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“Mm,” she hums, and I respond by grinding a little on my next thrust, making her mouth fall open and her head roll from one side to the other.
I want to see her like this all the time, every day, for the rest of my life. How could I not?
“Keep doing that,” she whispers with hope in her voice, so I do, driving her closer to the edge just as I drive myself there, too. Until we’re both breathless and straining, and she’s clutching me with arms, legs, and the increasingly tight muscles of her pussy.
“You’re close,” I whisper, propping myself on my forearms and thrusting faster. There’s no helping it. “I can feel your little pussy quivering. Are you going to come for me?”
“Yes…” she whispers, clawing my shoulders. “Yes, I want you to come with me.”
“I will, but I need you to come first,” I growl, feeling the distinct flutter of her muscles. She’s there, and I need to feel her pulsing around me.
“Oh god!” she moans and explodes a second later. Her pussy clenches all around me, and it’s like heaven and hell colliding.
“Fucking shit!” I grit my teeth and strain and fight, but there’s no holding it; there’s no keeping it from rushing over me. That release, the relief of letting go.
She groans as I thrust harder and deeper, taking her a little rougher before filling her with the seed my grandfather is so interested in. Her pulsing muscles milk every drop as she rides out her orgasm, whimpering my name like a love song that grows softer until it’s nothing but a long, deep sigh.
By the time I’m finished and pull back, the mixture of my cum and her virgin blood run down her crack and stain her thighs. I can’t pretend the sight doesn’t reach some deep, primal part of me and bring me pleasure beyond anything physical. I can’t deny that part of myself any more than I can deny the guilt over her glowing face and the way she smiles. Like she’s happy this happened.
And when her eyes open, I can’t help but smile down at her, even as I curse myself for being too weak to resist her.
25
ALICIA
Is this really happening? Is this my life? Waking up in Enzo’s bed, where he pulls me in to hold me tight against him? And what about the fact that I don’t really mind. What about how good it feels to be wrapped in his arms, his firm chest under my cheek? The slow, steady beating of his heart soothes me and almost lulls me back to sleep.
Almost.
There’s still reality to contend with. Like the reality of how incredibly sore I am after last night. I knew he was big after seeing him naked, but it’s a totally different story when he’s hard.
Then there is the fact he was my first and that I’m not a virgin anymore. I’m not exactly thrilled that he’s the one I lost it to, but at least he made sure I enjoyed myself. He took his time with me until I was practically begging for it.
The morning after, though, is another story. I never even got out of bed to clean myself up, thanks to the way I passed out soon after we both came, and now I’m wishing I had. When I manage to carefully unwind Enzo’s arms to give myself some room, I look down between my legs and find dried blood on my inner thighs. Wonderful.
Getting out of bed is an experience. Not only do I feel a little twinge of pain with every step I take, but my legs are a little shaky, and my feet hurt after dancing for so long in those ridiculous—if sexy—shoes. I take one careful step after another, moving quietly across the room with the intention of using the bathroom in the hallway rather than Enzo’s en suite bathroom.
But I stop when I hear voices at the foot of the stairs. There are men down there the way they’ve been for days now, even if I don’t know why. Heightened security? I guess, but right now, they’re seriously ruining my escape.
I could try creeping past the stairs to cross the hall, but there’s a risk of them seeing me if they look up here. And I’m not exactly dressed. I pull back a little, closing the door softly before tiptoeing to Enzo’s bathroom instead. I really don’t want to wake him up, so this is pretty inconvenient, but he didn’t so much as snort in his sleep when I got out of bed. Maybe I wore him out.
I catch sight of my little grin in the bathroom mirror and immediately frown at myself. There’s nothing cute about this. “Get it together,” I whisper while running a washcloth under warm water, then rub soap on it. I’ve already let things go way too far—not that I could have stopped him if he was really, truly determined to have sex last night, but I didn’t have to be such a willing participant, either. Now he probably thinks I want him, or like this is going to be a normal occurrence, but it’s not. It can’t be.
Especially since he came inside me.
That can’t happen again. Not only because I don’t want to give that old man what he wants, but because I truly don’t want to carry Enzo’s child. I can’t be tied to him like that, which is exactly what pregnancy would do. There would be no way of escaping this nightmare if we shared a child.
When I’m finished cleaning myself up and open the door, Enzo is still sound asleep. I have to force myself not to stare too long at him—he makes a beautiful sight, stretched out in bed, one arm flung over his head. His perfectly sculpted body is on display. Each muscle protrudes out, beckoning me to touch it. If I knew how to draw, I would sit down and sketch him for hours on end. His physical beauty is the kind of thing that should be captured and frozen in time.
All the more reason for me to get the hell out of this room as soon as possible. The longer I spend with him, the easier it is to forget how this all started. How he terrorized me and tortured me. This is not some lost soul in need of redemption.
I go to the door leading to the hallway and open it a crack, listening hard in case those men are still near the stairs. Dammit, they are. Their voices ring out, loud and clear, echoing up the stairwell. I glance over my shoulder to see whether they’ve woken Enzo, but it doesn’t seem like they have.
“This whole thing is fucked,” one of them grunts.
“No shit. But the old man has a plan in place, and you know there’s no changing his mind.”
The old man? Now I’m not annoyed. Instead, I’m interested, opening the door a little wider so I can hear them better. What are they talking about? I’m sure they’re not feeling sorry for me in any way. I mean, my situation is fucked, but I doubt they have much sympathy. If they’ve thought of me at all.
