Page 19 of Sacred Blood

And what I desired right now was to feel her body seize on mine, to smell the fragrant oils of her orgasm mingling with our shared sweat, to hear my name in her moans. “Come for me, piccola!” I ordered and smacked her clit.

She screamed, and it was just as I remembered–the shuddering, squeezing frenzy of her climax bringing me immediately to mine. I rode her harder, heaving and roaring while she writhed and yowled, like tigers in heat, my claws digging at her ass, and poured myself into her until my exhausted balls were drained of every last drop and she collapsed onto the spanking bench, limp and panting.

It was all I could do not to collapse atop her. After several steadying breaths, I pulled my semi-hard cock out of her ass and watched with possessive satisfaction as my cum dripped down her trembling thighs.

“Take a deep breath, Gaby.” While she did, I took off the first clamp and suckled her nipple while the blood rushed back, causing another orgasm to rip through her. I pulled off the second one and suckled while pinching the first tortured bud. Gaby screamed and came again. So receptive to my touch. Perfetto.

After releasing her, I pulled her limp body into my arms and carried her to the shower. The warm jets of water soon revived her, but I held her anyway, not wanting to let her go. Admittedly, I was a bit of a sadist. I prided myself on my detachment. I took more pleasure from making my partners experience only what I wanted them to experience, exactly as I intended, than from anything they could do for me. One woman was, after all, fundamentally the same as every other. But Gaby inspired my senses. As I washed her, my hands gripped, caressed and kneaded as if they’d never touched a woman before and never would again. I wanted to absorb every shudder and spasm while she floated, drugged with pleasure only I could give her.

She’d said she was afraid of how much she wanted me, and although that sounded like a desperate attempt at flattery, her body responded to the slightest touch, and my body responded to hers. Her head tipped back as I passed the sponge over her, moaning as suds popped on her nipples, until I could smell her arousal even over the artificial perfumes of the soap.

I couldn’t stand it anymore. My balls were tight and heavy, my cock painfully hard. As I picked her up, she parted her legs and wrapped them around my hips. My cock sought her warmth before she had time to lock her ankles, shoving deep inside her tight pussy.

I pressed her against the wall, desire ripping through me. There was no plan, no finesse. I knew nothing but the animal need to own this woman, to mark her as mine and keep my hard dick inside her forever. I fucked her into the tiles, my hands knotted in her glorious hair so that I could see her face straining with rapture, claim those moaning lips, taste the passion on her breath. Growling and groaning, I spilled inside of her for a second time. Gaby spasmed around my cock while I pumped her full of my seed.

She’s perfetto, I thought, but the thought was haunting more than it was cheering, never imagining I’d find someone so well matched to my needs

‘I was afraid…of how attracted I am to you…’

‘Guard your heart, Tano…People will use it against you…’

‘I wanted you so badly…and I still do.’

I understood, only too well, exactly how she felt.

Chapter Five

Gabriella

When Gaetano’s semi-hard dick slid out and was no longer pinning me to the wall of the shower, my body collapsed forward against his muscular chest. He gently rocked me side to side for a moment before having me slide to my feet. It was a moment of tenderness I never expected from him, and I would be a liar if I said it didn’t affect me.

Being rocked in the arms of a gorgeous man was the stuff of romance novels. It ended quickly and was replaced with brusque movements that may have come across as dismissive to another woman, but I recognized his actions as being that of a doctor.

The way he scrubbed me down until my skin glowed was efficient and practiced. How many women had he wiped down after shower sex? When he gripped my elbow this time to guide me back to the bedroom, his touch was gentle but firm—very different from when he brought me in here.

“Get dressed and have a seat,” he told me. It wasn’t exactly an order, but there was an element of command in his voice all the same, a natural dominance that came out with every word. “I’ll get you some water.”

“I’m not thirsty, but thank you,” I said, counting myself lucky that he wasn’t planning on marching me out of the club naked.

“Against my better judgment, I’m going to repeat myself,” Gaetano declared. “Get dressed, have a seat, and I’ll get you some water.”

Heaving a sigh, I pulled the translucent blouse on, grimacing as my over-stimulated nipples pushed out at the thin fabric. I could feel Gaetano’s eyes on me, and as much as I disliked the revealing costume, I couldn’t help putting on a little show for him, putting an extra wiggle in there as I tucked my shirt in and then pouting at the G-string on the floor as if I’d forgotten it.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked frostily.

Well, I hadn’t expected a round of appreciative applause, but he didn’t need to be a dick. I put on the G-string and sat down, irritably saying, “I said no thanks,” when he headed for the mini-fridge behind the dungeon’s bar, because what dungeon would be complete without one?

His eyes darkened. “Did I ask you if you wanted water?”

I gazed up at his stony visage. “Uh, not exactly.”

“The answer is, ‘No, Sir, you did not ask me if I wanted water’.” Tano’s gaze held mine, and I melted into those deep chocolate eyes until he prompted, “Well?”

“Well, what?” I wasn’t even trying to be sassy. I was just a little brain-dead from all the sex.

A string of Italian poured forth at such a rapid rate I had a hard time keeping up. Despite our traditional upbringing, my father spoke Italian at home only rarely, and my mother, never. As a girl, I had once asked if he would teach me to speak as he did, because it sounded so musical and otherworldly to my young ears, but he refused, first saying he was far too busy, and then that it was the speech of the old country, and belonged in the old country.

I took him at his word then, but now, listening to Tano’s litany of Italian spoken so rapidly, I wondered if he kept his birth language secret so my sisters and I would always remain a little ignorant as to what was being discussed in our household. What could be more valuable to offer in a marriage proposal but an ignorant Italian virgin? Except I wasn’t a virgin, but my father didn’t know that. In my defense, if he’d cared so much about my status, he wouldn’t have given me so much freedom.