Page 55 of Twisted Vows

“Why do you hate being calledprincipessa, Mia?”

“Vaffanculo!”

It’s a lame comeback, but I pour every ounce of my hatred into the curse. One stroke of my clit and I’ll come undone.

He shushes me and releases my breast to guide my hand back to my mouth before pushing my shirt up to my collarbone.

“Where’d you learn Italian, baby?”

My pussy flutters around his fingers as his hungry eyes roam over my breasts and his gravelly voice rumbles through my veins.

“Mio Dio, you’re a wet dream in the flesh. Why do I keep thinking you look familiar? There’s no way I’d forget meeting someone as luscious as you.”

He dips his head and flicks his tongue directly over my nipple.

I clamp my hand over my mouth and will my mind to disassociate. The lust roaring through my body is too much.

He curls his fingers inside me.

Pleasure barrels through me, but he pulls away and rises, ending my orgasm too soon. He pulls my shorts and panties off in one fluid movement before settling his face between my thighs and wrapping my legs over his shoulders. I shake my head and press my hand against his forehead.

His heavy-lidded gaze as he studies my pussy adds fuel to the fire in my core. He hooks his hands around my thighs and holds me right where he wants me.

“Answer me,amore mio. What ismia mogliehiding fromsuo marito?”

When he simultaneously dips his head closer to my sex and reaches up to grab my breast, I arch my back, tighten my grip over my mouth, and straighten my arm to hold him away from my pussy.

He extends his tongue and runs the tip through my drenched folds. My thighs quiver around his head as fissures of pleasure electrify my nerves.

“Fuck, how am I supposed to interrogate you when you taste so good?”

I shake my head, but it’s too late. He growls, leans forward, plasters his mouth over my entire sex, and devours me as though he’ll die without his next lick.

Wave after wave of rapture batters my insides and floods his mouth. Sweat drips down my temples and mindless sounds burst from my throat, but I muffle the noise with my hand.

When he tweaks my nipple and nips my clit with his lip-sheathed teeth, I launch into a second orgasm. It’s too intense. I fill my fists with his silky hair and twist my fingers in the strands, needing to hurt him in whatever way I can.

He releases my breast and covers the bottom half of my face with his calloused hand.

The bathroom door closes. My sister shuffles down the hall toward the living room.

My soul screams in denial as I convulse through the aftershocks of two back-to-back orgasms.

Fiero lifts his head just enough to reveal his glistening chin as he meets my eyes. He quirks a brow and lifts his hand from my mouth.

“Will you tell me now,mia caramellina, or should I start over?”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

My shaky, throaty voice doesn’t sound like mine, but my chest aches from the effort as I heave for breath.

He lowers his head.

I descend into a world oftoo much. Too much pleasure. Too much pain. Too muchhim.

For what feels like hours, he tortures me with teeth, tongue, and hands, sometimes bringing me to the brink just to keep me there for millennia, while other times he overwhelms me with multiple, unending orgasms.

Nothing exists beyond his mastering of my body. His domination of my soul. He ties me to him with no way to severthe connection. My mind and heart will never fully belong to me again. He’ll always own parts of me. I’ll always drip from his fingers. Always coat his face. Always come apart for him and him alone.

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