Her hips find a rhythm. Up and down. Up and down. Each movement sends shockwaves through my entire body.
I watch her.
I can't look away.
Her breasts bounce with every thrust. Up and down. Up and down. The motion is hypnotic. I reach up and cup them, feeling their weight in my palms. Her nipples press against my skin.
"That's it," I say. "Just like that. Fuck yourself on my cock."
She moans.
The sound goes straight to my balls.
"You're so tight," I tell her. "So fucking tight. Your pussy is strangling my cock."
Her rhythm falters for a moment. Then she picks it up again. Faster now.
"Bruno—"
"I can feel every inch of you," I continue. "Every time you move, your walls squeeze me. Like you're trying to milk me dry."
She whimpers.
Her pace increases.
The bed creaks beneath us. The headboard taps against the wall. The sounds mix with our heavy breathing, with the wet slap of skin against skin.
"Look at you," I say. "Riding me like you were born for it. Like my cock is the only thing you've ever wanted."
"It is," she gasps. "Right now—it is?—"
"Louder."
She doesn't hesitate.
"Bruno!" She throws her head back. Her voice echoes off the walls. "Oh God—Bruno?—"
"That's right. Let them hear you. Let everyone in this fucking compound know who's making you scream."
She screams.
Not a moan. Not a whimper. A full, throaty scream that reverberates through the room.
My cock throbs inside her.
Christ.
I don't care if Pietro hears. I don't care if Valentino hears. I don't care if the entire fucking household lines up outside my door.
Let them listen.
Let them know she's mine.
Her hips move faster. Harder. She's found her rhythm now, and she's chasing something. I can see it in her face. The way her brow furrows. The way her lips part.
She's close.
I grip her hips tighter. My fingers dig into her flesh. I'll leave bruises. I don't care.
