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“No, Master, please, don’t go, don’t leave me like this, please.”
His fingers tightened on her thighs, piercing the fog of her arousal with a hint of pain.
“Do you think to give me orders?” he snapped.
Her pussy clenched, her knees pulling against the recliner’s armrests in a futile attempt to protect herself from his anger.
“No, Master. No. I didn’t know what I was saying. Please don’t be mad at me.”
He stroked his thumbs over her inner thighs, circling gently, soothing her distress. “I am not mad, mia tesora. But I am your master. You are mine to do with as I will. To look at. To taste. To take.”
He lifted his hands and she heard the rustle of leather against leather. She tried to open her eyes and see what was going on but they didn’t seem to be working. Then his hands were on her thighs again, sliding down to her hips and holding her steady. With a single deep thrust, his hard, thick cock entered and filled her.
Sam gasped, her muscles clenching and trembling. He gave her no time to get used to his presence within her however, before he was moving, thrusting in and out in time to his words.
“You are mine. Mine to taste. Mine to take.”
Then faster, harder, “Mine…to…make…come!”
The last thrust was the deepest yet and Sam cried out as she climaxed, her entire body shaking, deep shudders rippling through her, tearing her apart in agonized ecstasy. It went on forever. There had never been anything but his cock inside her, filling her with unbearable pleasure, and there would never be anything else. Until at last it was too much for her body to bear and she drifted free, lost on a tide of pure bliss.
She came slowly to awareness, conscious first of warmth and deep, drugging contentment. Then of her body positioned at an unexpected angle and pressure against her side, lifting and lowering her ever so slightly.
Sensations resolved into sense and she found herself naked, cradled in Master Giacomo’s lap and leaning against his reclined chest. She rose and fell with his breathing.
The warmth she’d sensed came only partly from being pressed against his shirtless chest, one of his arms wrapped loosely around her waist to keep her from falling. He’d found the old afghan she’d made when she was first learning to knit as a child, an awful thing of red, white and blue acrylic kept for sentimental value but banished to the workshop so company could not see it. The ratty old thing was tucked carefully around her, even wrapping her feet where they dangled over the arm of the recliner. It was ugly but it was warm.
He’d turned off the television and the overhead light, leaving the workshop in darkness. She wondered if he’d dozed off but as soon as she lifted her head to look, he tightened his hold and lifted his free hand to caress the side of her face.
He’d been sitting in the dark, watching her sleep. She wasn’t sure if she should feel charmed by his attentiveness or vaguely disturbed.
“How long was I out for?”
His brow creased briefly until he worked out the meaning of the idiom. Then he shrugged. “I have no watch.”
Sam shifted restlessly, beginning to feel the ache of overuse between her legs. She smiled, remembering the feel of his mouth driving her to distraction until his cock slid inside—
She stiffened.
“What is wrong, mia tesora?”
“Did you use a condom? You know, protection, so I don’t get pregnant?”
He shook his head. “No, but there is no cause for worry.”
“Why, because you’ll take care of me if I do?” She’d heard that line before, from her ex-husband. That hadn’t been why she’d married him but in retrospect, she realized it should have clued her in to his true nature, that his immediate comfort and convenience meant more than the possibility of a life-altering event for her.
Master Giacomo merely shrugged. “It is a function of life and thus denied me.”
She blinked. “You mean, you shoot blanks?”
Again his brow furrowed but this time the expression didn’t clear. “Shoot blanks?”
“Yeah. Blanks. Duds. Your sperm don’t swim.”
His expression froze into the haughty glare she remembered from their first meeting. “They are Olympic-class swimmers.”
Before she could reply, he sighed, his arrogance deflating. “But now they do not swim. My body is as it was moments before my death and it will remain unchanged until my life is restored. I do not eat. I do not sleep. I do not bleed. And I do not find sexual release.”
