My home. My everything.
There’s a tangible shift. In her. In me. In us.
Her eyes never leave mine as I claim her.
And this is a claiming. This woman is mine, and I’ll do absolutely anything to keep her, happy and fulfilled, by my side.
The white of my shirt that I still wear is stark against all her bronzed skin, and I drink in the sight of her as I move into her with long, deep strokes. Her dark nipples are peaked, the indent of her waist gives way to the flare of her hips, and her legs are spread wide.
Her eyes lower, but I don’t command her to keep her eyes on mine because I see where she’s looking. I dip my hand, and, using my fingers, I spread her lips, exposing her swollen clit.
“Do you like watching us, angel?”
She stares at her pussy—the exposed, glistening clit, and her lips sheathed around my thick shaft. She licks her lips, nodding. I can feel her throat move under my hand as she swallows. Her eyes watch us, seeing my tattooed cock sliding into her and joining us. “I like watching you move in and out of me.”
I nuzzle her neck. “Good girl. Tell me what else you like.”
“I like how wet you make me.”
“Good fucking girl.” I move my fingers from splaying her lips apart and roll over her clit, slow and hard. “I like how wet I make you, too. The seat in my car was drenched.”
I lick up the side of her neck, and when I reach her ear, she shivers and quakes against me. I apply more force to my thrusts into her and love how I steal her breath. Her tits bounce with every slow, hard thrust, and she watches them.
I’ve never fucked anyone fully clothed while they were naked. I hadn’t expected that endytophilia would be a kink of Sophie’s, but I’m so insanely happy that she didn’t hesitate to share what she wanted to do with me.
Not only does she physically respond immediately, instinctively, and intensely to me, but every reaction is unguarded. I sense she feels safe with me and doesn’t hesitate to share what she wants and needs. And that pleases me, insanely. The only thing that pleases me more is being buried deep inside her, knowing she’s mine.
Remembering the first night and how responsive her nipples were, my hands leave her throat and clit to cup her breasts. I don’t touch her dark nipples, but they look rock-hard.
I massage her lush globes in slow, lazy strokes, avoiding her nipples for now, and loving the goosebumps that dot her skin and the hitch in her breathing. I match my thrusts into her with the tempo of the massage strokes. Without touching the rock-hard nipples, I lightly trace the dark areolas, then go back to massaging and squeezing her flesh. The firmer I squeeze, the more she moans and starts to stir on my cock, like she’s getting agitated.
“You need more, angel?” I bite her earlobe.
“You’re stirring something in me. I don’t…” She leans her head back against my chest. “I don’t know how to chase it.”
“Let me bring it to you.”
I thrust harder into her, making both of us moan. I ease off that intense force because, as much as I want to hammer into her ruthlessly—and know it will bring us both to our knees and end up with her pussy full of my cum—I want to experiment and bring her pleasure this way first.
Still massaging, kneading, and squeezing her tits, alternating with the light traces of her areolas—leaving both her clit and nipples untouched—I work her up. Every time I trace the areola and get close to her rock-hard buds, I can feel her anticipation and need rise higher, and her walls start to flutter, telling me the nipple play could make her orgasm.
When I move away without touching the probably aching nipples—with this different form of edging that I’m doing to her—she whimpers. My cock throbs with the need to explode inside her, and I fight the urge to pummel into her.
Finally, I drag my thumbs over her rock-hard nipples. As expected, she is ultra-sensitive. Her walls flutter around my cock again, stronger this time, and the noise she makes is low and guttural. I brush over them again, then again with more force.
“Oh my god, that feels amazing.” Her chin falls to her chest, but her head jerks up as I pinch her nipples. “Fuck,” she chokes, throwing her head back, and I have to grit my teeth from exploding at the sight of her.
She is a siren. So open and comfortable receiving and taking from me whatever brings her pleasure.
“Let go for me, angel,” I whisper in her ear, barely holding on myself. “Come all over my cock. Drench my dick with your cum.”
I pinch her nipples harder, then give them each a vicious twist as her pussy tightens around me. Her pussy clenches me like a fist as I twist her nipples the other way before releasing them and making the blood rush to the tortured peaks.
