Page 10 of Brutal Union
Something shifts in his expression. He plucks the rosary from my hand, setting it on the nightstand with deliberate care. "Force you? No, principessa." He leans in, his lips almost brushing my ear. "You're going to beg me. You're going to spread your legs and plead for my cock. And you're going to hate yourself for loving every second of it."
"You arrogant…"
"Tell me you're not dripping right now." His hand cups me through my panties, and I can't suppress the moan. "Christ, you're soaked. I can feel how hot you are through the lace. Your clit is probably throbbing, isn't it? Begging to be touched?"
His fingers press against my clit through the fabric, and my knees nearly buckle. "Stop…"
"Stop? When your hips are grinding against my hand?" He increases the pressure, circling slowly. "When your pussy isclenching, trying to pull my fingers inside? Tell me you don't want to know what my tongue would feel like on your clit. What it would be like to have Chicago's most dangerous man worship your pussy until you scream."
The image he paints makes my core pulse with need. I want to deny it, but the words stick in my throat. Because God help me, I do want to know. This terrible curiosity has been eating at me since I first saw him in that conference room. Even then, beneath the thrown wine and sharp words, something in me recognized something in him.
"Nothing to say?" He smirks, fingers still working me through the lace. "Then let me taste you, principessa. Let me bury my face between your thighs and make you come so hard you forget your own name. Unless you're too scared to find out how good my tongue feels."
The dare hangs between us, electric and dangerous. I could stop this. Could scream, fight, resist. But my treacherous body wants what he's offering, even as my mind recoils from the betrayal.
Before I can form a response, Marco drops to his knees.
The sight of him there, this man who commands an empire, who took me at gunpoint, kneeling before me in his expensive suit, it short-circuits my brain. His hands slide up my thighs, spreading them wider as he looks up at me with those dark eyes.
"What are you…"
"Proving a point." His fingers hook into the waistband of my panties, pulling them down to reveal how completely soaked they are. The evidence of my arousal is undeniable, the white lace practically transparent with wetness. "Fuck, look at you. So wet you've soaked through completely. Your pretty pussy is dripping for me, all swollen and pink. Your body knows exactly what it wants."
His mouth presses against my bare flesh, and I cry out. His tongue works against me, finding every sensitive spot, every nerve ending. He sucks my clit between his lips, and my hands fly to his shoulders for balance.
"That's it," he growls against me. "Let me hear those sounds. Let me taste how much you need this."
He spreads my legs wider, studying me with dark satisfaction as he continues his assault with his tongue.
"Perfect," he murmurs between licks. "Look how swollen you are. Your clit is practically begging for my mouth. And you're so wet it's dripping down your thighs."
His tongue finds a rhythm that makes my knees buckle. Only his grip on my legs keeps me upright as he devours me like a man starved.
"Marco," I moan, and immediately hate myself for saying his name like a prayer.
"Not Marco." He pulls back just enough to speak, his breath hot against my sensitive flesh. "Husband. Say it."
"Never."
He slides two fingers inside me without warning, and I cry out at the stretch. "Your pussy says otherwise. Feel how it's gripping my fingers? Pulling them deeper?" He curls his fingers forward, finding a spot that makes me see stars. "Say it, or I stop."
"Don't stop," I beg, beyond pride now. "Please don't stop."
"Then say it." His tongue circles my clit while his fingers pump in and out, building a rhythm that has me climbing fast. "Say 'please, husband.' Say 'make me come, husband.'"
The orgasm builds impossibly high, my entire body tensing. I'm going to come. This monster who stole my life is going to make me come harder than I ever have, and I can't stop it.
"Husband," I moan, the word torn from me as pleasure crests. "Please, husband. Make me come."
"Good girl," he growls, and sucks my clit hard while his fingers stroke that perfect spot inside me.
I shatter. The orgasm crashes through me with violent intensity, my pussy clenching rhythmically around his fingers as waves of pleasure roll through me. I'm screaming, actually screaming his title as I come, my thighs shaking so hard I would collapse if not for his grip.
He doesn't stop. His tongue keeps working my oversensitive clit, his fingers still pumping, pushing me from one orgasm directly into another. This one hits even harder, my vision going white as I convulse against his mouth.
"That's it," he murmurs against me. "Come for me again. Let me feel that pussy pulse."
A third orgasm builds before the second fully ends, and I'm sobbing now, overwhelmed by the intensity. My legs shake uncontrollably, my core clenching so hard it almost hurts. He works me through all of it, drawing out every tremor, every pulse, until I'm whimpering from oversensitivity.
