Page 68 of Veil of Blood

He pulls out suddenly, and I whine at the loss, but he’s on his knees in an instant, his mouth on my pussy, his tongue licking a slow, deliberate path through my folds, tasting me, musky and sweet.

I cry out, my hips bucking, and he pins my thighs to the hood, his lips closing around my clit, sucking hard, his tongue flicking fast, then slow, making my legs tremble.

He slides three fingers inside me, pumping deep, curling to hit that spot that makes me gasp, my walls clenching around him, my arousal coating his hand.

“Rocco, fuck, I’m close,” I pant, my hands fisting his hair, pulling him closer, and he doesn’t stop, his tongue relentless, his fingers fucking me harder, pushing me over the edge.

My orgasm hits like a wave, my pussy pulsing around his fingers, my body shaking, my scream echoing in the garage as pleasure rips through me, leaving me breathless, trembling.

He doesn’t let up, his tongue still working my clit, drawing out every shudder, every pulse, until I’m boneless, my hands falling to the hood, gripping the metal for support.

He stands, his cock still hard, glistening with my wetness, and pulls me to the edge of the hood, flipping me onto my stomach, my breasts pressed against the cool metal, my ass in the air. He spreads my cheeks, his tongue licking a slow path from my pussy to my ass, circling the tight ring of muscle, teasing until I squirm, my moans muffled against the hood.

“Fuck, Rocco,” I gasp, my body trembling, and he slides two fingers into my pussy, pumping fast, his thumb rubbing my clit, while his tongue presses against my ass, the sensation overwhelming, pushing me toward another climax.

I push back, fucking myself on his fingers, my body desperate, and he groans, the sound vibrating through me.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he mutters, and I feel his cock at my entrance again, sliding into my pussy, the angle tight and deep, making us both moan.

He thrusts hard, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me back onto him with every stroke, my ass bouncing, the metal creaking under us. I reach back, grabbing his wrist, urging him faster, harder, and he obliges, his thrusts relentless, his cock hitting that spot inside me that makes my vision blur.

“More,” I beg, my voice raw, and he pulls out, guiding me to my knees on the concrete, the rough surface biting into my skin, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body.

He stands in front of me, his cock level with my mouth, and I take him in, my lips stretching around his thickness, my tongue swirling around the head, tasting myself on him. I bob my head, sucking hard, my cheeks hollowing, my hands cupping his balls, rolling them gently, feeling them tighten.

He groans, his hands fisting in my hair, guiding me, not forcing, just enough to make me feel his need. I take him deeper, my throat relaxing, my eyes watering as I gag slightly, the sound making him curse, his hips jerking.

“Fuck, Chiara, you’re killing me,” he grits out, and I pull off with a wet pop, my lips swollen, my breath ragged.

He pulls me up, kissing me hard, his tongue plunging into my mouth, tasting himself, tasting me, the kiss messy and desperate.

He spins me around, bending me over the hood again, but this time he lifts one of my legs onto the bumper, opening mewider, and thrusts in, his cock driving deep, the angle hitting new spots that make me scream, my hands clawing at the metal, leaving scratches in the paint.

He fucks me hard, his hips snapping, his hands gripping my hips, my ass, squeezing, spanking lightly, the sting adding to the pleasure, making my pussy clench around him.

I reach down, rubbing my clit, my fingers slick, and he groans at the sight, his thrusts growing erratic, his control slipping.

“Come with me,” he growls, and I do, my second orgasm hitting harder than the first, my pussy clamping down on him, my body shaking, my scream raw and unfiltered as pleasure consumes me, leaving me trembling, boneless.

He follows, his cock pulsing, spilling inside me, hot and thick, his groan loud, his hands tightening on my hips, holding me close as he rides out his release, his body shuddering against mine.

We stay like that, breathing hard, skin slick with sweat, our foreheads pressed together, the garage silent except for our ragged breaths, the faint creak of the cooling metal under us.

He steps back gently, tucking himself back into his jeans, and I slide off the hood, grabbing my hoodie, pulling it on without a word, my skin still flushed, my body buzzing.

My jeans feel tighter, the denim clinging to my thighs, and I zip them up, the sound loud in the stillness. We sit side by side on the hood, our shoulders brushing, the air heavy with the scent of sex and blood.

He lights a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his face, and I don’t smoke, but I don’t tell him to stop, the faint curl of smoke blending with the garage’s haze.

We sit in silence, watching the blood dry on the concrete, the morning light starting to pale the shadows, creeping through the cracks in the walls.

Chapter 24 – Rocco

I crouch behind a stack of wooden pallets, listening. The wind off Biscayne Bay is cold and sharp, carrying the low hum of distant ship horns. Cranes groan as they sway overhead. Ferrano’s old docks are supposed to be deserted, but I know better. Footsteps echo across cold concrete. Voices bark orders. Clips snap into rifles. Mags click home. They are organized—waiting for us.

My Glock is snug in its holster. The knife is strapped to my thigh, handle facing down so I can draw it without thinking. I move low to my left, staying in the shadows. A single guard rounds the corner, rifle slung over his shoulder. He does not see me.

I step forward. One arm clamps over his mouth; the other drives the knife under his ribs and up through his lung. He collapses with a wet gurgle, his eyes wide in shock. Blood pools around him in a dark stain. I let him slump to the ground and move on.

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