Page 86 of Blood Debt
The force knocks the air from my lungs. My back arches off the mattress, breasts bouncing against his chest as his cock drives all the way inside me. He’s thick, stretching me so wide that my thighs tremble with the effort to take him. My pussy grips him tight, fluttering around every inch, so wet that each brutal push makes a sucking sound.
Before I can even find my breath, he pulls back. His cock drags along my walls, the thick head almost slipping free before he slams forward again. The sudden depth makes me cry out,the sound breaking from my throat as the bedframe shudders beneath us.
Every thrust is different, every one a new kind of torment. One drives so deep it punches a gasp out of me, stealing the air from my lungs. The next grazes that swollen spot inside me, sending a lightning bolt of pleasure through my stomach, down my thighs, curling my toes tight against the sheets. Another grinds into me with a blunt ache that makes my pussy gush around him, wetness spilling down between my ass cheeks, soaking the sheets below.
I choke on a moan, biting it back, swallowing it down even as my body betrays me. My breasts rise and fall wildly, nipples stiff and grazing his chest with every thrust, sparks shooting down to my clit.
“You’re not done yet?” I pant, words shaky, breaking apart as his cock splits me again and again.
He snarls, seizing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back until my throat is exposed and our eyes lock. The sting sends a jolt through me, my scalp burning, my pussy clenching tighter around his cock at the same time.
“Guess,” he growls, punctuating the word with a savage thrust that buries him balls-deep inside me.
My lips curve into a smirk, even as my voice trembles, even as my cunt throbs around him. “You like how it feels, huh?”
He answers by slamming into me harder—so deep, so brutal, that a sharp, helpless gasp rips free from my throat. My walls spasm around him, gripping his cock tight, milking him without my permission.
“I could ask you the same,” he snarls, his breath hot and damp against my cheek.
Then his pace changes. His hips snap against mine in quick, punishing strokes, his cock pounding through my slick, swollen heat. The wet slap of our bodies colliding fills the room. My breasts bounce wildly, nipples dragging over his chest, oversensitive and aching.
I fist the sheets in both hands, knuckles white, trying to anchor myself against the relentless rhythm. But my body betrays me—my voice fractures into ragged cries, half-moan, half-plea, breaking free with every brutal plunge of his cock. My pussy gushes around him, wetness spilling, coating him, the bed, everything.
His groans deepen, ragged and raw, and I can feel his cock swell inside me, pulsing. His rhythm stutters, then sharpens—one, two, three brutal, bone-deep thrusts that slam my hips into the mattress.
He lets out a groan, shuddering hard as he spills inside me. I feel it—hot, thick spurts filling me up, flooding my pussy until it’s dripping out around him. His cock twitches with each wave of release, and I whimper at the sensation, my walls clamping around him, sucking at every pulse.
He stays buried deep, cock still throbbing inside me as his body collapses over mine. His weight pins me down, his chest slick against my breasts, his breath breaking against my cheek in ragged bursts. Sweat drips between us, our skin sliding together, the smell of sex heavy in the air.
Finally, he rolls onto his back, dragging his cock out of me with a wet, obscene sound. Cum leaks out instantly, sliding down my swollen slit, pooling against my thighs, and soakingthe sheets beneath. His chest rises and falls in sharp, gasping bursts, eyes closed, jaw tight, every muscle trembling with the aftershocks.
And I’m left trembling too, my pussy raw and aching, clenching around emptiness, still throbbing with the memory of every punishing thrust.
****
The sheets are still rumpled when I button my blouse. My pulse hasn’t yet settled, but I force my breathing to match the cool indifference I wear like perfume. Behind me, Marcello reclines against the headboard, chest rising and falling, a lazy predator post-hunt. Smoke from the cigar he lit earlier curls in the air between us, thick and heavy.
“So,” I say, smoothing the fabric at my waist. My voice is sweetened steel. “We have a deal. I get Cristofano.”
He turns his head toward me slowly, his pale blue eyes shining in the dim light like shards of ice. “Of course you do.”
I pause mid-button. “How long?”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “After the Blue Moon.”
I stand, but before I can take a step, his hand snakes out, catching my wrist in a grip that’s deceptively casual. “The price you’ve paid…” his gaze drops, a mocking flicker in his eyes, “…isn’t enough for Cristofano.”
The air between us tightens. I twist my wrist free and glare down at him. “Fuck off.”
His smirk deepens. “You know you liked it. And that bastard hasn’t touched you, has he?”
I turn away, intent on the door. “I’m done.”
“Wait.”
It’s not the word that stops me—it’s the shift in his tone. He’s smiling when I glance back, but it’s the kind of smile that belongs to a man with a knife hidden behind his back.
“The maid,” he says, as if testing the taste of it. “She has a child for Cristofano. A daughter.”
