The flash of vulnerability disappears from her eyes as quickly as it came, but I cup the side of her face and rub my thumb along her cheek, soothing her even as she pulls her anger around her like a shield.
I didn’t mean to fuck her so roughly our first time together, but I couldn’t hold back, not when she was so wet, ready, and feisty. I thought I’d be able to control myself after spurting my seed all over her body, but she looks so good covered in my cum.
She swats my hand away from her face with her bound wrists and glares at me. I capture her forearms and pin her hands above her head. Her pussy quivers around my cock. Shivers run up and down my spine.
She’s too perfect. I cup her breast and smear my drying seed over her smooth flesh, enjoying the emotions playing across her features as I tease her, and with her tight sheath wrapped around my cock, she can’t hide her body’s reactions.
After sending me a scathing glower, she turns her face away, closes her eyes, and grits her teeth as though she plans to ignore me for a very, very long time.
I scoff and consider challenging her, but my toes tingle, my balls feel hollow, and every tiny shift of her insides along my shaft sends sparks of lightning up my spine.
I just need one more taste, then I’ll give her an hour or two to recover before I take her again.
I’m already addicted to her. Even though I’m still inside her and completely spent, I want her again.
Denied her expressive glare, I feast my eyes on her curves. Her slender throat calls for my grip, but the sight of her dusky nipple pebbling between my scarred and tattooed fingers sends dark delight through my veins. My balls tighten as I dip my eyes lower, anticipation thrumming through me as I seek my first view of her pussy stretched around my cock.
I freeze in horror at the red tinge. Guilt and denial battle in my chest.
I grab her chin and squeeze her face, demanding her attention. She lifts her lashes and reveals her furious light brown orbs, but the despair lurking in the tears she refuses to shed shatters my soul.
“I didn’t hurt you,” I demand.
She scowls and averts her gaze while tugging at her arms. I tighten my grip on her face until she meets my eyes again.
“I did not hurt you. Right?”
She takes a shuddering breath and closes her eyes but opens them before I admonish her.
“You did hurt me. You’re hurting me now. Take it out,” she says through gritted teeth.
I flex my hips. She sucks down a gasp and presses her knees against my sides as her insides flutter around me.
“Does that hurt?” I challenge.
She just glares at me. I gentle my grip on her jaw and trace her features as I tease the inside of her wrist with my fingertips.
Her pussy pulses around me. I growl and lick the sweat from her temple before trailing my hand down to her breast.
“Don’t lie to me, mia caramellina. Your body wanted this, even if you deny it. Are you starting your period?”
My woman doesn’t have an ounce of shyness in her body. She sneers at me despite the mortification heating her cheeks and shakes her head.
“No, I’m not.”
“So let me get this straight. I didn’t hurt you and you aren’t on your period. Sì?”
She closes her hands into fists as I circle my thumb around her stiffened nipple. I pinch the peak and trail my hand down to her sex, watching the peak spring into place when it slips from my fingers.
“Did I just take your virginity, mia caramellina? Am I the first man to sample this perfect little pussy?”
With a furious hiss, she bucks and wedges a knee between us, but it doesn’t stop me from finding her clit. I groan and lean more of my weight onto her bound wrists as her pussy squeezes my cock.
“Am I your first lover, amore mio?”
“No. Get over yourself, you fucking stronzo,” she says, shoving her knee into my sternum.
I hum and tease first one, then the other, side of her clit.
“Stop! Vaffanculo!”
Her throaty curse arrows straight to my balls, and without warning, another orgasm rushes down from the base of my spine. I hold it back by sheer force of will as I pinch and pluck her sensitive bundle of nerves until the rhythmic pulsing of her pussy around my shaft tells me she’s on the verge of coming apart again.
Despite the exhaustion apparent in her every move, she writhes and fights. I release her wrists. She adds her hands to my chest and shoves in time with her knee, but I tilt my hips and stroke her over the edge.
She chokes on a guttural sound and digs her nails into my upper chest.
