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By the time he properly wakes up, we’re already moving. His hand slides from my waist to my hip, fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to leave marks, and he angles himself so his cock slides between my thighs instead of against my ass. The head catches my clit on every forward thrust, and the pressure is so good my vision blurs.

“Fuck, baby.” His voice is awake now, dark and rough against my ear. “You’re soaked.”

His hand leaves my hip and finds my throat. His palm wraps around the front, fingers curling around the side of my neck, and he tilts my head back until his mouth finds mine. The kiss is filthy—all tongue and teeth and the taste of sleep, and I moan into it because I can’t not moan when he kisses me like he’s trying to climb inside me.

His other hand finds my breast, pinches my nipple between his fingers, and rolls it hard enough to make me arch against him. The pain sharpens into pleasure so fast that my head spins.

I break the kiss to gasp, “Harder. Please, Daddy, harder.”

Domenico obliges with a groan I feel vibrating against my back. His hips snap forward, his cock dragging through the wet heat between my thighs, every thrust sending another vicious jolt through my clit.

His hand tightens on my throat. Not enough to cut off my air—just enough to remind me who’s in control, and God, if that doesn’t make me wetter.

“I need it,” I pant, my voice breaking on the words. “I need you, I need… mm, right there, don’t stop, Daddy.”

“That’s it,” he growls against my ear. “Take what you fucking need.”

But there’s no stopping my husband who drives his hips against my ass with a rhythm that’s all power and no finesse, and the pressure against my clit builds until my thighs are shaking and my pussy is clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled.

I come with a choked cry, my back arching, my inner walls spasming so hard I see stars. The orgasm rolls through me in waves, dragging moan after moan. For seventeen blessed seconds, I don’t think about anything at all.

No funeral. No coffin. No Dad selling Mom’s body.

All that exists is Domenico’s heavy breathing against my neck, his dick between my thighs, and white-hot pleasure that makes my toes curl.

The moment the orgasm fades, the hollow feeling rushes back in, and I need it gone.

Now.

I reach between my legs with one trembling hand and find his cock, slick with my wetness, and I wrap my fingers around the head just as his next thrust brings it forward.

“Again,” I demand, my voice raw. “I need to come again, please.”

“Do it,” he rasps, tightening his hand around my throat while the other clamps around my hip, dragging me back against every thrust. “Make yourself come again for me, wife.”

My fingers circle my clit, rolling it in tight, fast circles while his cock slides against my palm on every thrust. The dual sensation—his thickness against my hand, my finger on my clit—builds something fierce and blinding behind my sternum.

As I come for the second time, I’m panting, begging, words tumbling out of my mouth that I don’t even recognize. But this orgasm fades quicker, and I have to swallow back a sob of disappointment. I’m not ready to think. I need more.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna…” Domenico’s voice cracks.

His hips stutter, then drive forward one final time, and I feel him come—hot pulses of cum coating the inside of my thighs, his cock jerking against my palm while he groans my name into my hair.

“Mmm, fuck! Kira!”

He collapses against my back, his chest heaving, his arm locked around my waist as if he’s afraid I might float away. For a second, neither of us moves. The room is quiet except for our breathing, and the gray light through the curtains is getting brighter by the minute.

I’m still vibrating. Still empty in a way that has nothing to do with my pussy and everything to do with the stone sitting on my chest. My clit is throbbing, oversensitive and still hungry, and the need to shut my head off is so desperate it feels like panic.

“Domenico,” I whisper, and my voice cracks. “Please. I need more. I can’t… I can’t think yet. I just need… you. Please.”

Letting go of me, Domenico rolls onto his back before I finish the sentence. His eyes are dark, his jaw set. But he doesn’t ask if I’m sure, or if I’m okay. No, instead, he growls, “Sit on my face, baby.”

I scramble up his body, my knees on either side of his head. Facing away from his body, I grip the headboard as I lower myself onto his mouth without hesitation.

A moan is torn from me as soon as I feel his tongue on my clit. “Oh God! Mm, Daddy!”

Rotating my hips, I eagerly grind against him, seeking more, because gentle isn’t what I need right now. I need to be consumed. I need his mouth on me until I can’t remember my own name, let alone what today is.