Shielded Wrongs (Bellandi Crime Syndicate 4)

He released one of my legs to flip the knife in his hand, the blade clenched in his palm carefully. He slid the hilt of the knife to the space between my legs, nudging the end against my clit gently. There was no resistance from my body as he pressed more firmly, slipping it between my folds to glide against me as he moved it back and forth in smooth torment.

“I think this just became my favorite knife,” he murmured. “Are you going to stain it with cum so that I’ll always remember the way it looked nestled inside you?” he asked. Wetness coated it as he touched it to my entrance, pushing it inside me slowly, shallowly.

I should have been ashamed of the way he made me want this. Of the way my body craved everything he did to me. With the

hilt of the knife filling me up, he leaned forward and touched his chest to the tip of the blade. His skin split under the pressure, his blood coating the blade lightly.

With a growl of frustration, he set it aside. Finally burying his face in my pussy and shoving my other leg high again. He worked me right up to the edge of an explosive orgasm with furious strokes of his tongue against my clit. Just when I thought I would tumble over into something mind blowing, he chuckled against me and turned his head. Biting my thigh, he marked me so savagely that I cried out and fought against the binds still holding my wrists above my head. “You fucking asshole,” I hissed, my words defying the heat that bloomed in his bite mark in my flesh when he slid his tongue over the wound and soothed it.

He released my legs, flipping me to my stomach with that cruel glint back in his eyes. The rope twisted, pulling me closer to the headboard ever-so-slightly. The metal of the knife was warmer when he touched it to the skin of my ass, trailing the tip of the blade over the swell just beneath the dimples to either side of my spine.

He traced some kind of pattern, his movements methodical as the blade pressed slightly harder into my flesh. The sting spread across my ass. “What are you doing?” I whimpered, the curve of a circle at the right side of my cheek burning as he connected the two ends.

“Reminding you of what happens when you fuck with what’s mine.” The knife clattered against the nightstand as he tossed it to the side, the bed shifting as he stood. From the corner of my eye as I turned back to watch, he stripped off his clothes in frenzied movements. When he climbed back into the bed behind me, he grasped me around the hips and lifted me to my knees. I rose up onto my elbows, struggling against his grip as he shifted his hands to my waist.

Shoving inside me without warning, he struck the end of me on the first stroke and tore a strangled scream from my throat. Too full, too suddenly, despite the wetness that coated my center. His hands on my waist pressed down, pushing my upper body against the bed so that only my ass tipped up for his use.

He grunted as he drew back, lifting a leg to cock it to the side of my body and shove even deeper on the second thrust. With my arms trapped above my head and his hands pinning me at the waist, he leaned his body over mine and fucked me in deep, harsh thrusts that stole the breath from my lungs.

“Enzo,” I gasped my warning. The bindings pushed me to my limit, tested the boundaries of what I would give him in a way that the knife against my skin hadn’t done. His hand came down on the sensitive flesh at the top of my ass, slapping against the burning marks he’d left etched into my skin.

“You’ll take what I give you, Carina,” he growled. “Just be grateful I didn’t belt your ass for what you did. This is my body. This is my fucking ass, and I will not tolerate you putting it at risk.”

“I didn’t mean to do it!” I protested with a snap, my voice muffled by the hair that surrounded me as he jostled me with his brutal claim on my body.

“I. Do. Not. Fucking. Care!” he roared, making me flinch and then still. He slid a hand beneath me, using two fingers to stroke my clit until I couldn’t hold back the twitching in my thighs. “Who owns you?” he asked, putting so much pressure against the bundle of nerves that it crossed that line from pleasure to too much.

“You do. You fucking twat,” I argued, shifting my thighs forward what little I could to relieve some of the intensity from his touch.

“And are you going to put my woman at risk again?” he asked.

“No!” I shrieked, my body convulsing with my release as he shoved deep with one final thrust. He worked his fingers over me more gently as he filled me with his release, until I shuddered and cried out with a blinding climax that brought me over the edge of normal and into a land I’d never dreamed could be real.

Death by orgasm felt very real as he pulled out of me and untied me from the headboard. The reality that I would have to trudge back to my own bed hit me like a punch to the chest, but I stood and made my way to his bathroom to clean up.

It was only when I turned and started to leave the bathroom that I saw my ass in the mirror. Even backwards, there was no mistaking his name scratched into the flesh of my ass.

“ENZO!” I yelled, rage filling me at the sound of his roar of laughter as it came from the bedroom.

He stepped into the bathroom, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest and a satisfied smirk on his face. “It’d be better as a tattoo,” he said, taking my hand and guiding me to the bed. He tucked me in, pulling the covers over my head and moved to a chair at the edge of the room with a blanket that had fallen off the end of the bed. “Go to sleep, Baby Girl,” he murmured.

It wasn’t quite having him in bed with me. But after the night we’d had, I’d take it for what it was. At least I wasn’t alone.

Sitting on the couch and staring at the fireplace in the corner, I hated the red and orange flames and the way they danced. What had once felt like a comfort only felt like an ominous reminder of everything that was gone. "Your parents are on their way," Enzo said, his voice tight as he studied me from the kitchen.

He was supportive and did what he could to comfort me when my emotions took over since I'd gotten up that morning, but the deep bags under his eyes showed just how tired he was.

And still pissed, no doubt.

"You called them already?" I asked, glancing over at the clock. It was only nine in the morning, and I'd only woken up less than an hour before and rolled into the shower.

"I wanted to make sure someone told him before he saw it on the news. Especially so that he would know nobody was hurt," Enzo confirmed. I nodded, feeling like a terrible daughter because it hadn't been the first thought on my mind when I woke up that morning to a roomful of new clothes Enzo’d had delivered urgently. "You should eat something," he commented.

"I'm not hungry," I whispered back. The truth was that I was always hungry, but not then. I didn't think I could eat a bite. The doorbell ringing at the front jarred Enzo out of whatever he'd been about to say.

My heart leapt into my throat knowing who waited on the other side. My eyes snapped to Enzo, and he sighed, closing the distance between us. He helped me stand from the couch, touching his forehead to mine. Our sex the night before hadn’t been enough to erase his anger over what I’d almost done, but just having him close went a long way to easing the worry that I’d fucked up beyond all repair. "All they care about is that you're safe, Carina."

Leaving me standing in the center of the room, he went for the door and tugged it open after a quick glance through the peephole. Mama's face filled the doorway, her distraught features morphing as she glanced around Enzo and pushed past him to charge at me. Hands coming down on my face and grasping it in her hands, she whispered softly. "Oh Mahal." Watching as tears flooded my eyes, she tugged me into her arms and squeezed as tight as she could.