Last Night 3

Cesare’s lips parted in a groan as Eliana’s sharp little cries filled the room, rising and falling like a frantic orchestra.

The high notes still lingered in the air, leaving him either wound tight or floating.

He looked down at the woman in his arms. Her body was lax, trusting, letting him drive them both higher.

She always trusted him with her body. He bit down on her neck and tore at the collar of her top with a frustrated growl. The fabric was too tight.

“Where did you get this shit? Too tight. Can’t get to your neck,” he hissed.

His hands slid up and down her thighs, greedy, needing to touch every inch of her. Her skin was warm and slightly damp with sweat.

She was intoxicating; her voice, her breath, the way she smiled even when she was exhausted.

He felt himself close, but he refused to finish before she came at least twice.

He quickened his pace and slipped his fingers between their joined bodies, finding her clit, swollen and slick.

He rubbed her with precise, practiced strokes. She moaned, back arching hard.

She had been wet the moment she walked into the room, too tired to touch herself and too proud to ask.

He knew anyway.

He knew her body the way an addict knows the one thing that can ruin him, yet still went for it. She was his fix. He would die on this hill before he ever withdrew.

Her cunt was soaked and fluttering around him, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room.

The sound of her broken cries peaked as she came, pulsing tight. He drove into her to the hilt and she collapsed forward onto the bed, trembling.

She was tired, but he wanted her bone-deep exhausted, so she wouldn’t wake until noon, whatever alcohol she’d already had helping him along.

“You’re going to come again for me, baby. Can you do another for me?”

She shook her head. Of course she thought she couldn’t. He would pull it out of her anyway.

He gripped her hips enough to bruise and moved harder, her body taut beneath him and oversensitive beneath him.

Everything in him tightened; blood roaring, muscles locking as she moaned, loud and unrestrained. No one was around to hear, and even if they were, no one would dare speak.

He stroked her ass, gave it a firm pat that made her jolt, then leaned over and took her face in his hands. Her cheeks were hot.

“Come for me, bambina. Do it.”

Her eyes locked on his, mouth open in a silent scream as her pussy clenched and fluttered around him hard, wet spasms, soaking him.

He kissed her deep, rough, and dirty, swallowing the soft sounds she made. There was no need to claim something that already belonged to him in every way that mattered.

This was what he was; for her and for himself. They both needed him like this: taking what she was too shy to ask for.

He thrust once, twice, and came hard, spilling deep into her with a low, guttural sound. He exhaled a long, controlled breath.

Carefully, he pulled out and watched his cum follow. She collapsed, weak and compliant, exactly the way he wanted her.

He ran a hand through his hair and licked his lips. His cock hung semi-hard and wet, but he didn’t care.

He bent over her, brushing his knuckles across the soft apples of her cheeks.

They were damp with tears. Her eyes fluttered. She was already drifting, which was precisely what he needed for what was coming tonight.

“Go to sleep, bambina. I’ll be right here watching you.”

He kissed her forehead. For a second his eyes closed and he imagined a different life—one where she was treated the way she deserved instead of this.

They both knew what they were doing was wrong in the eyes of the world. Society would call them evil, disgusting, and every ugly name it could invent.

He didn’t care.

Other people’s opinions were as meaningless to him as the lives of anyone who dared speak to her with disrespect.

He would end them without a second thought.

Their relationship was right. Absolutely wrong to some, but he had stopped caring about “some” a long time ago.

He might as well go with the flow. The world was already vile. People pretended to care by dressing judgment up as advice.

Advice had never saved him. No one had ever come to his rescue. They could all go fuck themselves.

“Sleep tight,” he murmured, tucking the duvet carefully around her. He sat beside the bed and watched her.

When her breathing finally evened into soft, steady snores, Cesare stood, brushed off his trousers, and crouched low.

His lips grazed her forehead, then her mouth. The urge to claim those soft lips harder, to bite and taste rose sharp and sudden. He pulled back, exhaling.

That could wait.

He had something equally important to handle tonight.