The chess piece slides easily through her wetness, the polished stone growing slick as I work it against her clit with expertprecision. Combined with my fingers pumping inside her, the sensation quickly drives her toward another orgasm.
“Raffaele,” she pants, her hands fisting in the rug beneath her. “Please… I can’t… I have to…”
“You can,” I insist, increasing the pressure. “One more time. Come for me.”
“Raffaele,” she mewls. “Fuck!”
Her entire body goes rigid as the climax crashes over her, her inner walls clamping down on my fingers with enough force to make me groan in anticipation of how she’ll feel around my cock.
I work her through it, only removing my fingers and the chess piece when she collapses back onto the rug, chest heaving with exertion. There’s no hiding my satisfied smirk, but I don’t tell her it’s because she swore.
Setting aside the queen, I kiss and lick my way up her body, positioning myself between her spread thighs. My cock throbs painfully, desperate for relief after so much restraint. I take myself in hand, stroking my length once, twice, before guiding the head to her entrance.
Her eyes, hazy with pleasure, focus on mine with sudden clarity. “Will it hurt?” she asks, her voice small but not fearful.
“Yes,” I tell her honestly. “At first. But I’ll make it good for you, I promise.”
She nods, her hands coming up to grip my biceps. “I’m ready,” she whispers. “Make me yours, Raffaele. Completely.”
I lean down to capture her lips in a kiss that contains everything I cannot say aloud—my possession, my obsession, this unfamiliar feeling that threatens to consume me.
Against her lips, I growl the words that have been building inside me all night, “I’m going to fuck you now, Mogliettina.”
A shudder runs through her body at my crude words, but her response is immediate and eager. “Please, husband,” she moans, lifting her hips to meet me. “Please make me yours.”
I rub the tip of my cock against her opening, coating it in her arousal. Then I slowly push the head against her slick opening, feeling the first give of her body as it begins to accept me.
The heat of her sends sparks shooting up my spine, the promise of tight, virgin flesh finally yielding to my claim.
Chapter 33
Alina
The initial pressure of Raffaele pushing into me feels like I’m being split in two. I gasp, my fingers digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders as he breaches me for the first time.
He’s so much bigger than his fingers were, stretching me in a way that burns despite how wet and ready I thought I was.
The firelight cast shadows across his face as he watches me with intense concentration, his sage green eyes never leaving mine.
“Breathe, Piccola,” he commands, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through his chest and into mine where we’re pressed together. “Try to relax for me.”
I try to obey, drawing in a shaky breath that catches when he pushes forward another inch. The stretch is uncomfortable, verging on painful. But there’s something else beneath it—a fullness that makes me feel more connected to him than I’ve ever felt to anyone.
“It hurts,” I whimper, not as a complaint but as a simple truth.
“I know.” His thumb brushes a tear from the corner of my eye I hadn’t realized was there. “You’re doing so well. Taking me so beautifully.”
He withdraws slightly before pressing forward again, a little deeper this time. I whimper again, my body instinctively trying to pull away from the invasion. His hand slides to my hip, holding me in place with gentle firmness.
“No running,” he murmurs. “You’re mine now. This is mine.” His other hand drifts between our bodies, his thumb finding my sensitive bud and circling it slowly, coaxing pleasure through the discomfort.
Biting down on my lip, I nod. “Yours,” I acquiesce.
The chess pieces scattered beside us catch the firelight, and the contrast isn’t lost on me. The refined, intellectual game giving way to this primal act on the floor of his library.
“Who’s my good wife?” Raffaele asks, still inching forward with maddening control. His face shows no strain despite the tension I can feel coursing through his body.
“I am,” I breathe, the words barely audible.
