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“You’re so fucking tight.” Tristan grazed my neck with his teeth, soothing the sting with his tongue. “Look at me, Alessia. Let me see your eyes as you fall apart.”
It was too much. His long fingers moving inside me, his teeth and tongue at my throat, his stormy gaze promising me things I had no right to want.
“Tristan…God,” I moaned, writhing against his hand.
His thumb began to circle my clit, taking me higher and higher. Carrying me away to another world, another moment. One where the threat of death wasn’t circling.
“It feels good… so good. Don’t stop… don’t ever stop.”
He whispered words of encouragement in my ear. Strings of Italian phrases I could barely decipher between the moans and whimpers he was eliciting from my throat.
“Come for me, Principessa. Give it to me.”
Something inside me coiled tight. Tighter… tighter… tighter…
Then snapped.
I clung to Tristan, crying out his name over and over as an intense wave of pleasure crashed over me. “W-what was that?” I peeked up at him through hooded eyes, and he smirked.
“That… was just the beginning.”
Tristan lifted me off him like a rag doll and stood, lying me down on the bed. “You want this, Principessa?” His hand paused on his belt buckle. “You want me?”
“More than anything,” I whispered. Shivered as I watched him slowly undress. His body was a work of art, inches upon inches of tan skin stretched taut over muscles that rippled and contracted with every breath he took. Dark swirls of ink snaked up one side of his waist, curling around his pecs. I wanted to trace the pattern, mark it with my fingertips and my lips and tongue.
“Tristan…” I breathed as he climbed over me, pushing my thighs apart to accommodate his body.
“If things were different, I would take my time, acquaint myself with every inch of your skin. But—”
“Shh.” I touched his mouth again. “None of that matters.”
All that mattered was he kissed me, touched and loved me the way I so desperately needed.
With the skill of a man far more experienced than I, he managed to bend and move my body until he was right there, pressed up against me. Thick and long and as hard as steel.
“Will it hurt?” I asked, my voice not my own.
“Only for a second.” His jaw clenched, teeth bared as if he was fighting some internal battle.
“Tristan.” I laid my hand against his cheek. “I want this. I want you.”
“Mi fai impazzire,” he rasped and then pushed forward, breaking through the final barrier of my innocence.
Emotion surged inside my chest as he sang my name over and over like a prayer. I cried out, too overwhelmed, too everything. Tristan was like a storm I couldn’t escape, sweeping me up in its intensity. Its strength and unforgiving power.
He hitched my leg around his waist, grinding his pelvis against me in slow rolls like a wave ebbing and flowing against the shore.
“Okay?” he asked, and I nodded.
Sliding my hand around the back of his neck, I pulled his face down to kiss him.
At first, it wasn’t particularly comfortable as he filled me, stretched me around him. But soon, the lingering ache gave way to a warm current of pleasure.
My hips began to lift to meet his every thrust, desperate to feel him deeper, harder.
“Fuck, Principessa. You feel…fuck.” He buried his face into the crook of my neck, licking and sucking the skin there while his hands mapped my curves.
“Ah,” I cried as he picked up the pace, hitting some place deep inside me. “Tristan…”
