Page 32 of Fight Me Little Pearl
“Fuck you!”
He pretends to gasp, his eyes shining with amusement. “What do you think your Mama will say to that, uh? Her good little girl cursing like a drunken sailor.” He tuts. “Will she wash your mouth out with the holy water that she gets from the Church on Sundays?”
“She can’t expect any different for forcing me into this marriage with someone like you,” I growl, my tongue sharp while my Judas body betrays me.
“You know, you are a hypocrite, Francesca.” He kisses the exposed expanse of my neck, and I bite back a moan. “You act and pretend like you’re the good girl, but even the sound of my voice makes your virgin cunt ache, doesn’t it? Hmm?”
His words are too crass, but, dear God, I love it. My body loves it, and spasms of pleasure rock my clit. “That’s why you say you hate me,” he continues, kissing up my neck and licking the shell of my ear. “Because I’m the bad guy who makes your body feel all the bad things you won’t admit to wanting.”
He lowers me to the hot dusty ground. I can smell the dry earth as he holds me against his body with one hand while the other blatantly roams my body.
“I raised a gun to Matteo, and so fucking what? He’s lucky I didn’t fire it. Next time I might,” he murmurs as his hands slide under my dress, up my legs, and towards my panties. I freeze, all the fight leaving my body. I remember how good he made me feel last night, and I want to feel that same mindless pleasure again. Ethics be damned to hell.
Valentino’s fingers touch my panties, and to my eternal shame, they’re drenched.
He growls, and I hear the deep desire in his voice. But then, he’s never hidden that. He’s always been upfront about wanting to fuck me.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, Francesca Barone.” His voice is like olive oil pouring from a glass bottle. So silky I feel it like a touch on my skin. “I talk about shooting a man, and you’re soaking wet for me.”
“Someone might come,” I whisper urgently.
“Everyone knows better than to come, and if there is an idiot out there who does, Vance will take care of him at the gate.”
He runs his finger over the seam of my wet panties, lightly assuaging the desperation in my blood. I want last night and more…
“Please,” I beg. “Please, Valentino.”
“What?” His tone is mocking, but I feel more juices flow out of me. “Tell me, my little spitfire, what do you want?”
“I-I don’t know.” I try to grind my hips into his hands, but he pulls away. “No,bella. You don’t get it that easily. You have to ask for what you want.”
“Touch me.” I tilt my head up to look into his eyes. “Please.”
“Ah, fuck,” he groans and claims my lips. At the exact moment, he pulls my panties aside and pinches my clit. I scream into his mouth, my hips arching off the ground. “Do you like that?”
“Yes.” I nod eagerly.
“And… do you like it when I do this?” He plunges a long finger into me, and I whimper, my body lapping up everything and wanting even more.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans. His finger sinks in and out of me, and then he adds another finger. “I want to fuck you so hard your body becomes addicted to my cock. Day and night you will walk around with your little pussy, hot and dripping, waiting for my cock to fill it.”
I never knew words could get me off, but with Valentino, I’m beginning to learn many new things about myself. I love having his hands on my body while his dirty words fill my ears, and he knows that.
“Look at you now…You’re blushing… so pink… so greedy,” he says. “Let me see your breasts,” he orders.
I reach behind to unzip my dress and tug the straps off my arms. My breasts spring free. I’m not at all embarrassed to be so bare under his gaze because Valentino’s eyes worship me. I can be naked beneath his gaze forever.
“You’re a goddess, an earth goddess… my goddess,” he murmurs possessively, stroking my nipple with one hand while the other rubs my clit. The two different sensations send my body to another plane, away from the sight and smell of grapevines. “You’re mine.”
Despite my current state of exhilaration, I can’t agree to this.
He stops his ministrations, and I cry out from the loss of pleasure. He takes my jaw and tilts my face up to his again. “You are mine.” His eyes are suddenly and strangely veiled. “Say it.”
“I’m - I’m y-yours.” I can’t believe I said that. I’m not his. This is just a crazy sex thing. A kind of mad lust. I just have to get it out of my system and then I will be fine again.
He frowns. “Say it again.”
“I’m yours,” I repeat automatically, but this is a lie and he must know that too. He must know what we have is no more than an itch that needs to be scratched. My heart belongs to Thomas, and I made that pretty clear in Paris. But maybe this is what men want a woman to say to them while they’re having sex with her.