My cock jerks inside her as I lose control. I never imagined I could cum again so soon after emptying my balls, but I didn’t even need to thrust in and out of her to find my third release. Her pussy strangles me. A bead of sweat drips from my brow and lands on her face.
It joins the tears trailing from her eyes and wetting her hair.
Fuck. I made her cry. She’s crying.
My fierce, headstrong woman is crying.
Because of me.
Well, no fucking shit, testa di cazzo. Goddamnit, I’m the most detestable man on the planet right now.
As I realize the magnitude of my fuck up, all traces of my euphoria fade.
I carefully pull my cock out of her, hissing at the intensity, and lift my torso off hers, but the sight of my seed seeping from her glistening pussy is too tempting. I pause with my fingers poised at her entrance.
She doesn’t sob, but her shuddering breaths relay her misery. Even in her lowest moment, she refuses to give in.
I snarl and roll off the bed without pushing my seed back into her weeping pussy, knowing I won’t stop if I touch her again.
“Don’t move,” I demand before stalking into the bathroom.
As I turn on the shower and check the temperature, self-disgust and despair run through me. Some barbaric part of me thought another orgasm would make her anger and distrust fade away, but all it did was humiliate her and prove how self-centered I am.
Words didn’t create the problem, so words won’t fix the problem. Hell, with how she scoffed at my apology, words will most likely only make it worse.
Actions. All I can do to salvage the situation is to show her with my every move how much she means to me.
With the shower a little warmer than I prefer, I walk into the main room and pause at the sight of her back. Even though I saw the raised flesh when I was cleaning her after her nosebleed, my heart squeezes in misery at the signs of abuse. Several jagged scars crisscross her back, but the long, thin line running from her right shoulder blade down to her left hip sours my gut. Whoever beat her had no mercy.
If she had other signs of impact play on her body, I might think she dabbled in BDSM, but the scars look to have healed at the same time years ago, so she must have earned them in one terrifying experience. But I’ll never know if she doesn’t tell me.
My woman carries too much trauma, and I only added to it.
I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches as I stalk around the bed. Her silent tears rip me to shreds, but when she shifts her gaze up to mine and glares, a sliver of relief wriggles through me.
I gather her into my arms and carry her into the bathroom. After setting her in the tub with her back propped against the wall and the shower raining down on her legs and hips, I place the soap in her hands but don’t untie her wrists.
“I’ll join you in two minutes, mia caramellina,” I warn before shutting the shower curtain and striding to the sink.
After washing my face and brushing my teeth—because I’ll ravage her again if I touch her while her taste still lingers on my tongue—I peel my bandages off my back and arm and grimace at my reflection.
With bite marks on my jaw, a massive bruise on my cheek, and my lip split from my crafty woman, my face is a mess. I smirk in pride, even though I know I’m the reason she had to fight so hard. My cock stiffens at the sight of the claw marks on my chest, so I grab the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and douse the gouges. I hiss in pain and wait until the bubbling stops before turning toward the shower.
The curtain ripples from her movements, but the rushing water is the loudest sound in the room. I take a hesitant step toward her. My heart grows heavy as I reach for the curtain.
With what I’ve put her through, most women would shake the reinforced walls with their screaming and sobbing. Her silence unnerves me.
I pull the curtain back.
She barely spares me a threatening glance as I step into the tub. Even when I block the water, she continues to scrub her body. Thick white suds cover her from neck to knee, but she’s not satisfied.
I detach the showerhead and lower myself to my knees in front of her, almost biffing it twice from how much soap covers the bottom of the tub. When I grab her wrist bindings and force her hands away from her body, she hisses and plants the sole of her foot against my sternum.
I drape the showerhead over my shoulder and pry the soap out of her fist. She growls and tries to retrieve it when I release her, but I ignore her antics and work my hands into a lather before focusing on her leg. With her foot already on my chest, I have full access to her ankle, calf, and knee, but I wait until she stops fighting before I wrap my fist around her ankle. She glares at me with skeptical eyes, so I keep my touch as clinical as possible despite my need to worship her.
