Page 33 of Dirty Mafia Torment
“I want to see your come mixed with blood dripping down me.”
He grips my knees and drags me closer, stroking himself, sending a sharp, delicious heat sparking between us.
The first brush of him at my entrance has my hips shifting restlessly. His thrust comes fast, deep, and merciless, tearing a cry from my lips. Tears sting my eyes at the sudden stretch, the ache of being split apart. It hurts, yes, but the thought of him filling me so ruthlessly, so completely, sends excitement spiraling through me.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he chants, and then he does exactly that. He drives into me at a punishing pace, crashing through every barrier, forcing my body to yield and take every blessed inch.
His fingers roll over my clit, and I gasp, body caught between pain andpleasure.
“That’s it. Look at my naughty girl taking my dick so fucking good.”
He shifts, angling deeper, and I swear he touches places inside me I didn’t know existed.
Skin on skin, raw and unprotected. The thought flashes through me like lightning. We never even discussed a condom. “I’m on the pill,” I moan between ragged breaths. Hopefully he has been careful. I should have thought about this. He should have, too.
“We discussing this now?” his voice grates, breathless. “Fine. I’ve never fucked without a condom. Ever.” He stills, just for a moment, and I swear he thickens inside me. “But with you, the thought of my seed mixing with your come and virgin blood drives me insane. Capisci?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “I understand.”
“Good. Now fucking hang on.”
“I can’t. My hands are bound above my head.”
He stiffens. “You asking me to stop?”
I wiggle and thrust. “Don’t you dare.”
Leaning forward, he presses a gentle kiss on my lips.
I blink in surprise.
He grins. “You ready to be completely fucked?”
Why do I get the feeling he means more than the physical act?
Before I can answer, he thrusts deep, his full weight pressing into me. Again and again, relentless, consuming. My body strains to hold him. Good Lord, he is going to split me in two. But the thought only makes me want it more.
He lowers his head, claiming the swell of my breast with his lips. Marking me, owning me. His palms grip my ass and lift me, tilting my body, angling him deeper inside me until I can no longer tell where I end and he begins. Perhaps that is the point. There is no beginning or end. There’s only us.
My first time is nothing like flowers or chocolate, rainbows or magic. It is gloriously painful, exquisitely pleasurable, and knowing he is savoring every second sends me soaring.
“Fuck yeah. That’s it. Come for me, Fina. While I fill your sweet body with my seed.”
I go off like a rocket, body collapsing around him. He drives in deeper, sprawling atop me, warmth flooding me from the inside out. Our hearts hammer in unison as we pant together, spent and trembling.
I make the mistake of thinking this is it—the kinkiest moment I’ve ever experienced.
He rolls up, withdrawing, then dips his fingers inside me. My throat hitches when I see the blood mingled with our come, dripping and oozing down my thighs. His eyes linger on the mess, fascinated, as if imprinting a memory for later.
Then his gaze snaps to mine. Slowly, deliberately, he drags the wet mixture across his chest, tracing circles around his nipples and crisscrossing his abdomen, like he’s making a ritualistic marking. Like he is branding himself with me.
He returns to my sex, repeating the motion, leaving a sticky, slick trail across my skin.
Pleased with his work, he licks his fingers clean. The wicked, deliberate act sends a bolt of lightning straight to my core, igniting every nerve ending, like dry brush in the firestorm that is Renzo.
Minutes tick by, so many I lose count. My mind numb, my senses tangled in knots.
“Shit, you’re crashing.” Without another word, he frees me from the rope and tosses it aside. His hands pull my trembling body into his lap, anchoring me. “Shhh,” he murmurs, his voice unexpectedly calm. “Adrenaline rush.”
