When She Loves (The Fallen, #4)(65)

He sides a hand around my front and cups my breast. “Nearly every day. Before I married you, that is.”

My head lolls back, bumping against his chest. “And afterward?”

He curls his strong fingers inside me, hitting a spot that makes me gasp. “Too often to admit. Every time I woke up and saw you on the other side of the room, on the other side of the bed. So fucking close, and yet so far.” He dips his head, pressing his lips to my neck. “You have no idea what you’ve done to me.”

Teeth press into my flesh. First lightly and then harder, until pain sparks. I whine, and he decreases the pressure. His tongue darts out, and he licks the mark he’s undoubtedly left.

The wet sound of his fingers fucking my pussy floods through the air, becomes more and more obscene. I don’t care. I don’t care about anything anymore. I want him to keep touching me. I want to come. God, I want to come so bad.

“Oh God. That feels so good. Fuck, Rafe—”

He moans and grinds his erection against me. He keeps thrusting his fingers in and out of me, and it’s good, it’s so good, but it’s not enough.

“Lick me,” I plead. “Please lick me.”

And then I’m on the bed, and he’s ripping off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves, like he’s about to get into all kinds of dirty things.

He kneels on the ground, rips the panties off, shoves my legs apart, and drags his tongue over my folds.

My bound hands dig into my lower back. I arch my body, pushing myself farther into his face. He wraps his arms around my thighs, keeping me in place, and sucks on my clit, flicking it with his talented tongue until I’m hanging on by a thread. The pressure builds, and builds, and builds, and then I come apart.

Oh, how I come apart.

My thoughts are scrambled words on a whiteboard, and the orgasm wipes them clean. There’s nothing but ecstasy. Nothing but the pleasure pumping through my body.

I gasp and roll my head to the side. I’m panting, trying to catch my breath.

A thumb brushes against my lower lip. Fingertips trace my jaw. A hand wraps around my neck. When I open my eyes, Rafaele is above me, his hair disheveled and his eyes pitch-black with lust. He tightens his hand around my throat and presses his lips down on mine.

My own taste floods my senses. I moan into his mouth, rolling my hips against him. My clenched fists dig into my lower back, but I barely register the discomfort.

More, more, more.

He pulls back and stares down at me. There’s no anger left in his face, just lust. I guess he took all of the anger out on my throat earlier. He moves his hand from my neck to my forehead, brushing away the red strand that’s fallen into my eyes.

“If you want me to stop, now would be the time to say it.”

Something sparks inside my chest. I shake my head.

Slowly, he breathes out. “Are you on birth control?”

“Yes.” I snuck out and got an injection, just in case, when Papà was trying to set me up with Ludovico. It should last at least a few more months.

He nods and climbs off me.

I’m expecting him to take off his clothes, but instead he snakes one arm around my waist and flips me to my front. Disappointment wafts through me. This is how he wants to do it?

There’s a cold lick between my wrists, and the zip tie gets tighter before it snaps.

Oh. He freed me.

The knife lands on the carpeted floor with a dull thud.

I roll to my back and stare at him as he takes off his clothes. His deft fingers make quick work of the buttons of his shirt. He pulls his arms out of the sleeves, the muscles in his shoulders and chest flexing with the movement. The pants go next, together with the boxers. My gaze dips to his abs, the V-below, then lower. I swallow. Somehow, he looks even bigger than before.

This might hurt.

He gets on the bed, settles his weight between my legs, wraps one palm around my thigh, hiking it up higher. I run my hands up his muscled chest. He’s burning up. So am I.

His cock presses against my center, and he wraps his fist around it, guiding it where it belongs. He pushes into me slowly, stretching me, hurting me. I choke from the sudden pain and claw at his back until I tear his skin.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe, knowing that I’m making him bleed too.

“Do what you need,” he rasps.

He stops before he’s fully in. Tears sting in the corners of my eyes, and I squeeze them shut so that I don’t cry.

His hand disappears from my thigh and moves to cup my cheek. “Cleo. Tesoro.”

I blink at him, barely seeing him through my blurry vision.

“Stay with me.” He swipes his thumb over my cheekbone. “Breathe through it.”

I do. I focus on taking in air until he leans down to kiss me, and then I focus on the way his mouth fits against mine. He kisses me for a long time. So long that the tightness in my center starts to unravel. So long that I part farther for him. He fills me all the way up, and a moan pours out of him.

It’s so fucking sexy that it makes electricity dance over my skin. He kisses me while he fucks me, tenderly, reverently. Soon, I forget about the pain. It disappears, gets replaced with pleasure. I wrap my legs tighter around him and dig in my heels. He picks up speed and drops his head to suck on my neck.

“You’re squeezing me so tight,” he mutters against my skin. “You feel so fucking good, Cleo. You’re perfect.”