“You’re mine,” he snarls, one hand fisting in my hair, yanking my head back as the other grips my hip, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. “Say it.”
I should fight him. I should lie. But the words spill out of me, broken and true. “Yours.”
His cock slams into me in one brutal thrust, and I scream, my fingers clawing at the wall. He’s huge—stretching me, fillingme to the point of pain, and it’s perfect. His hips snap against my ass, his balls slapping against me with every thrust, the sound wet and obscene in the quiet of the alley.
“Fuck, you take me so well,” he groans, his voice rough, his breath hot against the back of my neck. His hand in my hair tightens, yanking my head back further, and his lips crash against the side of my throat, biting, sucking. “This cunt was made for me.”
I can’t think. I can only feel—the stretch of him inside me, the way his cock drags against my walls, the slap of skin on skin as he pounds into me. My tits bounce with every thrust, the fabric of my dress abrasive against my sensitive nipples, and I whimper, my body tightening around him.
“You like that?” he growls, his free hand sliding around to my front, his fingers finding my clit again. “You like being fucked like a little whore in this alley?”
“Yes—!” The word is a sob, a plea, my hips rocking back against him, taking him deeper. His fingers work my clit in tight, relentless circles, and I can feel another orgasm building, my body coiling tight.
“Come for me,” he demands, his voice a dark, filthy thing in my ear. “Come on my cock, Pia. Now.”
His command sends me over the edge, my pussy clenching around him, my cry echoing off the alley walls. He groans, his thrusts becoming erratic, his cock swelling inside me as he chases his own release.
“Fuck—fuck—” His grip on my hip tightens, his fingers digging in as he buries himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he comes, filling me with hot, thick spurts of cum. I can feel it, dripping down my thighs, marking me. Claiming me.
He stays inside me as we both pant, his body covering mine, his breath hot against my neck. His cock is still hard, stillthrobbing, and when he finally pulls out, I whimper at the loss, at the way his cum spills out of me, dripping down my thighs.
He spins me around, his hands gripping my face, his lips crashing into mine in a kiss that’s possessive, hungry. I can taste myself on his tongue. I taste the salt of his sweat and darkness that is him. When he finally pulls back, his dark eyes burn into mine, his thumb brushing over my swollen lips.
“Mine,” he growls, low and possessive. “No one else touches you. No one else gets to hear you moan like that. You’re mine, Pia. And I’m never letting you go. No one will hurt you.”
I should argue. I should fight. But all I can do is stare up at him, my body still humming, my skin marked by his teeth, his hands, his cock. My thighs are sticky with his cum, my panties ruined, my dress wrinkled and torn.
And I’ve never felt more alive.
His breath still tangled with mine, then it happens—
A soft click in the darkness.
The shift is instantaneous.
Santino’s entire body goes rigid. His head snaps toward the far end of the alley. My blood turns to ice.
The metallic sound of a gun being cocked.
I know that sound.I know it too fucking well.
It lives in the back of every nightmare I’ve had since the night everything was taken from me.
Then — a voice I prayed was dead whispers out of the dark:
“Found you.”
My stomach drops. Every ounce of heat drains from my veins.
The nightmare didn’t end with Rocco.It grows a second face.A second voice.
And this one—the one stepping out of the shadows—
is worse.
7
Santino
