Page 97 of Capo

Thirty

Chloe

Luciano, or maybe he’s Salvatore tonight, bends my body to his will. With his hands, his tongue, and cock he makes me come over and over, but refuses to give himself his release until I plead with him to let me take him in my mouth. I can’t take any more. He’s ruthless. He’s not tender. I don’t think he knows the word. But he makes me soar. Over and over.

Finally we fall asleep in a sweaty heap of limbs. I’m sated, aching, and still needy in a confusing mess of feelings I can’t even begin to sort.

I don’t know how to meet his desperate needs. I don’t know how to find the man behind this raw facade. I know he’s in there. I see it fleetingly in his gaze. There is longing in him that makes my chest clench with a need to take him in my arms and hold him until he truly knows that it’s going to be all right.

But will it ever?

Can I sate his thirst?

Will he sate mine?

I wake from a featherlight touch on my cheek. When I open my eyes, I look right into his.

“How are you?” he asks.

I wish he hadn’t asked. I wish I hadn’t woken up. Everything aches. My arms and shoulders ache from swinging that axe. My pussy and my thighs ache from letting Salvatore have his way with me last night.

I groan and squeeze my eyes shut. He chuckles.

“I’m honestly pretty broken too. I couldn’t get enough of you.” His hand slides from my cheek, a finger tracing my jawline, pushing down the blanket in its path along my chest, to my breast. My nipple peaks as he circles it, flicks it. “I meant to ask how you’re coping, though. Killing people can be rough.”

My heart skips a beat and I try to feel. There’s no hesitation when I give him my answer. “I feel like I finally won. I feel strong. If it ever came to that, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

His face lights up. “You’re definitely not a good girl. Is that Chloe, or is it Christine talking?”

I purse my lips as I hold his gaze. “I don’t know anymore. Maybe neither of them ever was a good girl.” I throw my head back and moan when he pinches my nipple hard. “You know what I definitely am, though?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

The air between us thickens and it gets harder to breathe. I put my hand on his chest and stroke along his belly, down to his cock that is already thick and hard.

“I’m really horny.”

I circle my fingers around the base and stroke him. Up and down. Then I sit up and straddle him, putting the head to my pussy, sliding it back and forth. I’m slick, swollen and achingly empty. I want to feel that delicious stretch again, I get goosebumps with the flashbacks from how he fucked me without remorse. He was like a machine, working me furiously until I cried with exhaustion. I got sore. I’m still sore. Still I want to feel him again.

I hold his gaze as I begin to sink down, letting him fill me. It aches. I almost can’t. When I hesitate he grabs my hips, his eyes never letting go of mine, then he slams me down on him and I cry out, the intrusion brutal, hurting, and still so fucking good.

Luciano doesn’t move, our bodies joined like one. With my heart beating like mad, I raise a little and sink down again, wincing.

“Hurting?”

I nod.

A wicked smile spreads on his lips. “Do you know where you’re not hurting?”

“I ache everywhere,” I whimper.

“Not everywhere,” he says. He lifts me off him with ease and drops me next to him on the mattress. “Don’t move.”

He stands and then disappears out of the room without another word, buck naked and with a raging hard-on. I pray Alessandra has had the sense to stay away. Luciano comes back with a bottle of olive oil. My mouth goes dry. I suddenly know where this is going.

“Oh, no no no.”

“I wasn’t asking,” he says. “Roll over.”

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