The noises he made?
Made me feel high, almost unhinged.
He was groaning, growling, and his hand was on my head. At any moment, it seemed he was going to guide me down further, to take him deeper, but he was giving me this. He had given me his word, even with a nod. He was mine to explore this way. I was learning. Doing what felt natural. What got the loudest and most intense reaction out of him. He liked it when I took him deep. When I moaned.
Same.
His humungous balls seemed to contract in my hands the more I worked him with my mouth.
“Sistine,” he growled.
I was so high on doing what I was doing to him, I did not even comprehend that he had hauled me up his body and flipped me face down. Myculowas in his face. My face was, ah, facing his bobbing cock. It was so heavy, it swayed, even when hard. The sight of it made me lick my lips, wanting to do more of that to him. To make him feel good. To taste him. To moan and allow him to feel the vibration of my mouth.
“Fuck,” he said, and I moaned, or mewled as a queen would, or…I did not even know, when his tongue touched myfiga,and he started to devour me.
It almost felt like an instinct. My mouth slid over him again. My hips were activated, grinding against his face, and his hips were pulsing up. He was growling against me, like an animal who had been starved and had caught the first meal of his life, and I was moaning against him.
I used my arms and lifted. “I cannot—” I moaned even louder. My lungs were burning. My chest tight. My thighs trembled. Sweat coated my skin. It glistened in the firelight. Dripped on his thighs. My body could not hold on to the intense pleasure for a second longer.
My mouth went over him again, but he flipped me over, so we were face to face. We were both breathing heavy, our hands reaching out, our mouths coming together in an explosion that only intensified when he entered me on a thrust that knocked the breath completely from my lungs. He moved inside of me as if he were a man possessed. A mysterious something was lost inside of me he had to desperately find.
I was desperately trying to share it with him.
“Come to me,mywife,” he ordered in Italian, his teeth rolling over his bottom lip when he stilled inside of me for a moment. “Come to me.”
When we both found each other, I orgasmed around his cock, my voice vibrating as if I was hitting deep holes in the ground, my chest on a bumpy ride, and he exploded inside of me with a growl that made me orgasm again.
It was never one time with him. Always multiple at one time.
I closed my eyes, relaxing my body, or attempting to. When he was this close…my nerves were exposed and the slightest touch of his would set me off again.
I could not stop touching him.
He could not stop touching me.
His face was buried in the crook of my neck, and his warm breath fanned over my skin as he exhaled. “My heart is fighting to get closer to yours, but it is never close enough,” he said in Italian. Then he switched to English. “You’re going to kill me.”
“You were not ended before.” I was not sure why those words slipped out then. Perhaps they had been lodged in my heart and needed to be set free. I did not understand the magnitude of how connected we felt when we were one—and he had done that before me.
Given his moniker, on the regular.
Heat seemed to engulf me when I thought about it.
Jealousy was a new emotion to me.
My sister felt it as the feral animal she was, but I never had. I understood it then. Perhaps my feelings were unwarranted. Mariano did not have to show loyalty to the woman he would marry before he was married to her. However, I was coming to realize that jealousy was not a sane emotion. I felt almost unstable, as I did when I punched the ass-face blond in the eye.
He turned my face toward his. “What I did before you was never like this. It never almost killed me. It always kept mehungry for more. Racing toward it. There’s a difference between fucking and making love, Annie. I didn’t know the difference until you. You aremywife.” He set my hand over his racing heart, and then he hit it against it. “Myfucking wife. No one compares to you. What you do to me. The only reason I’m not dead from emotional overload is because I refuse to fucking leave you.”
My hand trembled from what we had done, from the words he had just spoken with true conviction, and I set my palm against his cheek, my fingertips stroking the light dusting of hair on his face. I closed my eyes and nodded.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
I did, but barely. I was spent.
“I’ve never looked at anyone the way I look at you. Because when I look at you, something exists between us that I never had before. I can’t deny it. Won’t fucking deny it. It’s mine. Yours. Ours alone. I live for it. I’d go to the grave for it.”
“Stop talking about graves,” I mumbled. The thought of being without him suddenly made me ache. Ache in a part of my heart and soul I did not know existed until him.