When I slip my fingers between her toes, careful to avoid her blisters, she jumps and hisses. I smirk as I realize I’ve found another one of her sensitive spots.
Ferreting the information away for later, I ensure every centimeter of her foot is sudsy before grabbing the showerhead and rinsing her leg.
She continues to glare at me, but the wariness slowly morphs into reluctant acceptance as I swap her feet and clean her other leg.
Even though she thoroughly scrubbed her body, I rinse her until no soap remains and start over, using both my bare hand and a washcloth. My mouth waters and my cock stirs, but I let her drop her legs to the side, limiting my access to her pussy. I lather her throat, arms, breasts, and torso, cataloging every inch of her. When I lift her fisted hands to my face, she doesn’t fight, but if looks could kill, I’d keel over.
She’s magnificent. She wears her fury and resilience around her like a queen wears a cloak and crown.
I ignore my cock’s incessant throbbing and worship her with my hands, proving to her the care I gave her after her nosebleed wasn’t a onetime deal.
I’ll give her everything she needs for the rest of her life. I’ll dedicate all of me to protecting and pampering her until my dying breath.
It’s really fucking hard to stop myself from leering at her when the soap trails down the soft roundness of her stomach and pools in her bellybutton. As delectable as her breasts and pussy are, the slight pooch of her abdomen adds a visceral realness to her curves, and I long to pledge my love and devotion to her, but she’s not ready for the words, so I gnaw on my busted lip and use the pain to stay focused.
After rinsing her front, I add fresh soap to the washcloth, hang it on the bar, and make sure my hands aren’t slippery before letting the showerhead hang behind me. When I thread my arm behind her, she balks, but I pull her forward and shuffle us around until she sits between my legs. Although the tub is larger than average, I can’t straighten my legs even with my back against the wall, but I wedge myself into a semi-comfortable position—avoiding the spigot as best as I can—and lean her forward.
She stiffens when my chest brushes against her back, but she loses some of her rigidity when I grab the washcloth. I work the lathered cloth over her back and trace the scars with my fingertips.
When she doesn’t react, I tuck a finger under her chin and guide her face to the side so I can see her profile. She gives me an epic side glare before ignoring me.
Despite my curiosity, I don’t ask about the marks on her flesh.
I never expected my firecracker of a woman could pout so cutely or wield the silent treatment so skillfully, but then again, I’m a fucking idiot for underestimating her. She’s a perfect match for my mischievous cynicism.
When I’m certain I’ve cleaned every inch of her back, I fumble for the showerhead and rinse her off before cupping her shoulders and pulling her against me. Her reluctance shouldn’t turn me on, but it does. I ignore my aching cock and scoot her hips away from mine.
When I prop her body lower on my chest, she hisses and turns her neck, reminding me of the knot on the back of her head.
“Sorry, mia caramellina. Is it too late for an ice pack?”
She opens her mouth to respond but catches herself and sends me a scathing look.
I sigh, tilt her chin up, and shield her eyes with my hand before aiming the water at the top of her head. Her hair dances across my chest and down my abdomen as the water flows over us both.
As I shampoo her hair, mindful of her injury, she slowly relaxes against me, and by the time I finish rinsing the bubbles off us, she’s more asleep than awake. I gentle my hands further and work the conditioner through her locks with long, soothing strokes. More of her tension drains away.
The shower drowns out her soft sigh, but her body shifts against mine as she fills her lungs fully for the first time in what feels like ages. As the fight drains from her, I bask in the trust she unwillingly gives me. Even though I know I pushed her beyond her limits, she’s sleeping while naked and wet in my arms, giving me hope for our future.
It may be a false hope, but I’ll cling to it with every fiber of my being. Mia Rivera is mine.
I rinse the conditioner from her hair, wash the last of the soap down the drain, turn off the water, and slide open the shower curtain just enough so the towel doesn’t get drenched when I pull it through. I hiss as the stitches in my back and arm pull. Mia gives a small, annoyed huff but doesn’t wake, so I drape the first towel over her and grab a second for her hair.
