Page 94 of Thorns of Death
“How about at the beginning?” I said, repeating Manuel’s words from earlier in the evening.
She sighed. “Fine, let’s start there. Who are you, really?”
“Your husband.” Pulling her back to me, I kissed her. I just couldn’t resist. I kept kissing her, my hands roaming her naked body until she writhed against me. When I pulled away, her gaze was hazy and unfocused. “Next question.”
She blinked her eyes up at me. “Why did the priest call you Enzo Lucian?”
“My Christian name.”
She blew raspberries. “I despise you.”
That was probably better than loving me. It’d keep her alive. I didn’t need her to love me.Liar, a voice whispered, mocking me.
“Despise me all you want.” I pulled her up my torso. Her legs parted, her knees bracing on either side of me. My hand found her clit and circled it, her arousal smearing on my chest. A moan sounded between us and my cock instantly responded, ready to thrust into her hot entrance again. As if she read my thoughts, a shudder rolled down her body and her pupils dilated. “But your cunt is mine, and it loves my cock.”
“You are crude,” she let out in a small voice as her arousal coated my fingers.
I cupped her pussy harshly. “Whose pussy is this?”
She rocked her hips, grinding herself against my hand. Fuck, seeing her so greedy, needing more of me—just like I needed more of her—was such a turn-on. It made my balls ache.
I slid her down my body and, without warning, lifted her slightly to line my cock up at her entrance. I looked to where we were connected, then gripped her hips tightly enough to bruise. Tension radiated from me, every muscle in my body pulled taut. Then I slammed her down my length and drove deep into her wet heat.
Her back arched and I slapped her ass. “Whose pussy is this?” I growled again. When she stayed silent, I started pounding into her, my rhythm wild and untethered. I slapped her ass again, hard, and she gasped. “Whose pussy is this?”
She watched me through half-lidded eyes. “Yours.”
I rose until we were chest to chest and bounced her on my erection. Over and over, not allowing her any reprieve. Her moans and whimpers were better than the sounds she made with her violin. She was fucking consuming me.
“Oh, God, oh… God.”
I slapped her ass. “Your husband. Not God.”
“Yes, yes,” she whimpered. “More, Enrico.”
Cazzo, it got me so fucking hard when she called me Daddy. But when she saidpaparino, I was ready to spurt deep inside her cunt. I groaned at how tight she felt. Her face was flushed from pleasure. I slid my fingers between her ass cheeks and found her hole. I pushed the tip of my finger inside as I thrust up into her. And that did it.
Her orgasm ripped through her, her whole body shuddering. Her walls tightened around my dick and her nails dug into my shoulders as she shattered around me.
My orgasm rushed over me next, following her right over the edge and stealing my breath as cum shot out of my cock and into her warm, welcoming cunt. I drove into her harder, like a madman seeking sanity. Like a sinner seeking salvation, and she was the only one who could give it to me.
We climaxed together, both of us shuddering and muttering incoherent sounds. Hers, a mix of Russian and English. Mine, a string of filthy Italian words. I pulled her against my chest, wrapping my arms around her, and stroked her back as she tried to catch her breath.
Sweat cooled our skin, her forehead coming to rest against my shoulder. I kissed her hair, its coconut smell the best scent on this earth. It reminded me of the beach in front of my home in Italy. Of carefree summers when I was a little boy, running up and down the shore.
I slid out of her tight folds, then lay back, pulling her with me. My hand traveled further south, cupping her ass.
“You must have an obsession with ass,” she muttered into my chest.
“Only your ass.”
I moved my fingers between her legs, where my cum mixed with her juices. I teased her entrance lightly. She bit my shoulder as her hips ground against my finger, her muffled whimpers vibrating against my skin as I pushed my cum back into her pussy.
Cazzo, I was obsessed with more than just the woman’s ass.
Literally dragging my hands away from her pussy, I brought them up to her back. We remained silent, my hands traveling down her back. Her silky skin soothed, the best kind of therapy for the chaos inside me.
A soft snore sounded against my chest and I shifted to find my wife’s face. Her long red lashes fanned her cheeks, her expression serene and her breathing even. The sweetest expression I’d ever seen, and suddenly, I wanted to keep it that way. My thoughts strayed to the image of our future, with little girls running around that looked like their mamma and had me wrapped around their little fingers.
