“You ruined me, too.”
He kisses me on the wordtoo.
Then he stops being careful.
He fucks me against the wall harder than I thought he would let himself, harder than I would have asked for if I had a voice left to ask in. I bite down on his shoulder to keep the noise in. His hand comes up and cups the back of my skull and pulls me off him.
“No.” His mouth at my temple. “I want to hear it. Every fucking sound. Now.”
I let go.
He spills inside me with a low, wrecked sound at my throat. Holds me there against the wall while my whole body shakes through it. I can feel his arms, the muscles that have been holding me up, start to give.
So, I get my legs under me. I slide down the front of him, slow, my own thighs trembling, and I land on my knees on the rug at his feet.
He looks down at me.
“You’re a fucking queen.”
I take him in my hand first. He’s wet and hot from being inside me. I work him with my fist, slow at first, watching his face. His head goes back.
I take him in my mouth.
He growls up at the ceiling, deep and primal. His hand finds my hair and fists it, but he doesn’t push or guide—just holds. I take him as deep as I can. He hisses. I do it again. The third time, my eyes start to water, and he rumbles my name like a god.
I know I have him.
I don’t stop until he’s shaking. Until his hand in my hair is the only reason he’s still upright. He tries, once, to pull me off—I hear him say,Bea, you don’t have to—and I dig my nails into the back of his thigh and keep going. He gives up.
When he comes in my mouth, I swallow it, all of it, and I look up at him while I do it. He stares back at me like I’m a goddess.
Then there’s nothing left to take. I sit back on my heels, drunk on what I’ve just done to him. This god, brought down to his own carpet by my mouth.
His chiselled chest heaves with an otherworldly strength. I assume that means we must be done.
I’m wrong. We’re far from done.
With a grunt, Raffaele lifts me by the elbows, pulling me back up against him so he can kiss me hard.
I melt into his lips as he walks us to the nearest couch and bends me over it.
Then he gets back onto his knees.
I feel his tongue first, right between my thighs, and I shudder so violently I worry I might shatter.
He works me there until my hands are clawing into the cushions and my forehead is pressed into the leather and I’m openly begging for him to do something, anything, the next thing,please.
He obeys.
With one last kiss to the inside of my thigh, he stands and drives into me.
From this angle, he feels even bigger. He plunges so deep inside of me that I have to scream into the couch cushions just to make room for him.
He fucks me until I can’t feel my legs.
By the time the daylight has worked its way across the room, I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve come. And I’ve definitely forgotten about what the hell we were even arguing about.
All I know is that as soon as my body recovers from his ravaging, I’ll be on my knees, begging for more.