After wrapping her head and slowly shifting us both so I can stand, I lift her to my chest and rise. She half wakes with the sexiest pout on her face, but I step out onto the mat and fix the towel around her torso before setting her on the counter and propping her up in the corner. She huffs and pushes me away, but I catch her arms, take off her bindings, and kiss the inside of her wrist.
Her eyes pop open and she searches my face, but I place her hands in her lap and cup her cheek.
“Sit still for a minute, mia caramellina. Don’t fall. Capisci?” I demand.
When her feistiness shines through her glare, I smile and plant a quick kiss to her forehead before turning and using the last towel to dry my body. After rummaging through my bag, I sigh and pull my only remaining pair of clean underwear on and toss my undershirt onto the counter opposite my woman. She reaches for the fabric, but when I capture her hand and return it to her lap, she sighs in annoyance, closes her eyes, and leans her head against the wall.
I pat her arms and legs dry with my towel before pulling the lotion from my bag. She slits her eyes open at the lewd sound as I squirt a ton of lotion on my palm and rub my hands together to warm it up. When I lift her wrist, she grits her teeth and closes her eyes.
My reverence grows as I rub her arms and legs. She’s too feminine to be so strong. My balls ache and cock throbs, but I push my lust aside and pamper my woman as she deserves.
When I unravel her towel, she lifts her lashes enough to send me a warning glare, but the haze of sleep adds a soft, intimate element, and I can’t help but smile at her cuteness.
I keep my touch as platonic as possible but worship her with every touch, silently promising what she won’t let me say in words. When I work my cleanest shirt over her head without taking too many liberties with her body, she helps me thread her arms into the sleeves before leaning back into the corner. I settle the hem around her hips and tug the first aid kit to the front of the sink before dropping to my knees in front of her. As I inspect her blisters and apply ointment, I catch her watching me with an odd expression. I can’t name all the emotions flitting over her features, but the sheer depth of her thoughts steals my breath.
She’s going to keep me on my toes for the rest of my life, isn’t she?
I can’t wait.
After turning on the bedside lamp, carrying her to the room’s only chair, and warming her favorite foods, I wrap her fingers around her fork and give her nape a squeeze before changing the sheets—again—and chugging a bottle of water.
As I twist the cap back onto the plastic, I catch her sneaking a glance at me. The reluctant appreciation in her gaze has me fully hard, but I ignore my insatiable cock and toss the empty bottle into the trash.
When I check the food and realize she’s barely picked at it, I scoop her up, sit in the chair, and settle her sideways on my lap. By the look on her face as she studies the fork in her hand, she considers stabbing me with it, but her wisdom prevails and she lets me pry her fingers off it with little difficulty.
She honors me by accepting the food I offer, and as I fill her belly with her roommate’s homemade meal, her eyelids slip over her glare and the tension drains from her body.
I appease my jealousy of her roommate by focusing on her weight in my lap and the way she leans against me. A lesser man would have left this food to rot in her fridge, but I can’t waste it when I could watch her enjoy it.
After feeding us both and coaxing her into taking some over-the-counter pain meds, I drop the empty food containers in the sink and settle us under the blankets. She lies as stiff as a board as I lean over her to turn off the lamp, but I pull her back against my front and replace her pillow with my arm. As I nuzzle her hair and wrap my arms around her, she fills her fists with the blankets.
“Stop scheming and go to sleep, mia caramellina. Unless you’re waiting for me to take another taste? I’m always eager for a midnight snack,” I goad.
With obvious effort, she releases the blankets and forces herself to relax.
I slow my breathing and smirk into her hair when she subconsciously matches my pace. Within minutes, she’s out. Her soft snores lull me into the most restful sleep I’ve had in years.
When she jerks and mumbles in the middle of the night, I offer her nonsensical words of comfort and pull her tighter against me.
This is where she belongs for the rest of our lives. In my bed. In my arms. In my heart.
Mia Rivera is mine, and by the end of the day, the entire world will know it.
I’m going to marry her, whether she wants to or not.
