Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 74765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
I place my hands on the bed, back ramrod straight. “Wait! I—”
“Relax. Lay back down. I want to take this last piece of you. Don’t you want to give it to me?”
I’m not so sure.
“I want to feel you come with my cock in your ass, Scarlett. And you’re going to come hard. I promise.” As he says it, he presses in. He works slowly, taking his time, stretching me. When he slides his fingers to my clit, I begin to moan.
It feels good, really good. And he’s giving me just enough to keep me on the edge of orgasm, pulling his fingers away when I’m close, claiming more of me as I relax.
“It feels good,” I manage.
I hear rather than see his satisfied smile “I’m almost all the way inside you. Just a little more. Give it to me, Kitten. Push against me and let me have you.”
I do. I want to. And so, I close my eyes and do as he instructs, and I know a few moments later when he’s fully seated inside me by the deep, low moan that comes from his chest. I look back to watch him as he watches me.
“Christ. I wish you could see how you look. How beautiful you are stretched around me like this.”
I slip my fingers between my legs. “I want to come.”
“Greedy little Kitten. Come,” he says, beginning to move inside me, slow at first, then faster as he shifts one hand between my legs to cover my own. Our fingers are wet as we stroke that hard little nub and only moments later I come apart, my body pure sensation, pure ecstasy.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You are so tight.”
He makes a sound that seems to be ripped from his chest. He grips my hips and takes me in long, deep strokes as he holds me tight the sensations different than anything I’ve ever felt making me come again, slipping from one orgasm to the next as I watch him watch me. As he takes one more piece of me. As I belong to him in one more way.
“Cristiano!” I call out, collapsing breathless and worn out as he thickens and throbs and empties, my body pure sensation, my awareness only of him. Him inside me. His weight on top of me. Him.
And I know this is where I belong. I never want to be without him again.
Because I think I love him.
18
Cristiano
I find Lenore in the kitchen the next morning.
“Good morning,” she says, looking me over as she wipes her hands on the apron. “Didn’t you sleep well?”
I must look like I feel. After Scarlett fell asleep, I lay awake beside her listening to her breathe, feeling her small, warm body beside mine. Watching her. In a way, it surprises me how easily she falls asleep with me. There’s a level of trust she may not admit to because sleep is the ultimate vulnerability.
And you were asleep for six years under Uncle David’s care.
I shove that voice away. It’s one that’s come before. It’s the one that thought adding my uncle’s name to my reaper’s list was a good idea. I need to talk to him because part of me can’t reconcile the uncle I know with the man Charlie would have me believe he is.
What if it’s true? What then?
“I’m fine,” I say to Lenore.
What would it change if it were true? I have to stay the course. Find Marcus Rinaldi. Find out what he said to my mother. Then kill him. It doesn’t matter if my uncle has used me to punish his enemies, does it? Nothing matters but avenging my family.
“Sit with me,” I tell Lenore when she hands me a cup of coffee.
“I have to make the—”
“Sit with me.” I pull out a chair.
“Well, all right.” She sits.
I sit across from her and Cerberus comes to lounge beside me, resting his head on my shoe. He trusts me too, like Scarlett.
“I remembered something the other night.”
She tilts her head, waiting for me to continue.
“I remembered waking up. Or almost waking up.”
“What do you mean, Cristiano?”
“I think you know that my memories are gone.”
She lowers her lashes, but nods, then turns her gaze back to mine. “Maybe in time—”
“No. That’s not what I want to talk about.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“I was waking up. I think I was, at least. From the coma, I mean.” I study her, watch her shift her position in her seat. “I think it was your voice. You said something about damage. Permanent damage. Uncle David was there. I recognized his aftershave.”
She’s on her feet in an instant, moving to the stove, opening it. “I’m sure it was a dream.”
I stand too, go to her. “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t.” I close the oven door and take her arm, turn her to face me.