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This is mine. This is all mine.
I straddle Angelo. His shaft is dripping with my spit as I arch my back. His hands grip my ass and I slide back, taking him inside. I shudder, moan, and he tries to sit up.
I push him back down. “You’re hurt,” I say and move up and back slowly. “Let me.”
“You have no idea how hard it is to hold back right now.”
“Good.” I grin at him and keep going. “I like that you’re suffering.”
“You’re sick,” he says and pulls my hair. “You like that this hurts? You like what you do to me?”
“I love it,” I gasp as he thrusts into me hard. I ride faster, working my hips, and he slaps my ass hard once, twice, three times. “More,” I whisper, and he spanks me as I lean forward, riding him up and down, bucking my hips. I’m breathless and moaning and panting in his ear and he’s moaning right back.
The noises this man makes, the sound of our bodies coming together, it’s driving me wild. This is what I need, what I want, and I don’t care if it’s wrong. I don’t care if we’re from two different worlds.
Want could turn into love.
Want could turn into so, so much more than just love.
He fucks me deep. I ride faster, faster. “You feel like fucking heaven,” he whispers. “Your slick fucking cunt sliding up and down my cock. I love splitting you in half. God, I want to fill you, I want to come inside of you, I want to make you scream my name. I want you to come for me, beautiful girl, you lovely girl, I want you to come and scream and moan and feel me deep between your legs.”
“Angelo,” I groan and I feel it right there. I keep going, dragging my clit against him, taking his cock as deep as I can go, getting so close. “I want to feel you,” I moan. “Pull my hair. Fuck me. Fuck me, Angelo.”
He growls, yanks my hair, and he rips into my pussy. I gasp, back arching, and I come in a wild cascade of intensity. I come and come, and it feels like it lasts forever, until his own orgasm fills me with a lovely, perfect warmth. I bite his lip and when we’re both finished, I collapse beside him, panting and sweating from all that hard work, and glowing with a beautiful pride.
“Good girl,” he says and pats my ass. “Good fucking girl.”
“Did I hurt your ribs? I didn’t mean to push you, I just got a little carried away.”
He laughs and kisses me. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” I snuggle close to him, grinning from ear to ear, feeling lighter than I’ve felt in a really long time. “You were right, you know. What you said to me.”
“When? I say a lot of really smart, insightful things.”
“You said I needed a release.”
He laughs and squeezes my ass. “That’s all?”
I shrug, nuzzling against him, wanting to crawl into his lap but afraid of injuring his broken rib. I feel so good, so vulnerable, and that scares the hell out of me but it’s also exciting. For so long, I’ve let the expectations of others wrap me in a kind of armor. It’s been a way to keep me safe, a way to keep a distance from anything that might hurt me.
But it also holds me back.
It’s an excuse. It’s a way to avoid getting hurt. If I listen to my parents and do what I’m supposed to do, then whatever goes wrong isn’t my fault. I did everything right. I followed the rules. If things still don’t work, how could anyone blame me?
But this, right here, lying in bed with this man, with this criminal, this is all me. This is my choice, pure and simple. If this goes wrong, it’ll be my mistake, and that’s strangely exhilarating. For the first time in a long time, I want to make my own mistakes. I want to let down my walls.
I want this. I want Angelo.
And want could turn into more.
Maybe into love.
I kiss him and he kisses me, and we don’t say anything, not for a while at least, because I’ve already said enough.
Chapter 22
Sara
I get dressed. Angelo takes a shower. “Gotta wash off that fucking fancy Oak Club,” he grumbles as he turns on the water.
I put on sweats and head into the living room, thinking about room service, when the phone rings. I frown at it, not sure what to do, since I’ve never actually heard it before, but decide to go over and answer.
“Ah, yes, Mrs. Fabbri.” I smile to myself. That’s Angelo’s last name—they must think we’re together. “You have a visitor down at the front desk. He says he’s your father.”
My blood runs cold.
“My… father?”
