Page 86 of Dare To Love Me

“I want you again,” she whispered, leaning down so her lips were a breath away from mine, her hair created a curtain around our faces. “Do you want me?”

“Fuck, yes,” I ground out, trying to pull her down so I could slip inside. She quickly pulled back when my tip touched her wetness. A growl rumbled from my chest.

She smiled savagely with satisfaction. Then her lips took mine, her tongue plunging into my mouth.

I pulled back. “Baby, I’ve got morning breath.” She tasted like mint. Apparently she’d found my mouthwash.

“I don’t care.” She dipped her hips just enough for the head of my cock to enter then pulled back. She kissed me again.

“You teasing me?” I groaned. It was a rhetorical question. I knew what she was doing, hating it and loving it at the same time. Her smile turned cunning as she dipped again taking me half way this time. My toes curled, heat racing through my system.

I shot her a look that promised retribution if she kept up the game. She moved fast, sinking down on me hard, throwing her head back as my length stretched her. Becka gasped at the impact, her spine snapping straight.

“Damn, Becka.” My hips bucked as my head slammed back into the pillow.

Becka started grinding on me slow, her hands braced on my pecs. I gripped her hips, digging my fingers in as she began to work me harder and faster. Taking what she wanted. I could feel myself getting close. Not yet!

My hands flew to her breasts, pinching her pebbled nipples between my fingers. She moaned loud, arching her back and covering my hands with her own. We were both close now.

My abs flexed as Becka’s insides squeezed around my length. I flew up to capture her mouth as she cried out, swallowing her breaths. Then my release was spilling inside her as her pussy rippled around me. I fell back against he bed pulling her to my chest. Our harsh breathing filling the brightening room. We laid there still connected while we came down from the high.

“Someone woke up horny,” I teased.

Becka crushed her face into my chest, covering the flame of embarrassment reddening her cheeks. “Sorry, I was just thinking about last night and…”

“Did you just say sorry?” I couldn’t help but laugh while my hands made soothing strokes down her back.

“No. Yes.” She groaned loud in frustration. “I couldn’t help it. I’ve never initiated sex before.”

“Look at me.” Nervous green eyes looked up at me through dark lashes. “Don’t ever say sorry for taking what you want in bed. Tell me what you want and I’ll fuck you any way and anywhere in this house. And any other place for that matter. Ok?”

Her head nodded. “Ok,” she smiled weakly, licking her lips.

Gently, I rolled her to the side, kissing her forehead. “I’ll be right back.” Becka let me easily roll her off, body still sated in post orgasmic bliss. I smiled victoriously.

Standing over the toilet, my head rested against my forearm on the wall, waiting for the streams to cross back over. I took deep breaths.

Possessiveness gripped my spine harshly, pulling me out of my drunk-on-Becka state. I still believed she deserved better, but now that I’d been inside her— and she’d shown the same fervor for wanting me— I was consumed by my claim of her. I didn’t just want her body. I wanted her heart and soul. To know her deeper than any person before.

Mine. I planned to ruin her from ever fantasizing about any other man— or rather— any other life.

I emerged from the bathroom to find Becka sitting up in bed, studying the pictures in my room. Most of them were of Boston’s landmarks and parks, but one displayed a simple cafe front. The weathered brick building looked past its prime on an old street. And that was the one she studied intently.

My steps slowed. I took in her confused expression, sighing heavily. My stomach flipped sickeningly. I did not want to have the conversation that I knew was well on the way. It would no doubt ruin the peaceful moment for me, and consequently her too.

Her eyes landed on me and I could hear the question before she spoke it.

“Luca, why does that restaurant have your last name on it?” I glanced at the picture, reading the Morietti sign.

My steps slowed as I made my way to the bed, sitting so my back was to her. It was something I couldn’t hide from her if she was determined to know. Nonetheless, I had no desire to talk about any of it with her so soon; if ever for that matter.

She waited patiently for my reply, her eyes on my back made my skin itch.

“It was my family’s business,” I said, giving into the uncomfortable silence stretching between us. “My dad ran the butcher shop in the back while my mother ran the restaurant in front. It was small, nothing super fancy, but they worked hard to make it successful. From a young age I started helping out. My mom taught me how to cook, and by the time I was nine I knew how to fully cut and wrap any animal you put in front of me.” I rubbed my head in my hands, wanting to rub out the memories.

“What were their names?” As much as her voice sounded soft and soothing it grated against my eardrums.

“Isabella and Piero. They immigrated here as newlyweds.” My guts hardened, failing to recall the last time I’d spoken their names aloud. Their faces splattered across my vision. I crushed my eyes shut wanting them to disappear. Even in memory I couldn’t look them in the eye.

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