Unholy Intent (Unholy Union 2)

“Tell me now, Cristina. Tell me to go or tell me to stay, but if I stay, I’m going to fuck you hard.”

My hips buck at his words. I’m going to come soon. “Stay,” I croak.

“Good girl.” With that, he bends his knees as he lifts my hips a little. He’s tall, and even though the bed is high, it’s not high enough. Tilting my hips up, he pulls my cheeks apart and glides into me, my passage wet, lubricating his cock as he pushes slow and deep inside me, filling me up all the way. He groans, leaning over me, hands on the bed on either side of me as he holds still for a long minute.

“Your cunt is so fucking tight.”

I rub my clit as he draws out and starts to fuck me just like he said, hard and fast and just on the edge of painful. It won’t take long for me to come.

He moves one hand to my ass cheek, eyes almost black when he closes his thumb possessively over my asshole.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he says, voice hoarse. “Open and so fucking beautiful.”

He shifts one hand, placing it over mine as I play with myself and all I hear are the wet sounds of our fucking, of our combined breath, of my whimpers.

“I’m going to come.” My voice sounds breathy and I close my eyes. “Oh god, I’m going to come.”

“Fuck,” he draws the word out as I come, my walls throbbing around his cock, pulsing, milking him until he lets out a groan and stills inside me, gripping a handful of my hair in his fist. His entire body tense.

All I can think is how beautiful he is as I feel his cum inside me, feel him filling me up.

And as much as I know that Liam is right, that he has a weakness for me, I’m doubly sure I am as weak for him. In spite of everything, I am weak when it comes to Damian Di Santo.11DamianWe’re lying in her bed, Cristina still asleep. Her head is on my bicep, hands curled between us.

Last night when I walked in here and saw her wearing my sweater, I don’t know what the hell I thought. I liked it, though.

After the debacle downstairs, I didn’t know what to expect when I got up here. I know, though, that my sister paid her a visit from her question.

Sneaky Michela. What the hell are you up to?

Cristina mutters something, burrowing closer.

I look down at her.

She fell asleep before I finished cleaning her up last night. Passed out probably from the whiskey and the fucking.

The thought of that fucking stirs my dick.

She’s perfect. Her body ready and wanting, her fingers eager to get herself off. Although maybe that’s because she was drunk. Pretty sure, sober, she wouldn’t so readily play with herself on my command.

But maybe she was trying to deflect my attention, too. It worked, if that was it. She was doing something when I walked in here. Crouched by the bed. I have no idea what, but she looked guilty as sin. I make a mental note to have a look around later.

I pull the blanket up over her shoulder. Her hair tickles my chin as she stirs, then sets her cheek against my chest with a quiet sigh.

I don’t remember the last time I slept with a woman. Fucked, yes, but never slept with. Either I leave or they leave when I’m done with them. And I’ve never brought one home.

Not that Cristina would be here if she had the choice. I’m pretty sure she’d choose to be anywhere but here.

She’s moving again, waking up slowly. Her brain is probably trying to process the foreign entity in her bed.

I grin. I’m looking forward to seeing her face when she sees me upon opening her eyes. When she remembers what we did. What she asked for.

I keep my hand on her hip. I can’t fuck her this morning. I’m pretty sure she’s raw after last night. Maybe I’ll get her off with my tongue before I let her out of bed.

As if on cue, her body tenses. I feel her eyelashes flutter against my skin as she blinks once, twice. Then seems to stop breathing altogether.

Here we go.

She bolts upright, wincing either from a sore pussy or a headache from the whiskey. Probably both. She looks at me accusingly, tugging the blankets to cover herself.

“Hey, don’t be greedy,” I say casually, tugging some of the blanket back.

“What the hell are you doing in here? In my bed?”’

I look at her, then let my gaze slide over her. One leg is free of the blankets, and it’s like she realizes at that moment she’s naked. I watch as the memories flood back, and I smile.

“There is no my bed or your bed anymore, sweetheart. There’s only our bed. We’re married, remember?”