He nips the delicate skin of my neck, making his way south when the next orgasm hits me. I don’t know what I’m saying or if words are even coming out of my mouth. All I know is that I’m lost in Tristano and he has complete and total control of my body.
Whatever he commands me to do at this moment I will.
“That’s my good little slut,” he murmurs against the column of my throat. “Tell me again how I’m the only one you want, the only one who makes you feel this way.”
I do. Through the tears streaming down my cheeks and onto my mouth, as well as the fissures of pleasure that have my lips trembling. I tell him everything.
Even of my love for him.
Tristano
“I’m in love with you, Tristano.”
The whispered confession, said through lips made rosier and swollen by my brutal kisses, is like a knife in my chest, stabbing my heart. I can’t fucking breathe. Jumbled emotions spread from where Violetta pierced me with her words and I freeze, trying to fully comprehend what she said, trying to confirm it’s what I actually heard.
“Say it again,” I say, my voice harsh and demanding.
She slowly lifts her wet lashes and blinks up at me. In the darkness it’s hard to make out the bright hues of her eyes, but there’s something shining in them that’s more vibrant than the turquoise and green which captivate me.
“What?” Her chest swells with each ragged breath and speaking is only making it that much harder for her to breathe. But I want to hear the words.
Ineedto hear them.
“Say you love—”
She diverts my attention when her legs give out. I’m quick to grab her hips and then pin her to the balusters with the length of my body. After snaking an arm around her waist, I take her chin in hand so she can’t look away. I want to see what’s in her gaze when she tells me of her love again.
Because hearing it once is not enough.
Maybe not ever.
And there’s also a part of me that fears I imagined it, that I’m so fucking weak for Violetta I’m creating visions of her saying what I want to hear most.
Fuck me.
I’m quick to slam down mental shields on that line of thinking and redirect my focus to her. The only problem is when she repeats it.
“I do love you.” The words transfer from her to me on a defeated sigh, instead of a passionate moan like before. This does not please me.
Violetta tries to jerk her chin from my hold and I clamp down, preventing her from escaping. She does it anyway by closing her eyes and hiding the emotion in the depths of her gaze.
Il mio piccolo ribelle.1
“I wish I didn’t,” she whispers.
Whether that’s meant for her or me, I’m not sure. But one thing I do know is I won’t let Violetta change her mind now that I know. Because that simple confession means more to me than I thought possible.
And it changeseverything.
Violetta’s love is like her, something I want to be thefirstandonlyto have.
I caress her bottom lip with my thumb in slow and gentle sweeps until she takes a deep breath. With her mouth slightly open, I’m able to dip my finger inside and press my thumb on her tongue, before making small circles. The saltiness of Violetta’s orgasm transfers from my skin to her taste buds and her eyes pop open.
“Do you see how good you taste?” I ask. Her breath hitches, her pebbled nipples rubbing my chest and making me inwardly groan. “This is why I want to devour you at all times, but that is not what I want to talk about right now.”
She turns her head, freeing her mouth, and says, “Please let me go. I’ve told you everything, even things I wasn’t supposed to. You’ve gotten what you wanted, so we’re done.”
Despite the threads of anguish in her voice, I’m not going to consider her plea. I’ve learned too much, heard too much, and experienced too much of Violetta to ever walk away. Knowing she loves me is all that matters.
