Page 22 of DeLuca: The Devil

He takes over for me and smirks, “It’s okay, Bellissima.”

Domenic removes his shirt, followed by his pants and boxers. This man looks like a God. Muscles on muscles, tattoos covering his entire upper body.

“Can I touch you?”

He nods, “Of course. You don’t need permission.”

I run my fingers up his chest, down his arms, mesmerized by how beautiful a man can look.

“What is it?”

I trace his tattoos with my fingers leisurely, “I am wondering how a man known as the devil can look like an absolute god.”

He chuckles, “One day, I’ll tell you how I became known as the devil but not now. Tonight, I want to learn every inch of your body. What makes you scream. What makes you shake. What makes you lose your fucking mind.”

“Dom,” I moan as I squeeze my thighs together, trying to ease the ache.

“Take your panties off, now.”

Hooking my thumbs into the waistband, I lower them until they hit the floor, but he shakes his head in disapproval, “Pick them up and hand them to me.”

I do as I’m told but can feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment.

“Your panties are drenched, Bellissima. I think you want this more than you’d care to admit.”

Then he takes my panties, presses them to his face, and inhales. Who does that? My embarrassment turns to a different feeling when he groans, “Fuck, beautiful Wife, your scent makes me feral.”

He picks me up and throws me on the bed, “Spread your legs.”

I do, and he climbs over me, placing a hand on either side of my head, and stares into my eyes, “That first night I saw you in my club, I didn’t know who you were. I didn’t know you were a Baretti. I’ve never wanted a woman like I wanted you that night. Like I want you now. Mrs. De Luca, you are ravishing. I’m going to devour every fucking inch of you, repeatedly.”

Domenic presses his lips to mine and kisses me passionately while grinding his cock against my clit.

I run my fingers into his hair and dig my nails into his scalp as he continues to stimulate my swollen clit. I cry out into his mouth as I feel the same warmth in my belly, I felt that night at the club when he gave me my first orgasm.

He breaks our kiss and watches me closely, “Good girl. Come for me.”

“Dom!” I scream as my body begins to shudder, uncontrollably. He doesn’t stop. Domenic keeps rocking back and forth, rubbing me into another orgasm.

“Dom. Fuck. DOM!”

When my body relaxes, he says, “I’m sorry. I wanted to take this slow. I need to be inside you, Bellissima. I can’t wait.”

He lines his cock up with my entrance and begins to push inside me, “Fuck relax, Bellissima. You’re so tight.”

Leaning his head down, he kisses me, and I lose sight of the white-hot pain. With each thrust, he pushes more of himself inside me. He rocks from side to side every few minutes, “Fuck baby. This cunt is like heaven.”

He watches my every expression like a wild animal watches prey.

When I relax, I start moving my hips, while running my nails down his back.

He growls, “You’re mine. I’ll never let you go. Mine.”

Domenic pulls out and slams into me, causing all the oxygen to leave my lungs, “Do you understand, Bellissima? I’ll never let you leave. I can’t.”

I nod breathlessly.

The truth is, since he told me I would marry him, I knew the only way out was death. Couples say ‘til death do us part every single day. But I knew, for me, it really was the only option. I don’t get to decide I want a divorce. There is no way out.

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