As mesmerizing as her breasts are as they jiggle, her face steals all my attention as her pussy clamps around my cock. I can’t breathe. She’s too tight. Pride overflows my chest as she launches into an orgasm the moment I spear into her.
Countless emotions play over her stunning features. She pushes against me even as her body sucks me in.
On the verge of spilling my load much too soon, I lean forward, wrap my hand around her throat, and grab her breast.
“Gouge those claws into my flesh, gattina. Hang on tight. This won’t be gentle,” I snarl.
She heaves and shakes her head as her orgasm finally abates.
I pull back and pound into her again and again, setting a brutal rhythm as liquid fire gathers at the base of my spine. Engrossed in the torturous bliss written on her face, I bury myself balls deep, knead her breast, pinch her nipple, and skim my fingers down her torso to her clit. Slick and hard despite already having multiple orgasms, her sensitive bundle of nerves begs for another release. I stroke directly over the nub and enjoy her gasping and writhing as I resume thrusting into her. She gouges my chest and back with her nails and digs her heels into my ass, both pulling me closer and pushing me away.
I change the angle of my hips and surge into her. She stiffens. I growl and thumb her clit as I drag my flange along her G-spot and hit the tight barrier of her womb with my tip on every thrust.
She closes her eyes, opens her mouth on a silent scream, and combusts. Slick gushes from her and soaks my shorts as her pussy contracts around me, squeezing my cock so hard stars burst through my vision. My rhythm falters. I shorten my thrusts, remaining deep inside her and bottoming out so hard her breasts bounce with every mini thrust. I snarl as magma erupts from my balls and sears the inside of my shaft, and I cum in long, rapturous waves as she squirts and squeezes and steals the soul from my chest.
It’s too much. She’s too perfect. It hurts so fucking good.
I lean down and take her mouth, needing to invade and rule every inch of her as I spurt my release deep inside her pussy. With my hand wedged between us and her clit pulsing under my fingertips, I kiss her with every ounce of passion pouring from me, but I pull back before my orgasm ends.
When her muscles finally relax, I groan and nip her bottom lip as her insides flutter around me.
“Mio Dio, you’re trying to squeeze the life out of me, aren’t you, gattina?” I murmur against her mouth.
Her ragged breaths warm my face. She digs her nails into my back and pulls me tighter to her.
Alarm spears through me when she buries her face against my shoulder and sobs.
I release her throat and slip my hand into her hair, but she shakes her head and clings tighter to me.
“Just give me a minute,” she says between sobs. “Please, I just need…”
Her entire body jerks from the force of her outburst, shifting my cock inside her tight, wet heat. I cup the back of her head and hold her to me as I relax my other hand and inch it away from her clit. If she clamps around my cock again, I might die. I’d die the luckiest man on earth, but I haven’t had nearly enough time to pamper and worship her.
She digs her heels into my ass and embraces me with her entire body.
No one has ever hugged me so completely before. Rightness settles over me. I wish the moment could last for eternity, but she finds her composure and loosens her grip. With a few sniffles and annoyed swipes of her hand—which has blood caked under the fingernails from gouging my back—she clears her face of tears and relaxes, leaning into my hand cupping the back of her head.
The tightness of her brow fills me with concern.
“Did I hurt you?”
My gruff rumble sounds more like a feral growl than a human voice.
She shakes her head.
I pull my arm out from between our bodies and lift my hand to frame her face but pause before I touch her. Pink smears on my digits curdle my stomach. I twist my wrist and check the pads of my fingertips. The streaks of light red don’t amount to much blood, but no man with an ounce of honor would hurt his woman in such an intimate way.
“I did hurt you,” I snarl.
I release her head and pin her down with a hand on her sternum as I lift my torso and look down at our joined bodies.
Slight smudges of red show on the outer ring of her arousal, but when I pull back, only creamy slick drips from my cock.
“You were a virgin,” I breathe.
