Page 15

He pushes in. One long, slow, relentless stroke that splits me open inch by thick inch. The stretch is so good it hurts. My nails dig into his shoulders, his back, and anywhere I can reach. He does not stop until his hips are flush against mine, until I can feel him pressed so deeply inside me, until I am so full I cannot breathe.

"Look at me." His voice is pure sin; I obey before thinking.

I open my eyes and see the dark shapes of his features. His face is a study in restraint, jaw clenched, veins standing out in his neck.

"You feel that?" He asks, not moving and waiting for my answer.

"Yes." I nod, straining and arching.

"Say it." He commands, voice tight with restraint.

"I feel you. You're so deep. You're so⁠—"

He pulls out slowly and slams back in hard. My words turn into a scream. He does it again. And again. Hard, driving strokes that push me up the bed, that make the headboard bang against the wall, that fill the room with the sound of wet skin and my broken cries.

"This is mine," he growls, punctuating each word with a thrust. "This cunt. This mouth. This ass. All of it. Say it."

"It's yours," I cry out, pushing my hips up to meet his thrust-for-thrust.

"Say my name." He demands with a snarl.

"Romeo," I whimper.

"Louder." His voice is a growl, making my pussy flutter around his cock.

"Romeo!" My lips part in a scream; no doubt anyone for miles can hear me chant his name.

He hooks one leg over his shoulder, and the angle changes. He is hitting something deep, something that makes stars burst behind my eyes. His thumb finds my clit again, rubbing tight, quick circles in time with the brutal demands and pounding of his hips against me.

"You're going to come," he says. "And then I'm going to fill this pussy up. And you're going to keep it all inside you while we walk back out there. Every step. Every time you sit down. You'll feel me dripping out of you."

"Yes. God. Yes," I pant.

"Come for me, Kitten. Now." He says in a dark, commanding tone.

The orgasm rips through me like lightning. I scream his name, back arching off the bed, nails raking down his chest. And then I feel it. The gush. Hot and sudden, soaking his cock, his balls, and the sheets beneath us. He roars, hips stuttering, and then he is coming too, after sliding in and out of me three more times at a rapid pace. Thick, hot pulses that I feel painting my walls, filling me up until it spills out around his cock, dripping down onto the bed.

He stays inside me. Both of us gasping. Sweating. His forehead drops to mine.

"Again," he whispers.

"Romeo, I can't⁠—"

"You can." He shifts his hips, and I feel him still hard inside me. "And you will. Because I am not done collecting."

He rolls us over, pulling me on top of him without ever slipping out. His hands find my hips, and he begins to rock me, slow and deep, forcing me to ride him through the aftershocks. His eyes are black. Hungry. Insatiable.

"Ride me," he says in a harsh tone, gripping me tightly. "And don't stop until I tell you to."

A knock sounds at the door.

"Don Messina?" A voice from the hall. "The guests are asking for the toast."

Romeo's hips never stop moving. His smile is slow and wicked.

"Tell them," he calls out, eyes locked on mine, "The Donna is still powdering her nose."

The voice in the hall lingers for half a beat too long. I feel the indecision through the wood, the weight of a man trying to decide whether to push the issue. Romeo's hips roll beneath me, slow and patient, and I bite down on my fist to keep from making a sound. His hands guide me in a lazy rhythm, my wetness coating his stomach, his cock still buried to the hilt inside me.