“Creed,” she cries as she comes, and her pussy walls clamp solid, like fucking steel, around me. I can’t even move as I watch the orgasm hit her full force.
Her entire torso flushes bright red as the full effect and intensity slams into her. I’m transfixed but mildly alarmed as she completely stops breathing, and her pussy walls are like iron shackles around my cock.
But then, her walls marginally relax, and that signals her brain to drag in a deep breath, and the waves of the orgasmic contractions explode into rhythmic action. She chokes out my name as I watch the waves of her contractions visible on the front wall of her abdomen in the mirror.
She falls forward, and I catch her. Her arms shake as she braces her hands on the rail. “Fuck me harder, Creed. Come inside me.”
I give her what she demands. Only she, my queen, can command me in such a way.
I pound hard into her, making her cry out with pleasure. I’m unsure how I’m still lasting as she continues to clench around me, feeling like another orgasm is close on her heels. I’m getting close, and my balls suck up tight to me.
I haul her body upright so her back is flush with my front again. Holding her with an arm banded over her chest, my shirt rubs over her stimulated nipples. I shift the angle of my hips, hitting her front wall harder, ramming her g-spot. Using my free hand, I work her clit, willing myself to hold on for a few more seconds.
“Creed,” she whimpers hoarsely.
Then she explodes for the third time, and her scream echoes off the walls of the elevator and into the foyer entrance of my home. I feel the gush of her release and watch it squirt out of her to spray the mirrored wall in front of us.
I roar in satisfaction as I come right after her. I nearly black out, and starbursts mix with black in my field of vision. My cock feels like it’s being ripped apart in the best way possible with the force that my cum blows out from me and buries deep inside her.
She collapses, her torso falling forward and her legs giving way, and I catch her. Somehow scooping her into my arms as I tremble like a leaf myself, not caring that my dick is still hanging outside my pants. Her in my arms is all that matters.
I walk through the foyer, into the kitchen, and head straight for my bedroom. Sophie is limp, with her face buried in my chest.
I lay her on the bed, staring at her thighs, covered in our mixed cum leaking out of her. Her eyes are closed, and I lean down to her. “Angel?”
She doesn’t stir, and I smile.
Did she pass out from that?
“Angel.” I brush my lips over her full, perfectly pouty ones.
“Hmm?” she finally responds without opening her eyes.
“You okay?”
“Do Italians love pasta?” A smile tugs at her lips while her eyes stay closed.
Chuckling, I kiss her lightly. “Stay resting. I’ll be right back.”
She makes an incoherent noise. Unbuckling my belt as I enter my ensuite, I love that the front of my pants is soaked from what we’ve just experienced together. I undress, tossing my clothes into my laundry basket, then start the bath. I wet a face cloth and grab a towel.
When I return to my bedroom, Sophie hasn’t moved. Utter contentment and bliss fill me as I gaze at her sleeping, naked form on my bed.
Leaving my angel-slash-siren to rest, I go to wipe up the elevator. I grin at the spray of her orgasm on the mirror as I clean it and the floor. I love that Sophie completely lets go with me. I’m not trying to get rid of ‘the evidence,’ though. I don’t want her to see it, feel embarrassed, and try to hold back from reaching that level of release again.
I return to my room, toss the towel and cloth into the laundry. Sophie is still sleeping, and I smile as I enter the ensuite. The tub is half full, and I check the water to ensure it’s the perfect temperature, then I go back into my bedroom to get my angel.
When I scoop her up again, she doesn’t wake up; she burrows her face into my chest, breathes deeply, and relaxes further. Her reaction thickens my throat with emotion.
Holding my most precious cargo, I carefully lower us into the tub, spreading my legs so she is between them and cup her head back against my chest.
She sighs sleepily. “Did I just pee the bed?”
I burst out laughing. She chuckles, too, but her eyes stay closed. I kiss her forehead, then rest my chin on her head as she shifts and settles in. We fit perfectly.
