast, belly, finding my clit. “Oh, G—”
“Hard and soft. I want to fuck you raw.”
He withdrew entirely, then pounded into me, kissing my shoulder, then biting it, his breath ragged.
“I’m going to come,” I managed, his cock inside me hitting just the right spot, his fingers rubbing my clit hard; It was all too much: too much feeling, too much sensation, too much him. Hearing his labored breathing, feeling him swell even thicker inside me, it overwhelmed me. Moments later, I came, my cry sounding foreign, Salvatore’s thrusts harder, faster. I felt raw, like he said, but all I wanted was him inside me, on top of me, having me, his fingers working, making me come.
“Fuck.”
It was more of a grunt, and then he stilled, his cock twitching, releasing, filling me. I watched his face from the corner of my eye, his eyes so dark, they were black, and when he stilled, he collapsed on top of me, flattening me to the bed. His cock softened and slowly slid out. A rush of cum spilled over my thighs as he held me there, his face on my back. He undid the cuffs at my wrists before curling one hand possessively over the curve of my hip and kissing me gently at neck and shoulder until my eyes closed and I drifted off to sleep in his arms.
11
Salvatore
Growing up, I’d loved coming to the house in the Adirondacks, but that felt like a hundred years ago. Now, as we neared the property, Lucia sat beside me in the car, everything about her tense. She looked beautiful in the cream-colored dress I’d chosen, her auburn hair piled high on her head, dark eye makeup accenting the almond shape of her whiskey-colored eyes.
I touched her knee as we pulled up to the security gate.
She startled.
“You’ll be fine. I’ll stay with you.”
She nodded, but the tension kept rolling off her.
I hated this. Knew as I waved to the guard and pulled around back to the garage that she was here to be shown around, shown off, a token of my father’s—of my family’s—triumph. I also knew my father had not forgotten what she’d done at the funeral. He would punish her for it, and I had a feeling he’d do it tonight.
I just needed to keep her reined in nice and tight. After parking the car, I climbed out and met Lucia on her side.
“I feel sick.”
I slid her hand inside mine and squeezed. “You’ll be fine. Just breathe.”
We were barely inside the front door when a woman’s voice called out my name. It was Dalia, Roman’s wife.
“Salvatore. There you are. I wasn’t sure I’d see you tonight.”
She leaned in, and I kissed her on both cheeks, as expected.
“Dalia,” I said. I never called her Aunt Dalia. It didn’t fit, not when she was only two years older than me. My uncle liked younger women.
She turned eager eyes to Lucia, who stood stiff beside me.
I introduced them. “Lucia, this is Dalia, my uncle Roman’s wife. You’ve…met him.” Shit. She’d met him five years ago on the day she’d signed the contract.
Luckily, she didn’t register and only gave a faint shake of her head.
“Lucia DeMarco, isn’t that right?”
Dalia could be a bitch but it only seemed to strengthen Lucia.
“Yes, that’s right. Lucia DeMarco,” she annunciated her last name slowly, standing up taller, her smile conquering, telling anyone who dared question that she would not be a victim.
I respected her for that, but it also made me worry. If my father saw her weak, if he thought she’d been broken, at least a little, he might lay off.
Dalia clearly wasn’t expecting Lucia’s response. “Well, lovely to meet you,” she managed before excusing herself.
“Be careful,” I whispered to Lucia. She gave me a cocky raising of the eyebrows.
“What do you mean? I was simply confirming that she was right.”
“Don’t make waves, Lucia. Once this night is over, you won’t have to see these people again.”
“Fuck these people.”
I squeezed her hand hard.
“Ow!”
My father’s guests turned to us as we moved through the room, not one even trying to hide their interest in Lucia. I let go of her hand to grab two glasses of champagne from a passing server.
“Drink,” I said, handing it to her.
She took it and swallowed a big gulp.
“We need to see my father. He’s waiting for us, I’m sure.”
She downed the glass.
“Be good. Do not antagonize him. Remember what we talked about.”