Her chest hitches under my palm. She shrugs and flexes her thighs around me. I hiss and grab her chin.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes and flattens her palms over my chest.
“Why would I?”
I snarl, pinch her chin, grab her ass, and push an inch or two back into her.
“Your first time shouldn’t have been so rushed. Or so rough. I would’ve shown more control if I’d known,” I growl.
She pulses around me as she takes a shuddering breath.
“Maybe next time,” she mumbles with yet another shrug.
Her small smirk seals her fate.
I worship her like the queen she is, paying homage with teeth and tongue, pledging my devotion with my fingers, and praising her with words.
She’s mine. My queen. My woman.
Mia gattina.
We christen every inch of her apartment. I manhandle her around the space, pinning her to the wall beside the breakfast nook, bending her over the living room couch, licking her in the hallway, and destroying the guest bedroom. The vase tumbles to the floor. Her breasts smudge the floor-length mirror. I spread her out on the bed and feast on her. She drops to her knees and reaches for me, but I catch her wrist.
“Not here,” I snarl and pull her to her feet.
Dazed, sweaty, and perfect, she wraps her legs around me when I grab her ass and lift her off her feet. I stalk into the bathroom and turn on the shower. She nibbles at my jaw.
I adjust the water temperature and sit on the bench. She sucks the lobe of my ear into her mouth and flicks her tongue over the trapped flesh. Lightning arcs down my spine and jolts through my balls. I growl and squeeze her ass. She pulls back, smirks, and slithers to the floor.
My heart pounds in my head as she kneels between my feet and splays her hands over my thighs. She traces my scars and tattoos with her fingertips as she studies my cock with wide eyes.
“All of that fit inside me?”
The innocent wonder in her gaze nearly sends me over the edge. I curl my fists around the edge of the bench and grunt. She pushes my knees further apart and lowers her head.
Every muscle in my body bunches as she kisses my thigh. She swirls her tongue along a line of raised flesh where I didn’t dodge a knife fast enough. My chest tightens as she kisses her way up my leg. I pray the bench doesn’t snap as I clench my fists.
She wraps a hand around the base of my shaft. I snarl and drop my head back against the wall.
“Ermanno,” she whispers.
I spear my hands into her hair and meet her vibrant green eyes. Wicked mirth glints in her gorgeous orbs.
“There’s my good il mio sovrano,” she says, mimicking the tone and inflection I used when I first unlocked her phone with perfection.
Holy fuck. She’s glorious in her feistiness. Pearly white fluid drips from my tip. I tighten my hands in her hair.
Despite her submissive position, mia gattina dominates my world as she explores my cock with the same methodical intensity she exudes in all aspects of life.
Just before she sucks the life out of me, I yank her face away and grab her wrists when she continues to stroke them up and down my cock.
“Stop, gattina, or I’ll cum in your mouth,” I snarl.
She quirks a brow.
“That’s kind of the point. Let me go,” she demands.
“Mio Dio, how are you so perfect?”
“I’m not,” she quips. She swirls her tongue around my tip. “I’m just better than all those whores you brought home so you could braid their hair.”
The jealous fury in her tone breaks the dam of my control. I push her mouth down onto my cock and growl as fiery pleasure rushes from the base of my spine to the inside of my shaft.
“Swallow. Every. Drop,” I snarl.
She tightens her fist around my base, cups my balls, and sinks lower onto me.
The most intense release barrels through me as her throat squeezes my tip. Teetering on the edge of pain, I growl and pull her hair, but she hums and works her mouth up and down my shaft, swallowing and licking at her own pace as she kneads my balls and strokes my base.
A second orgasm plows through me with no warning, stealing my vision and electrifying every nerve in my body.
I yank her head away from my groin and fight for oxygen as the last pulse of seed dribbles from my tip.
“Fuck, Loretta. No more,” I heave.
Her muffled huff sharpens my senses. I meet her eyes and lift my brow in question.
