28

Carmine
It’s been five weeks of the same routine with Delilah. We get up, go to school, study, and have sex anywhere and everywhere. I’m able to lie her down or pin her against a wall. Anywhere with a fucking surface, I’m sinking my cock into her tight pussy.
It’s more than wanting a child now. It’s more than me wanting an heir, but I need to get her pregnant. I need to. I want to breed with her every morning and every night, her pussy filled to the brim with my come, so the only choice her womb has is to open up and let me in.
I thought that when I came up with the idea of having her marry me and give birth to my child, love had nothing to do with it. It was about not being alone anymore and the child, well, I wanted a son or daughter to love me. It was the one love I knew I’d be able to have without question or fight. I don’t care what anyway says; love is important for humans to function.
But then Delilah surprised me left and right, carving her name into my heart.
I want more than what we agreed upon in the contract. I want a family. Our family. We can spend the rest of our lives happy and ruling this city. She’ll be a queen, a place she deserves to be since her father couldn’t put her there.
And I haven’t forgotten I told her I loved her five weeks ago. I haven’t said it again, and she hasn’t brought it up, but I’ve been waiting for her to ask if I meant it.
I did. I do.
I love her intensely. She’s more than my wife. She’s my fucking obsession, and if anyone dares to touch her, I’ll skin them alive and use their flesh as a rug under my feet.
The thought of someone touching her has a blind, murderous rage burning inside me. I don’t regret killing Romano’s men. I hope he took the bodies being dropped in his territory as the only warning he’ll ever get. Ryan has been forthcoming about everything regarding my enemy, and with the life he has endured with Romano, it’s my job to protect him now. And when Ryan told me about Romano’s plan to kidnap my Delilah?
It sends me in an untamed fury. Only she can bring me down.
“Are you ready for your exam today?” I ask her, buttoning the tailormade shirt while she throws her hair into a messy bun.
She’s very casual compared to my expensive suits, and I love that. I love those tight leggings and baggy sweatshirts. I know what’s hiding under there, and it brings me satisfaction knowing no one else can see the curves of her body. They belong to me anyway.
“Yeah, I hope everything is okay with the professor. To cancel an exam and leave for weeks due to a family emergency couldn’t have been good. I know his mom was sick for a long time, so I wonder if she passed. That’s sad. I hope it isn’t the case.”
“You’re sweet.” I kiss her cheek, inhaling the sweetness of her skin. “But death is a process of life.”
“I know that,” she sighs, gripping the counter with two hands. “Is that how you’d feel if I died? You’d be that nonchalant about it because death is a part of life, so there’s no reason to be sad?”
“Don’t ever talk about yourself dying. It’s unacceptable, Delilah. I won’t hear of it.” I tuck my shirt in my pants and walk out of the room because I don’t want to hear more of that nonsense.
“So, someone else dying isn’t a big deal to you, but me dying is? That makes no sense, Carmine.”
I spin around so fast; I surprise her and pin her against the wall near the bathroom door. I stare into her eyes so she can see how serious I am.
“Because I don’t give a fuck about anyone else. I don’t care about your professor’s mother. I don’t care about anyone other than you, Delilah. No one else. So yes, everyone else in this world could die, but not you. Not ever you. I feel no sympathy for your professor. I feel no empathy. I do not care about him. I do not care about her. You? You are the exception, Delilah. You have broken all my rules. The death of you would kill me.”
Her breaths are hot puffs against my face. Her palms are flat against the wall, one knee bent, and that damn sweater hangs off her shoulder showing the soft skin I want to mark as mine. With ravenous need, I tug her leggings down her thighs, then spin her around. Pressing a palm between her shoulders to keep her bent over, I use my other hand to unzip my pants and free myself.
“Carmine, what are you-Oh!”
I silence her in one deep stroke, sinking into her pussy that’s still wet from last night. Wrapping her hair around my wrist, I tug her head back and press my mouth against her ear as she moans. “You aren’t allowed to ever talk about dying again, do you understand me?” I groan from the feel of her and how tight she is. I quicken my pace. “Tell me,” I sneer.
“I won’t…ever…talk about…that again.” She struggles to speak every time I fill her, giving her every inch of me.
“You are the only one who matters to me. You.” I pull my hips back and slam forward. “I’d kill everyone for you. If it meant keeping you safe, keeping you here with me, by my side, with my children.” I continue the brutal beat, her cheeks shaking with every driving force, and that fucking sweater she’s wearing drifts down her shoulder more.
I bite her there, marring her flesh before lapping at it with my tongue. She becomes wetter, her walls contracting around me, massaging the long length that’s made for her.
Circling my hand around the front of her neck, I squeeze. I don’t know why I love doing that so much. Perhaps it’s because she’s at my mercy or in my control, but I love seeing my hand as a necklace. Only her throat column could make my hands seem clean and pure. I touch heaven every time I try to get her to experience hell.
“Carmine! Carmine! Oh, God. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
Someone could hold a gun to my head, and I wouldn’t stop. “You’re mine, Sweetling. Say it. Tell me you’re all mine.”
“Yours. Yours,” she reassures, as she meets me thrust for thrust.
“And you’ll never die,” I say, holding her to my chest. The need to feel her against me consumes me. There’s a burning in my chest, one I can’t explain because I’ve never felt it before. It’s clawing at me desperately, needing more of her than ever before.
She doesn’t say anything.
I ram into her harder, slamming her flat against the wall, then yank her head to the side. “Tell me you’ll never die.”
I bury my face in her neck, squeezing my eyes shut and gripping her hips as hard as I can. I need to engrave myself in her body. I need her to always feel me. With every thrust, I lift, sliding upward so gets more of me with every push. “Damn it, you feel so fucking good.”
I press my forehead against her shoulder. I glide my hands up her waist, grasping and clutching every part of her. Sliding her shirt up, I palm her breasts under her bra, and she whines, pressing her ass against me, meeting my strokes. “Tell me,” I beg her with a gasp. “Tell me.” I thrust. ” Tell me.” I. “I slam home. “Fucking tell me.”
She shouts her orgasm, her nails clawing at the paint on the wall.
“Delilah,” I growl my release, pushing as far as possible, holding her shoulders tight, so she bears down on me. “Fuck, yes. Take everything, Sweetling.”
She sags against the wall, and I fall against her, kissing the sweat-slicken skin of her nape. Dragging my lips across her bare shoulder, I embrace her tightly. I’m not ready to be free of her. I want to stay inside her all day, all night. I never want to leave this room.