Page 20 of Silent Night With Alessio

When he reaches me, I freeze. A shudder ripples through my body. He rubs against my pussy through my lace panties, the only fabric still on my skin. He smiles as he sees me shudder. It’s brief, but I catch it, and I bite my lower lip almost on impulse.

It’s like it encourages him, because he gently pulls the pantie aside and slips a finger into me. “Oh, fuck.” I yelp. The sensation is both pleasurable and agonizingly teasing. I crave for more.

I wiggle my hips, pushing myself forward until his teasing finger is fully inside me. My body moves up and down, grinding on the finger. The room fills with the squishy noises of my unabashed desire for him.

And he gives me a bit more of what I want. His eyes are still on me when he adds an extra finger to the mix, and then he thrusts them both deep into me, repeatedly, with a fury that sends me over the edge.

I can’t fucking help it. I cum like a dam in his hand. My toes curl as I dissolve under the sheer force of the orgasm his fingers send through me. I’m breathing so hard, gasping.

When the daze settles, I feel that rush again, that need for more of him, and I claw at his trousers. I can see the bulge, the excitement bubbling at my seams at the sight. I want him to fuck me. I want to make him cum just as hard.

But he grabs my clutching hand. He raises it over my head, doing the same with my other arm with his hand, trapping me in place. I know he’s strong, but now I can see just how strong he is, andit only makes me want him more, need him more…. Need him to take my insides apart right now.

He moves under me, my back arching upwards, when I feel his lips engulf my pussy. His tongue sinks into me. “Oh, my fucking God Alessio…” I babble.

He doesn’t give me a moment, lapping at me like a thirsty dog. His tongue crashing over my clit so hard it’s like some kind of machine.

I’m ripping and clawing at the sheets at this point. The words tumbling out of my mouth are inaudible, incoherent… Meaningless.

I’m a fucking mess, spluttering all over the place, and it only seems to fuel him. He brings those fingers back into the mix. Everything happening so fast, so hard. Tongue, fingers, so rapidly and then I’m there again.

“Fuck…..” The word stretches out of my mouth, piercing and loud. I’m a fucking siren. A trembling, almost convulsing, orgasmic eruption of a siren.

When I collapse in his arms, my breath coming in ragged gasps, he holds me close, his heartbeat steady beneath my cheek. I feel myself clinging to him, unwilling to let go, as though he’s an anchor in the storm that’s swept through my life. And for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel safe. Totally and utterly secure.

As sleep takes me, I hope that this moment won’t end, that maybe, just maybe, I can hold on to him a little longer, that he won’t disappear when the morning comes.

But when I wake, I find his side of the bed cold, the warmth of his presence already fading like a dream I can barely remember.

I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and there he is…standing by the window, his figure silhouetted against the pale morning light, his gaze distant, lost in thoughts I can’t touch.

He’s dressed again in his black attire, every inch the Luciana enforcer, the Alessio who came into my life like a storm, dragging me into a world I never wanted to be part of.

“Good morning,” I say, hoping to draw him back to me, to the warmth we shared last night. But he doesn’t turn, doesn’t even acknowledge me, and a coldness settles in my chest, a whisper of dread.

On the table beside the bed, I notice a tray with breakfast; eggs, bacon, toast, all set out, and a warmth spread through me.

But as I peer closer at the table, it’s as if he’d planned for me to eat alone. I glance at him, a small smile tugging at my lips, trying to lighten the mood. “Maybe… we could have breakfast together?”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t look at me, and when he speaks, his voice is colder than I’ve ever heard it.

“Eat, Isabella,” he says, and his tone clipped, distant, as though last night was nothing more than a fever dream, something to be forgotten. “We have a job to do. We’re meeting Massimo at the Bellini Lodge.”

The words slice through me, leaving a hollow ache in their wake. I sit back, wrapping the surrounding sheets, struggling to keep my composure.

“Alessio…” I begin, my voice a whisper. “Are you… are you okay? I thought…” I hesitate, the words catching in my throat. “I thought maybe last night… you seemed… open with me.”

He turns then, facing me, his eyes hard, impenetrable. “Last night was a mistake,” he says, each word falling like pins on my skin. “We should never have done it. There’s no room for that… for this.”

His eyes are distant, and the warmth that had softened his gaze the night before is gone, replaced by a harshness that feels like a slap.

The pain hits me hard, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes, but I swallow them back, refusing to let him see how much he’s hurt me.

“I understand,” I mumble, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. I want to ask him why, to understand what changed since last night, but I know he won’t answer, that he’ll keep his walls up, keep me out.

He watches me for a moment, his expression unreadable, and then he turns back to the window, his posture tense, as though he’s already somewhere else, his mind back in the dark world he inhabits.

“Eat,” he says again, his voice softer this time, but no less distant. “We need to get going.”

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