Summer
My dad leaves, and I press myself against Carlo, my breasts flattening against his ribs. He brushes a strand of hair from my face. “I’m going to marry you, bambina.”
I stiffen. “Because my dad said you had to?”
“No. Because you belong to me.”
I blink up at him, a smile growing. Carlo is mine. I’m his.
He tips his head toward the bedroom. “Now go in there. I need you naked and squirming beneath me.”
A familiar zing of excitement shoots straight to my core. The words you belong to me fill all the empty places in my soul. All my confusion about who I am, or what my future ought to hold fall away. None of it matters so long as I belong to Carlo, because he has the ability to make everything perfect. To make it right. He knows me. He understands who I really am, perhaps better than I understand myself. So if I belong to a man like that, I have nothing to fear.
“Do I have time for a shower?”
Carlo surveys me with a heavy-lidded gaze. He’s in his dominant role. “Make it quick, bambina. I’m hungry for you.”
I go to the en suite bathroom and turn the water on hot. When I strip and step under the spray, I groan. It feels so good, shedding the entire week of heartache under the spray of water. I don’t stay in until the mirrors are fogged, though. Carlo said to make it quick. Turning off the water, I step out and towel off, then wrap the towel around my head to dry my thick hair.
Carlo saunters in. “On your knees.”
I toss the towel back into the bathroom and drop to my knees, palms up on my thighs, waiting. My heart pitter-patters in fluttery anticipation.
He walks to me and shoves his fingers through my damp hair. “Good girl.” He grasps the hair and pulls my head back. “Who do you belong to?”
“You, Carlo. I belong to you.”
He rolls my nipple between his fingers and thumb. “Does this body belong to me?”
“Yes.”
He brushes the backs of his fingers across my chest, stopping above my beating heart. “What about this heart?” he asks the question softly, losing the dominant pitch of his voice. Like he’s not entirely sure of my answer.
I’m sure.
“Yours.” I unzip his pants, and his cock springs out. My breasts ache as I reach for him. I grip the base and squeeze. Hard. “I’m only yours.”
He strokes my hair. “Sweet girl.” There’s an ache of happiness in his voice. A choked emotion, like he can’t believe it’s true.
I swirl my tongue around the underside of the head of his cock, flick the tip and blow on it to let it cool, then engulf him completely. He groans, his fist tightening in my hair. He lets me set the pace for a while, and then he begins thrusting, holding my head immobile and using me.
“That’s it, bambi, you take my cock like such a good girl.”
I orgasm a little just from his words. My pussy pulses in time with my heartbeat, my clit throbs with need. Empty, empty. My pussy feels so empty. I hollow out my cheeks and suck hard, even with his hectic thrusts.
“Enough. I need you underneath me.” He grasps my upper arms and lifts me to his chest, holding me against him and kissing my damp head. He strokes down my naked back, cupping and kneading my ass.
He pushes me backward, onto the bed. Crawling over me, he pins my arms up by my head. I arch, lifting my lips and moaning wantonly.
“You want me to fuck you properly?” he asks.
“Yes, please,” I moan.
“I’ll pound into that greedy little pussy until you can’t walk straight,” he warns.
“Oh God.” I struggle against his grasp on my wrist, thrust my pussy toward his cock. “Do it now, Carlo.”
A smile glimmers. “After your clit torture.” He releases my wrists and crawls down between my legs, wrapping his arms around my thighs to hold them open. He licks and flicks, sucks and nibbles at my clit until I writhe in agony, desperate for release. I know it probably serves to give him time to get hard again after his climax, but it seems so cruel when I’m desperate for him.
“Penetration. I need you inside me. Oh please, Carlo, why won’t you fuck me?”
He chuckles. “I will definitely fuck you, bambina. I can’t wait to feel your hot little cunt squeezing my cock.”
“Now, Carlo.”
“Up on your knees and forearms,” he commands. Grasping my hips, he buries his cock in one deep stroke, but there’s no pain. I’m long past wet and ready. I’m the slip-and-slide at the waterpark, and he’s pumping into me, the slick sounds of our contact accented with the smack of flesh against flesh.
He thrusts into me hard, ruthlessly. He bends my wrists behind my back and grips my elbows for leverage, giving me the feeling of a forced sex act.
My eyes roll back in my head. Even before my orgasm, I rocket to outer space, losing all rational thought, all coherency, flying higher and higher until he cracks me open, and I explode into pure sensation-ripples of release, even more gushing fluid, the endless squeezing of my muscles around his cock.
He gives a shout and finds his own finish, buried balls deep, pushing me down to my belly, where he covers me like a blanket.
“Mine,” he murmurs.
“Yours.”
He eases out of me eventually and gathers me up into his arms. “Marry me, principessa.” His stare is intent. Loaded. “We’ll get you a ring tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
His face breaks into a smile.
“Si?”
“Si. Yes, I will marry you, Carlo Romano.”
“Soon. I want to marry you soon. No long engagement and a year’s worth of planning.”
“Afraid I’ll change my mind?”
He grins. “Maybe. A little. Or maybe I’m sick of waiting. It’s been four years.”
My eyes fill with tears, and once again, I wonder how I could have missed this miraculous affection he held for me.
He cups my face and strokes his thumb along my cheek with a tenderness, a reverence. “I love you, Summer LaTorre.”
“And I love you.”