She opens her mouth to reveal the viscous fluid still puddled on her tongue.
My satisfaction skyrockets. Visceral delight and depraved hedonism flow through me.
She’s mine. I marked her. She’ll forever be mine.
Her gorgeous green eyes sparkle with mischief.
She flexes her tongue and pushes my cum out of her mouth. I watch in disbelief as it trickles down her chin and drips onto her breasts.
“Oops. Maybe next time,” she says with a smirk.
I growl, lift her onto her feet, pin her back against the tiles, drop to my knees, throw her legs over my shoulders, and bury my face in her pussy.
No matter how many times I bring her to completion, I’ll never get enough of her sweetness. I’ll never tire of watching her fly apart on my fingers. Never take for granted how she clings to me and begs for more as I pleasure her with my cock.
When the water runs cold and chills our flesh, I dry us off with the same towel and carry her to her bed naked, but the mountain of stuffed animals prevents me from setting her down. She solves the problem by kicking them onto the floor and pulling the blankets back. I place her in the middle of the mattress and grab the heavy comforter to tuck around her, but she growls and pulls me down on top of her.
“You’re the best weighted blanket in the world. Don’t leave. Please.”
How can I resist?
I prop myself up on my elbows, but she hisses and wriggles around until we lie on our sides with our fronts plastered together and our limbs tangled. Afraid I’ll smother her in my sleep, I lean back, but her frustrated sigh and impatient tug on my shoulder as she drapes her thigh over my hip convinces me to trust her.
She’s no damsel in distress. She’s my strong, opinionated, and needy gattina.
As she slips into an exhausted doze, I brush her hair back from her face and ghost my thumb over her cheek.
No matter how similar her features are to her stepsister, or even her twin, I’ll never confuse her with anyone again. She’s mine. Underneath her naturally tanned flesh, faint freckles dot the very top of her cheekbones. Her full lashes and pert nose belong to her and her alone. A tiny white scar—invisible from more than a foot away—hides in the curve of her lower right lip.
She’s perfect.
As I sink into the most restful sleep I’ve had in years, I plan the next steps to our forever future in my dreams.
Loretta Giordano will be my bride. I’ll make her the newest member of both the Mancini and Russo families. Pops will love her. Nico will protect her if anything happens to me. Serenity, Natalie, and Bella will be the sisters she always wished she had.
I wake in a rush as sound blares from the other room. Loretta pops awake and sits up as I stumble from the bed.
“Don’t get up,” I grumble.
She flops back onto the bed. I smile as I stalk down the hall. She must have been one sassy little girl growing up. If she showed this amount of spunk and attitude as a child, then I don’t blame her parents for letting her undergo surgery for her twin.
Part of me aches just knowing her love for her sister is part of the reason she stifled her natural expressions.
I stalk to the foyer, dig my phone out of my duffel, and answer my father’s call. In his typical no-nonsense way, he tells me his palliative care team had an unexpected opening this afternoon.
“I’ll be there in forty-five minutes, Pops,” I say.
He grunts his affirmation and hangs up. I turn to find Loretta standing, fully nude, in the living room.
“You’re not staying?”
My heart stops at the vulnerable expression on her face. With her hair mussed and sleep hazed eyes, she’s too stunning and precious to seem so sad and scared.
I close the distance between us and wrap her in my arms.
“Neither are you, gattina. Get dressed. You’re coming with me,” I rumble.
She drops her forehead to my chest and returns my hug.
“Oh, right. Yeah,” she mumbles.
After a dejected sigh, she lifts her head and pins me in place with a stern look.
“I haven’t treated your wounds yet.”
With bold determination, she takes my hand and pulls me to the kitchen. Stark naked with my phone in my hand, I ignore my hard cock as she directs me this way and that, willing to play as her puppet as she smears ointment over my bruises and plants closed-mouth kisses over my scars.
Loretta Giordano will be the death of me.
I can’t wait to share the rest of my life with her.
