Page 76 of The Scars We Keep
I am right there, right on the edge of it, his fingers still moving, thumb still working that same devastating circle.A tremor hums deep within me, a coiled spring at the base of my spine.His gaze holds mine captive.The air crackles with an unspoken tension, and I can only stare like a prisoner to his intent.
“Eyes on me,” he commands, leaving no room for negotiation.His fist tightens in my hair, holding my face exactly where he wants it, tipped up toward his, exposed.“When you come, you look at me.You understand?You look at the man who did this to you.”
The orgasm breaks.Starting deep where his fingers are buried and radiating outward in long violent waves, through my thighs and up my spine and into my chest.I am loud, embarrassingly loud, as his name and my moans leave my mouth.My back arches against his grip causing my whole body to curve.He keeps his fingers working through every single second of it, drawing it out, extending it past the point I think I can bear.
Lorenzo pushes my face toward his and kisses me.His mouth swallows the sounds still coming out of me.He’s unraveling.His kiss, once a forceful claiming thing, now feels like a desperate need—a torrent he can’t control, no longer something he’s doing to me, but something he’s lost within.
I understand, then, that my sounds do to him what his hands do to me.
So I give him every single one of them.Every sound my orgasm pulls from me, I feed directly into his mouth.Every rolling wave of oversensitivity, every sharp, bright pulse where his thumb still moves, I let it all out against his lips and experience what it does to me.His kisses turn harder and hungrier before he pulls back from my mouth.He removes his fingers from me, and the loss draws a small sound from my throat.
Both of us are breathing like we have finished running a marathon.His eyes drop to my mouth, to my swollen lips, and something shifts in his expression, something darker moving through the hunger already there.
He lifts his hand, and his thumb traces my bottom lip.
“If you weren't hurt, Bella, I would fuck this mouth,” he says, eyes meeting mine.“I would tell you to get on your fucking knees.”
I hold his gaze, slide off his lap, and sink to my knees on the wet stone.
"Are you sure, Bella, because I don't know if I can be gentle once I start."
He stands up, looking down at me as rain runs down his face.
At this moment he is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life.
I want to give this to him.I want to erase the feel of my brother's fingerprints from my face and replace it with him, no matter if it hurts.
My hands go to his trousers.I can feel him through the fabric, hard and straining, and I take my time with the button, the zip, watching his face the whole time while I do it, watching his jaw work and the way his chest rises and falls.
When I free his hard cock, I wrap my hand around him, and his breath punches out hard.
I lean forward, run the tip of my tongue over the bead of precum on the head of his cock, and look up at him through wet lashes before I take him into my mouth properly.
His head falls back, and the groan that leaves him is long, coming from deep in his chest.I hollow my cheeks and take him as deep as I can, holding it there to let him pulse against my tongue.His thighs lock rigid beneath my hands.
“Fuck.”The word barely makes it out.“Fucking hell, Bella.”
I pull back slowly.Achingly slow.My tongue, a slick, sensitive map, traces the underside of him, its every ridge and pulsing vein a vivid sensation against my own.Through lashes still beaded with rain, I glance up and catch the gleam in his eyes.
I do it again.My warm mouth moves down his hard shaft, tongue pressed flat, taking my time.I hold it there for a few moments before sliding back up. When I slide back up and reach the head, I seal my lips around the tip and suck softly.His hand grips my hair.
“Stop.”His voice is unsteady.“Stop doing that, or I swear to God, you will fucking make me come quicker.”
I smirk and do it once more.
The sound that comes out of him is guttural, and his fist tightens in my hair hard enough to sting, and I moan at the pain of it.
“Your fucking mouth, Bella,” he says, before his hips begin to move.
One hand is fisted in my wet hair, but the restraint doesn’t last.I take more of him, hollow my cheeks, and suck hard on every withdrawal.
He loses control and takes over.
Holding me exactly where he wants me as he finds his own rhythm.It’s deep, urgent and relentless, his hips driving forward in short, powerful strokes, fucking my mouth with the focused intensity he brings to everything, and the sounds coming from him are nothing like the Lorenzo anyone else gets to hear.Low rough grunts that punctuate every thrust, involuntary and unguarded.His breathing is ragged and I work my tongue against him while he moves, pressing it flat to the underside, finding the sensitive ridge just below the head that makes his rhythm stutter every fucking time.
His hips drive forward, harder this time, and I take it.
The sounds above me are barely human, a deep, broken groan that the rain only partly swallows.I moan around him, aware of him throbbing against my tongue.