I can’t wait to wash her. Caring for her and cleaning her in the shower the last time filled me with a fulfillment I didn’t understand or appreciate then, but I do now. I want to care and do everything to dote on this woman, so she knows I worship her.
However, I can’t rush this and freak her out. Instead, I let the peace of the moment cascade over me and lie with her, relaxing against me.
She swirls her hands gently in the water in front of her. Then she takes one of my hands in hers and lifts it. “Why do you have so many tattoos?” Her voice still sounds sleepy and hoarse.
“Do they bother you?”
“I love them.”
I smile against the top of her head. “I got my first ones on my neck and hands because I was trying to be different from my brothers. They have tattoos but none that are visible. It was a way to claim my own identity, I guess. Once you meet them, you’ll understand. They have big personalities.”
“How many brothers do you have?”
“Two. You?”
“Only child, but with lots of cousins that are like siblings.” Before I can ask more about that, she says, “Tell me more about the tattoos.”
“Once I started, I kind of got addicted.” Thinking of what Vito had said about ‘when I got in a mood, I reach for the gun,’ I add, wanting to be open with her as we explore and learn about each other, “Sometimes they’re a way for me to deal with shit.”
“A coping mechanism?”
“Hmm,” I murmur into her dark silky hair.
“Have you gotten any tattoos because of joy or something that’s made you happy?”
“I will.”
“You will?” She tries to twist around to me, but I hold her flush against me.
I intuitively sense that as much as she is here with me now, she’ll run if I rush things too fast.
I will be getting a tattoo for her on my flesh: angel wings with her name scrolled in as the feathers. The perfect place for it will be on the un-inked head of my cock. Not only because that is one of the untouched sections on my body, but because my cock belongs to only her now—and has since I laid eyes on her.
“I have,” I correct, mostly to distract her from asking more about my future planned tattoo and bend my left leg so my thigh pops out of the water. I point at the building inked amongst the other designs. “This tattoo is of the first building I built.”
Her finger traces over its outline. “It’s beautiful. Where is it?”
“San Francisco. I’ll take you there sometime.”
She’s quiet before she responds, “I’d like that.”
“You okay, angel?”
She draws in a deep breath, then releases it, with a shudder. “I can’t be distracted, Creed.”
“From your education?”
She nods, not turning to look back at me.
“I’d never impede your goals, Sophie. Whatever you want to achieve, I only want to help you.”
She twists, and the streaks of copper blended in her dark brown eyes are stark. “Do you promise?”
“I promise.” I gently kiss her lips. “Tell me about your goals.”
Her eyes flick between mine. “Really?”
“Really. I want to know everything about you.”
She smiles. “I don’t even know your last name. And is Creed your actual name?”
“Yes, it’s my actual name. And my last name is Santoro.” I hold my breath, looking to see if she recognizes the last name, but there isn’t a flicker.
It’s not that I’m trying to hide anything from her, but… I don’t want to disrupt this peace and feeling of home I found right now. I’ll tell her about my family soon, and explain that I’m not of that world, but not right now.
“Creed Santoro… It fits you. Sexy name for a sexy man.”
“You think I’m sexy?”
She rolls her eyes, then turns around and settles against me again. “You damn well know you’re sexy.”
I nuzzle into the crook of her neck. She tilts her head to give me better access, and I settle in like she is made for me.
“But not just any sexy guy can make you come three times… or so quickly.”
Her thighs rub together, and I smirk. She is insatiable. I bet if I dipped my hand between her legs, she’d be ready for me.
“No man, sexy or not, has ever accomplished that,” she admits. “Or made me come from nipple play. Or made me pass out after an orgasm.”
I’m hard again, pressing against her back, and I lick up her neck. “You were made for me, angel. Just like I was made for you.”
Her breath sucks in, and her nipples resting in the warm water harden once again. Dipping my hand between her legs, she lifts her feet to rest them on the outside of my legs to give me full access. Reaching back, she cups the back of my neck, holding my head to her.
She has no hesitation. No walls. There’s nothing between us. She isn’t holding anything back.
I’m going to give this woman the world.
“Let me show you once more how you’re my home and my everything, angel.”
