Page 56 of The Devil's Demise

With a growl, he takes over, flipping me around, positioning my body so he could fuck me from behind.

I hold on to the back of the sofa, his chest meeting my flesh, as he fits the crown of his cock inside me and slams hard until I scream.

His merciless strokes show no mercy, my hair in his clutches as he gives it to me just how I need it.

“I like how wet you get for me,” he groans against my ear. “Love you sucking my cock with that pussy, like you can’t get enough of it.”

“Matteo ... oh God.”

“That’s it, baby,” he hisses, biting my lobe. “Take it. Every inch is yours.” His warm, intoxicating breath flitters against the pulse beating in my neck.

His dirty talk, it sets me off, and I push my ass back, and he smacks it hard. “Dirty girl,” he says, doing it again. His hand goes around to fondle my clit, driving me wild. I could feel myself coming undone, just a little more is all I need. But instead of bringing me to orgasm, he takes those fingers and forces them into my ass, playing with me there, sinking inside that hole. And the more he does, the faster his hips pound into, my need almost at the peak.

I find it harder to hold on. Another finger stretches my ass, his cock buried deeper, stroking harder.

“Matteo!” I scream, drowning in intense pleasure.

He works me faster, thrusting deeper, chasing his own release, he pulls my head back, fucking me so hard I almost rip the leather with my long fingernails digging into it.

“Fuuuck!” he growls as he shoots inside me, filling me as he pumps every drop. Once, twice, I lose count, until he stills, falling over my back, his sweat coating my skin, breathing heavy against my nape. “I say we stay here and fuck all night. Let my brother deal with the kids until tomorrow.”

I sigh on a laugh. “That sounds tempting. But you know Cyres will wake up crying, wanting her own bed.”

“Damn it. You’re right.” He kisses my shoulder blade, not making a move to get off. I’m okay with that. “I can help you get dressed, then we can go.”

“I think I can manage,” I toss with a lazy smile.

“I know. But I like dressing you just as much as I like undressing you.”

“Is that right?” I breathe.

“Mmm, yeah.” He moves a piece of my hair away from my cheek and tilts my face to him with his knuckles. “’Cause it makes me picture you naked all over again.”

Heat blooms at my center. A smile turns my lips upward.

When we’re this way, loving each other in our own quiet way, I wish I could go back and tell those two little kids in the basement that one day they’ll have it all. Once day no one will stop them. They’ll love each other out in the open, and every day, they’ll be further away from the horrors of before.

CHAPTER5

AIDA

THIRTY YEARS LATER - AGE 67

Dear Diary,

It’s been a while since I’ve written. A good fifty years in fact. Sometimes I read the things I had written to you when I was there, in that house, with that monster of a man, and I can’t believe that was me. Because my life, it’s been good. So good. For those first few years, I feared it was a mere illusion, casting me in a spell. But it’s real—my life, the love we found.

Matteo and I, we have each other, our children, our sweet grandchildren, and we treat every day like it’s a gift.

We made up for everything we had lost, everything we had missed out on. We even crossed off everything on Matteo’s bucket list, including skinny-dipping. Boy, was that fun.

We tried that again a time or two. But these days, my old bones can’t take much of that. I’ll always have the memories though, the days filled with sunsets and laughter, and the beauty of life reborn from the dusk of our despair.

So, it’s time to say goodbye, my old friend. This will be my last entry. You served me well, like a true friend, and I’ll never forget you.

I close the diary,the same one I had since I was fourteen, the one Alison had given me for my birthday, and I place it on top of my lap.

“What are you writing, sweetheart?” Matteo drapes an arm around me, pulling me in for a kiss.

“Just how much I love you.” I drop my head over his shoulder and his lips touch the top of my head.

“Not as much as I love you.” He sighs as we swing a gaze at our six grandchildren, making way too much noise, but we don’t care because that’s how it’s supposed to be. That’s what I always wanted.

His laughter rumbles from beside me as he watches Sasha, the three-year-old, wrestle her cousin Mica. “I hope I’ve given you everything you dreamed of,” he says with affection tethered to his voice.

“Everything and more, my love. Everything and more.”

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