Page 17 of The Sicilian Billionaire's Neglected Wife
The first push met resistance, her untouched body fighting the invasion even as she whimpered with need. He was bigger than she’d expected. He could read the shock widening her eyes, the gasp that escaped her was half pain, half wonder.
But he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, pressing forward with relentless pressure until he breached her completely.
She cried out, the sound echoing off the bedroom walls, her nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks. But she didn’t try to push him away. Instead, she pulled him closer, her legs wrapping around his waist as if to anchor him inside her.
“A-Aivan!”
He could feel her body working to accommodate him, stretching around his length in a way that made his vision blur with pleasure. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, but she was nodding, encouraging him without words.
He held still through sheer force of will, watching pain and wonder war across her expressive face. She was so tight it bordered on painful, virgin muscles gripping him like a vice. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the effort of not moving.
He began to move once he finally sensed her relaxing. Shallow thrusts that made her gasp and arch, each withdrawal and return earning sounds that went straight to his primitive brain. She was liquid fire beneath him, around him, her body learning his rhythm with single-minded focus.
“Please,” she whispered, though he doubted she knew what she was begging for.
But he did.
Angle, pressure, speed...he’d mapped a thousand racetracks, memorized every apex and braking point. Her body was just another course to master, and he was very good at finding the perfect line.
When he found that spot inside her, her whole body went rigid, and the sound she made echoed off the walls. He hit it again, and again, until she was writhing beneath him, English and Italian tumbling from her lips in an incoherent stream.
Her climax was a sigh to behold. Her back bowing off the bed, inner muscles clamping down so hard he saw stars. His name on her lips was music, beautiful but also terrifying because it was just too, too sweet.
And when she whispered it again...
He came with a growl that started in his chest and ended in her name, spilling deep inside her as she convulsed around him.
Through it all, those eyes stayed locked on his, the adoration and love in her gaze so pure that it burned.
He’d never said the words she was waiting to hear. Never would. That kind of emotion was for people who could afford to break, and Aivan had learned at five years old, standing at his mother’s graveside, that breaking was a luxury he couldn’t afford.
But as he collapsed beside her, pulling her trembling body against his, he thought maybe this was enough. She could love him for both of them. He could give her pleasure and protection and every material thing she could dream of.
It would have to be enough.
Because three words—
Those particular three words—
They were the one thing he’d never give anyone.
Not even the girl who looked at him like he was her whole world.
Not even his wife.
