I wake slowlyto a beam of light slicing across the room. As awareness comes back to me, I remember I’m still in the suite eighteen stories above Velvet and apparently it’s daylight.
I’ve only been in the suite at night so I didn’t even register the fact it might have windows.
I lie perfectly still beneath the heavy warmth pushed up against my back and try to separate dream from memory.
My body feels different—loose in places, aching in others. My lips sting softly, and there’s a deep soreness between my thighs that makes heat creep into my cheeks the second I become aware of it.
Last night wasn’t a dream.
Fiero Bellucci really took my virginity.
We kissed for what felt like hours after we’d finished, his cock lying lax and heavy inside me. I could feel the blood andour combined come leaking between my legs but I didn’t want to move. It just seeped into the bedding and neither of us cared.
When we eventually pulled apart, he led me to the shower, standing me gently beneath the hot water, and cleaned me all over with a soft cloth and expensive soap. He didn’t put his hands on me once.
After toweling me dry and wrapping me in a soft robe, he led me to the sofa and made me sit while he changed the bedsheets himself. I curled up and floated in and out of sleep while he went to fetch fresh linens.
When he returned, he brought food, and we sat in mostly comfortable silence while I devoured a plate of cold meats and cheese. At some point he noticed my eyelids fall and he carried me in cradled arms back to the bed. I let the robe fall to the floor and climbed in naked. He did the same, then he stretched out, inviting me into his body.
Still without laying a hand on me, he wrapped an arm around my back and I fell asleep rising and falling to the rhythm of his breaths. It was the deepest sleep I’ve had in years.
I slowly turn my head until his profile comes into view.
His face looks less ferocious in sleep. His dark lashes rest against olive skin. The sharpness that was carved into his features as he punched through my hymen has softened beneath exertion and perhaps exhaustion after taking a bullet. For me.
One arm is banded heavily around my waist beneath the sheets as if I might try to escape.
The sight of him like this does terrible things to me. It makes menot carewho he is.
Fiero Bellucci is Il Diavolo. He’s dangerous. He kills people. He commands a wholearmyof killers. I’ve seen the way people defer to him, second guess their responses when he speaks. People fear him.Menfear him.
Yet, last night, after discovering I was a virgin, he handled me like a piece of fragile porcelain.
My throat tightens revealing a lump at the base.
I turn my gaze to the ceiling.What the hell is wrong with me?
I should feel mortified and ashamed. At the very least I should feel used. This man has bought me for a month. He’s simply calling in a debt and I’m delivering.
When he all but dragged me into this room, I thought he was going to hurt me in some way. He had a look in his eye that could cripple a monster.
I was too terrified to feel aroused. I was thankful when he stripped too, because the dirty—filthy—sight of him stroking his cock right in front of me filled me with something seedy and sordid. I got wet real quick.
A part of me knew he was going to fuck me. It felt like the one thing left to do. And I wanted it. I’ve been carrying my virginity around like a shackle, about to give it away to the highest bidder. I’m glad that, in the end, it was him.
Fiero Bellucci is the first and only man to ever consider my feelings and my pleasure. He’s the only man who’s aroused me so much I can feel it running down my leg.
And now, even in the light of day, I feel connected to him in a deep, soul-level way.
Is this what happens when two people have sex? Does it always feel like they’ve found a part that has been missing? How do people stop? How on earth do I walk away from this?
My gaze falls to the dressing on his chest and another invisible fist curls around my heart. He took a bullet for me.
This man who claims to have bought me as nothing more than a debt repayment, has not only given me mind-blowing pleasure, but he’s risked his life for me.
I stare down at the sheets twisted around our bodies. I’m supposed to hate him, but I don’t. Maybe this is like some twisted version of Stockholm Syndrome. Whatever it is, it’s unexpected and it’s in my bones.
Last night, Fiero Bellucci claimed me.
