Page 87 of Brutal Vows

Then his lips seal around my clit, his tongue flicking with just the right pressure, and the world splinters apart. Pleasure crashes through me in waves, his relentless touch wringing every last drop of bliss from my shaking body.

“Vitali,” I whisper, still breathless, my fingers tightening in his hair. “Please. I need you.”

With a deep, guttural groan, he presses one last reverentkiss to my aching core before sitting back on his heels, making quick work of his clothes. My gaze roves over him, drinking in the raw power of his body—the sculpted ridges of his abs, the broad expanse of his chest, the way every muscle tenses with restraint. He’s devastatingly perfect, and he’smine.

Lowering himself again, he trails slow, deliberate kisses up my body, his lips barely grazing the fading bruises that paint my skin. Each brush of his mouth is a silent promise, a vow that no one will ever touch me like that again. I cup his face, letting my fingers trace over his sharp jawline silently telling him I’m okay.

His dark eyes—always so black with hunger right before he takes me—lock onto mine as he carefully peels my shirt away. His touch is reverent, his movements unhurried as he positions himself above me, balancing his weight on his forearms so he doesn’t press too hard against my healing body.

I memorize him, just as I know he’s memorizing me. The sharp cut of his cheekbones, the sinful curve of his lips as they stretch into a wicked smirk, the hunger simmering in his gaze. It’s been too long since we’ve had this—since I’ve had him—and the ache of missing him is unbearable.

“Does this hurt?” His voice is soft, filled with concern. “Should I stop?”

I shake my head. “It doesn’t hurt. And don’t you dare stop.”

His finger drags down my cheek, slow and deliberate, before he leans in, his lips capturing mine in a kiss so soft it makes my chest ache. He kisses me like he has all the time in the world, his tongue sweeping against mine in a slow, torturous dance. A soft whimper escapes me as he nudges the head of his cock inside me, but instead of giving me more, he stays there, teasing, stretching, driving me insane.

“Vitali,” I whine, frustration laced in my voice.

He smirks against my lips, still only giving me the barest inch of him, the thick tip dragging against my walls in slow, agonizing thrusts. My nails dig into his back, my body arching into his, trying to force him deeper, but he doesn’t budge. It’s the most exquisite torture, and I don’t know if I want it to last forever or if I want him toruinme already.

He kisses me again, his forehead pressing against mine as he rasps, “You can beg all you want, little deer, but I’m not rushing this.”

A wicked smirk tugs at my lips, and I clench down around him, reveling in the deep, tortured groan that rumbles through his chest.

“Jesus,” he growls.

I bite back a smirk. “No, your wife.”

His laugh is deep and sinful, vibrating through me, and despite my frustration, I can’t help but smile.

But when he finally thrusts all the way in, stretching me to the point of ecstasy,smilingis the last thing I’m capable of.

I trail my hands over his shoulders, feeling the raw strength beneath my fingertips, then down his flexed biceps as he continues to torment me with slow, shallow thrusts. Every shift of his muscles, every controlled movement, is deliberate. Designed to drive me insane.

“More,vita mia,” I murmur, my voice breathless with need.

He smirks, dark and sinful. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

Sliding my hands to the back of his head, I pull him closer, locking my gaze with his. His eyes, dark and endless, hold so much restraint it makes my chest ache.

“Harder,” I whisper, my lips grazing his. “Please, Vitali. I’m not made of fucking glass.”

He stills, his body tensing as if warring with himself. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough, edged with something dangerously close to torment. “If I hurt you, you have to tell me.”

The pain and worry in his expression nearly shatters me. My big, strong, powerful husband—who has broken men with his bare hands, who commands fear with a single look—is terrified of hurtingme. He’s willing to forgo his own pleasure, to hold himself back, just to protect me. For two weeks, he’s refused to let me do anything for him, insisting he doesn’t need it, and that I should only focus on healing. But Iknow him. I feelthe way he trembles with restraint, the way his body aches just as much as mine. He needs this. He needs me.

I cup his face, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I promise.”

He kisses me softly as he slides the rest of the way in, giving in to what we’ve both been craving. I rock my hips up and he lets out a groan as he begins to fuck me. The world around us fades away except the feeling of his skin hot against mine and the familiar scent of cedarwood surrounds me.

It doesn’t take long until he has my body tensing and plunging over the edge of the cliff into the waves below and I’m moaning his name into his mouth.

“Vitali,” I moan his name as I come down from my high. He smiles against my lips and groans as he pulses inside of me.

When we’re both spent, we remain tangled in each other’s embrace, as if the world outside has ceased to exist. He gently rolls us over, his strong arms guiding me so I can settle on top of him, allowing him to shed the worry of hisweight. His fingers trace delicate patterns along my back, each touch slow and tender, as if savoring the warmth of the moment.

“Te amo,” he whispers, kissing the top of my head. “Sempre e per sempre.”

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