Page 27 of Velvet Chains

"You like that?" he breathed out as he held my gaze.

I nodded my head, unable to construct words.

"You like this, uh?" He whimpered softly. His voice was soft but his tone was not. His gaze was intense, piercing. "Beg me to fuck you." I nodded my head at his words and he sped up slightly making my moans pitch up slightly again.

"Please," was the only word that left my lips.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked. I shook my head. I knew what he was doing, he was punishing me for being defiant earlier. That was enough for him as he leaned in to kiss me again. I accepted the kiss, gasping for breath as he continued to pound into me.

My hands slid up and down his back. When he sped up again, I moaned and reached down to grab his ass, encouraging his movements.

He was buried deep inside me and I was urging him on. I bit into his shoulder and he groaned into my neck.

"I am going to cum," he grunted into my ear as his thrusts became erratic.

I moaned into his shoulder and nodded my head. "Yes," I gasped out. Words eluded me at that point.

That helped push him over the edge. I felt him bury himself into me as he filled me up. I felt every pulse, every throb, every inch of him inside me.

Finally, his hips slowed to a halt and the reality of what happened seemed to settle in. I looked up at his satisfied face in shock.

My mind was a whirlwind of emotions; anger, confusion, and a reluctant acceptance. There was no denying that there was a… connection between us.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Vincenzo suddenly said, his expression now guarded.

“I know,” I responded, my voice barely a whisper. What he said made me feel like a rug was pulled out from beneath my feet, leaving me floundering and off balance.

But I knew that we were both lying to each other.

Everything had changed.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

VINCENZO

The moment sleep faded from my eyes, I knew I had bigger things to worry about than the woman in my bed.

However, I still felt like that was not the only thing weighing me down, making it harder for me to get up.

What I felt was dread, but I did not want to acknowledge that just yet. To admit that to myself would mean coming to terms with my regret for what I had said to Isabelle earlier.

Last night I had seen an emotion in her eyes that had made me want to push her away. I had to remind myself that we were from two different worlds and that this intersection was only temporary.

If Isabelle had been from my world, I wouldn't have had to worry about her misunderstanding my actions or decisions.

Although I had managed to rationalize my actions last night, the look she had given me kept playing over and over again in my memory, and every time, it felt like a punch in my gut.

Out of slight guilt, I instructed the cook to make sure her breakfast had a proper spread of American foods this morning. But once we finally sat at the table, it felt like what was before us was tasteless.

The silence in the room felt like a living, breathing thing, making even the pleasant scent of freshly made coffee, pastries, scrambled eggs and bacon disappear. I snuck a glance at Isabelle, all the way over at the other side of the table.

As if I didn’t already know she was angry at me, she had made it clear by making the conscious decision to sit as far away from me as possible. She ate slowly, not like she was trying to savor it, but like she could better get a bite in.

I felt awkward when she didn't even glance at the bacon I had requested my chef to get for her. It was supposed to be a taste of home for her, but maybe she had seen through the attempted bribery and had avoided it altogether.

The crinkling of the newspaper I was reading and the tapping sound of her laptop as she worked were the only sounds that filled the air. It was awkward, but none of us were willing to break the ice.

I kept staring at the same line in the paper for minutes. The words were blurring out of focus. I couldn't concentrate. The newspaper before me was nothing more than a prop, something to stand between me and Isabelle’s gaze.

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