"You belong to me," I whisper. "Every breath. Every heartbeat. You are mine."
"Yours," she breathes back, her nails sinking into my biceps.
I pull back, aligning the head of my cock with her slick entrance. She is already drenched and open from my mouth, but I do not ease in. The possessive monster inside me refuses to wait another second.
I thrust forward, driving my hips hard against the table.
I drive in to the root and split her open. Her incredibly tight walls strain around my girth. The friction is madness. The wet, scalding heat of her pussy swallows me whole. I push deep, burying myself to the root in one brutal, uninterrupted motion. My pubic bone slams against hers with a loud, wet smack.
Imani's head throws back. A loud moan tears out of her throat. Her internal muscles clamp down around my cock in a desperate, clinging grip.
Porca puttana.
My vision edges with black. The raw physical sensation of being fully encased in her heat threatens to rip my remaining sanity to shreds. She is so tight. So incredibly wet. The pressure is brutal, agonizing, punishing in the best way.
I pull almost all the way out, the slick walls dragging against the sensitive head of my cock, before driving back in with brutal force.
Smack.
Our bodies collide. The sound of flesh slapping flesh echoes off the steel door, cutting through the low hum of the servers.
I establish a ruthless, primal rhythm. I pull back and slam forward. Over and over. My hips snap with violent, piston-like precision. This is not tenderness. It is claiming, raw and total. I reforge the broken pieces of my existence inside her burning heat. Every thrust is a declaration. Every driving impact is a territorial marker.
"Vincenzo!" she screams, her head tossing side to side on the hard wood.
Her legs wrap around my waist. Her heels lock together at the small of my back, pulling me even deeper into her core. I bend my knees, adjusting my angle. I hit a spot deep inside her that makes her entire body jerk.
I target that spot. I hammer into it relentlessly.
Her breasts bounce with every violent thrust. Her skin is flushed red, glowing in the pale blue light of the monitors. The heavy amber and musk scent of her arousal fills the War Room, overpowering the ozone and copper smell of the electronics. She is a chaotic, vibrant, living signal overwriting the dead static of my past.
I slide one hand up her stomach, over her ribs, and wrap my fingers around her throat. I do not squeeze hard enough to choke her, just enough to feel the warm, trembling weight of her in my palm. Her breath catches under my touch—a soft, stuttering inhale that hits straight into my bones. The grounding sensation fuels my drive.
My other hand grips her thigh, holding her open for my assault.
"Stay with me," I demand, my voice a guttural bark.
Imani forces her eyes open. Her dark eyes lock onto mine. They are wild, blown wide with lust and surrender. She is looking straight at the monster in me—the killer, the ghost, the man capable of burning a city to the ground. And she does not look away. She does not flinch from any of it.
"I'm right here," she gasps out, her hips rolling up to meet my thrusts, taking me deeper. "I'm not going anywhere."
The words snap the final thread holding my climax at bay.
I increase my speed to a blinding, furious pace. The wet, sloppy sounds of our bodies crashing together fill the sterile room. I grind my hips deep, rubbing my pelvic bone against her swollen clit with every downward strike.
Her inner walls begin to violently spasm. The tight, clenching contractions grip my cock in a vise.
"I'm coming," she cries out, her nails digging bloody half-moons into my shoulders. "Vincenzo, I'm coming!"
Her orgasm rips through her. Her body arches off the table. A high, keening wail tears from her throat, a sound of devastating pleasure. The contractions of her pussy are incredibly powerful, wringing every ounce of control from my body.
With a roar—"Cazzo"—I drive my cock to the hilt. I lock my hips against hers. The pressure explodes.
I come inside her.
Hot, thick jets of my release erupt deep inside her. The pleasure is catastrophic. It drains the tension, the trauma, the eight years of silent agony straight out of my marrow. I pump my essence into her, filling her, marking her from the inside out. My balls draw up tight, emptying as I claim her in the most primal, biological way possible.
My lungs heave, dragging in great, ragged lungfuls of air. My muscles tremble with exhaustion and adrenaline. I slump forward, bracing my hands flat on the mahogany on either side of her head, palms locked to the wood. I lower my mouth to the warm hollow of her throat.
