My mind faded completely out while my body took complete control. My hips were meeting his thrust for thrust as I orgasmed with a cry that met his growl as he spilled his seed inside of me.
The moments after…it seemed as if complete silence engulfed us. My eyes closed and my fingertips caressed his arms.
“Are you cold?” I whispered when I could catch my breath. I trembled all over, my thighs quaking.
“Look at me, Annie.”
My eyes fluttered open to meet his.
“Fuck,” he whispered, coming in to kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.
My hands ran up and down his arms, attempting to warm him, but he stopped me with a shake of his head. “I’m not cold, Annie,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“You are trembling,” I whispered.
“Yeah,” he said, kissing me. He was hard inside of me again, and he groaned. “Not because I’m cold.”
“I do not understand.”
“You,” he whispered. “You make me tremble. All I fucking feel for you. All I feel is you. I’ve never been overwhelmed like this before. I see you, and I don’t know any other way anymore, no other fucking way. You. You. You. You are my direction. The only fucking way.”
No words came to mind for me to speak to him in response. None of them seemed right. None fit what had been sealed between us—silent vows and a lifelong commitment. He leaned down, as if he understood this as well, and kissed me.
He kissed me until we were both moving again, not able to stop. It felt as though we had been starving for longer than we had been on earth, and the only sustenance was each other. If we did not feed this thing between us, then and forever…neither of us could exist.
I had never felt more alive.
Chapter 20
Sistine
Idid not even remember falling asleep. I did not have thoughts keeping me awake. I did not worry about what was on the agenda for the day. My muscles and bones were spent. I wondered if I could even lift a finger but decided I did not care.
My body was wrapped up in Mariano’s. He had made me a pillow from his—my—flannel, and then wrapped me up in his, his legs and mine intertwined, my feet covered in thick socks—my socks. I had no idea he had packed me a pair. He said I had a habit of giving my socks to the thief.
“He needs them,” I had said with a tired smile as he slipped them on my feet.
“Fuck him,” he said. “The fucking creep.”
I had taken my foot and set it between his legs, feeling the weight of his heavy balls on my foot. He was perfect. Even more perfect than a statue in Italy. Because he was real.
His lowered eyes were almost closed, as though he was high, but his stare was focused on me. I watched as he grew from soft to hard from a whispered touch. He was insatiable.
So was I.
Especially after the first couple of times, and he was not so easy on me. After he had carried me to the bathroom, and I stuck my feet in my boots and his dark cowboy hat on my head…
He allowed me to take the reins and get on top. I moved slow at first, my palms pressed against his chest, slowly easing down on his long, thick cock. I became breathless, but I felt powerful at the same time. I lowered all the way down, the breath from my mouth leaving me in a pant. I stilled and he groaned, his hands buried deep in my flesh, my hips. They would leave a bruise.
I loved it.
I loved how he marked me.
I wanted the entire world to see it.
After I adjusted to his size, his eyes ordered me to move. I started to swirl my hips, and his grip on me became as hard as his cock. It was a dull fire in the background, only making me move faster. I lifted some, came back down.
“Fuck!” He slapped my ass.
