That did it. He thrust in deep, all at once, filling me completely. He didn't hold back—pounded hard, each stroke slamming home, stretching me, hitting every spot that made stars burst behind myeyes. It felt incredible, pleasure ripping through me, but fear of Sebastian hearing kept me biting back screams, hand pressed tight over my mouth.
He smirked, angled his hips, deliberately thrusting against that sensitive bundle inside me. Once, twice, three times—relentless. I shattered, a muffled cry breaking free despite my efforts. My walls clenched around him, milking him so tight it pulled a groan from his throat. He laughed, breathless. "He's gone now."
Fury flared. I bit his shoulder hard, teeth sinking in. But he just groaned deeper, like it turned him on more. "Do it again," he rasped. "Bite harder. Mark me up where everyone can see. I'll show it off."
I released, glaring, but his skilled thrusts—deep, rhythmic, hitting just right—erased everything else. I forgot the anger, the corridor, the world. It was just us, bodies slamming together, sweat-slick and urgent.
His hands roamed, one cupping my breast, thumb flicking the nipple while the other gripped my ass, pulling me onto him harder. I wrapped my legs around his waist, heels digging into his back, urging him deeper. Every plunge sent jolts of ecstasy racing up my spine, building another peak fast. His breath was hot on my neck, muttering filthy things—how wet I was, how tight, how he loved fucking me like this.
I clawed at his back, nails leaving trails, and he growled approval, picking up speed. The wet sounds of us filled the dim space, obscene and intoxicating. My core tightened again, that coil winding impossibly tight. "Ezio... I'm..."
"Come for me," he commanded, slamming in one last time, grinding against my clit. I shattered, body convulsing, pussy pulsing around his cock as waves of bliss drowned me. He followed seconds later, burying deep, spilling inside with a guttural moan, hips jerking erratically.
We stayed locked like that, panting, his forehead against mine. Slowly, he pulled out, a trickle of warmth following. He kissed me softly now, almost tender, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Mine," he whispered.
I tugged my skirt straight, took a deep breath. Ezio stood beside me, rebuttoned his top shirt button, raked his hair back. Except for the rumpled collar, he looked untouched.
"Let's go," he said.
"You first," I said. "Don't walk out together."
He looked down, mouth twitching. "Scared?"
"Ezio."
"Fine," he said, but didn't move. Instead, he stepped closer, dipped low, voice hushed. "Just now—"
"Don't." My face heated.
"I just wanna say," his lips nearly at my ear, "next time you clench on my fingers, be ready."
"Ezio!"
He laughed, a real one, low and smug, echoing in the quiet room. I shoved him; he didn't budge, just turned, eyes still dark and deep, making me look away.
"Come on," he straightened, pushed the storage room door, took two steps, glanced back. "Follow up."
"I said you first."
"I know," he said. "Don't want to."
I glared, followed.
We walked the corridor side by side, not too close, his hand swinging, brushing my knuckles—once, twice, maybe on purpose. I shifted mine; he followed. Third time, he grabbed it.
"Ezio," I hissed. "People around."
"Yeah," he said, didn't let go.
"You—"
"I heard," he looked down, smirk lingering. "So?"
I inhaled, said nothing, let him hold as we hustled to the hall.
One second before entering, he released, stepped back to a safe distance, casual as hell, like nothing happened.
Hall lights enveloped us, golden and warm.
