AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The muscles in his jaw bunch. I wait, but he doesn’t reply. I was right. He’s having me watched. That’s how he knew when Johan showed up yesterday. It’s the only explanation that makes sense. Does that mean he knows I went to the village? If he did, why didn’t he say something? It’s not like him to keep quiet about my disobedience. He won’t let something like that slide. Unless he’s only had me watched since recently.
When we arrive at the house, he cuts the engine and jumps out of the vehicle before I have time to reach for my door handle. He comes around and yanks my door open. My breath catches as he grabs me around the waist and lifts me to the ground so fast that my stomach dips like when I’m on a rollercoaster. Gripping my wrist, he drags me to the door.
The minute we’re inside, he lets me go. I almost lose my footing from the momentum. He doesn’t give me time to utter a word. He doesn’t demand explanations or excuses. He slams the door and locks it. And then he turns to face me.
Everything he bottled up inside for Sophie’s sake in the graveyard comes tumbling out in the way he stares at me with vicious, dark eyes. All the hatred. All the bitterness. All the sorrow. Darkness pours from every molecule of his being as he unbuckles his belt.
I freeze. I’m not sure where he’s going to take this, if he wants to fuck me or kill me, but I know it’s the latter when, instead of unzipping, he pulls the leather from his waistband. Folding the belt double with the buckle in his palm, he advances on me.
So, it’s punishment he’s after. Vengeance again. I can’t go back to how we were before Paris. I can’t regress that far because we’ll never come back from it. This is the turning point. I know it instinctively. Even though his mouth twists with distaste as he looks at me, I think about the graveyard and the notion that struck me, that perhaps he spared me because a part of him wanted me for who I am. Maybe, like me, he wanted better things for us. I think about the pain and the loss and all that sorrow. And when I think about him instead of myself, I do the only thing I can. I unbutton my coat and let it slip down my arms. I pull my sweater over my head and drop it at my feet.
He stops.
I unclip my bra, discarding that on the floor too.
His gaze dips to my breasts. His knuckles turn white on the belt. “Put your sweater back on, Sabella, or I swear your tits will get a taste of this belt instead of your ass.”
Ignoring him, I kick off my sneakers and pop the button on my jeans. Still, he doesn’t move. Not when I shimmy out of my jeans and panties and not when I pull off my socks. He stands frozen to the spot as I go down on my knees and spread them, offering myself like a sacrifice. It’s what he ordered. It’s what he asked of me. But in this moment, I see the truth in his eyes. He doesn’t like it. The insight gives me courage. It gives me the strength to meet the rage in his gaze head-on and to be honest. For once, to say what’s in my heart.
“Get up,” he snarls.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He charges over the floor and stops in front of me. I’m not even sure he heard me.
“Get up and bend over or I swear…”
He doesn’t finish that sentence because he can’t. He doesn’t want to. He’s fighting me, fighting what could be. That’s what he did on the morning he woke with his arms around me in my bed. That’s why he clammed up and took off so fast. He’s resisting that glimpse I got of us this weekend in a hotel room.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “I’m so sorry for what my family did to you.”
The rage transforms into something furious, a storm that wreaks havoc inside him. I know, because that storm lives inside me too. It’s been living there for too long, trapped between the confines of my ribcage.
“I’m sorry.” I stare up at his devastatingly handsome face, my heart shattering for this beautiful, tormented man. “I’m so sorry for everything.”
The storm breaks as he throws the belt aside. Towering over me, he clenches his hands into fists, fighting still.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Russo.”
Whatever he’s holding onto so tightly snaps like a twig in a tornado. Buttons go flying as he rips his shirt in his haste to peel it off. His shoes and pants follow next. He’s on top of me in an instant, pinning my naked body to the floor. His weight sinks into me, anchoring me with a painful pressure on the wood. His cock is hard between my legs. Surging his hips, he enters me with a single thrust. I lift my head as he lowers his, our mouths meeting halfway in a crushing kiss. He pumps twice, shifting me over the floor before he pulls out and gets onto his knees. Clamping his hands around my waist, he rolls me over. Before I have time to drag in a breath, he’s inside me again, spearing into me from behind.
I know what he’s doing, why he’s not looking at me. He’s avoiding me even as he’s fucking me like his life depends on it. But I won’t let him.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Russo.”
He thrusts harder, shoving his cock deeper until he hits that sweet spot that makes me lose my ability to speak. I can only moan as he punches his hips faster, creating too much friction and not enough.
“What you do to me, cara,” he says, his voice laced with something close to pain.
He grunts and stills, holding himself up on his arms as his body pulls tight on top of mine. I’m lost in his pleasure, needing it more than my own. I feel him riding that wave of euphoria as warmth bathes me inside. And I’m glad. Because I love it when he comes inside me.
The tension abates. His muscles relax. The storm has passed. Lowering his head, he brushes a kiss over my shoulder. I turn my head sideways and catch his lips. He doesn’t deny me. The caress is tender, a far cry from what he set out to do when we walked through the door, and I revel in the small victory.
“Sabella,” he mutters, nipping my earlobe.
My name is both a protest and a prayer on his lips. The heat of his chest on my back vanishes. Instead of lifting off me as I expect, he slides a hand around my stomach and between my legs. When he presses his fingers on my clit, the tension in my lower body builds again. A gasp slips from my lips, telling him what he does to me. He doesn’t work fast and efficiently. He takes his time, rubbing me slowly.
By the time I’m ready to beg for release, he’s growing hard inside me again. My panting is loud and my moans needy, but I don’t care. He fucks me slowly, savoring it this time. I’m overstimulated and raw inside when he finally lets me come. He doesn’t climax again, but he moves with me, setting the rhythm of my hips until my aftershocks have faded.
