Page 28 of The Butcher
The need I felt for Lucia made me feel even more crazed than normal.
I growled against her throat, teeth scraping herskin. “Every day with you makes it harder to remember this was ever just an arrangement, Lucia.” Before I pulled away to sit for our dinner, I crushed my lips to Lucia’s, giving her a long, deep kiss, a pre-thank you for what I was about to eat.
The meal was perfect. The veal melted on my tongue, the sauce rich and deep. I praised her with every bite, telling her how incredible it tasted, how no five-star restaurant could compare to her cooking in my kitchen.
Each compliment made her glow, and every time she smiled at me like that, my obsession dug its claws deeper into my soul. She was becoming my everything. My Italian princess. The only person in this fucking world who made me want more than power and blood.
When she brought out panna cotta with fresh berries for dessert, I leaned back in my chair and watched her set it down with quiet pride.
“I’m sure it’s delicious,” I said, my voice dropping into that dangerous tone she was learning to recognize as my raw, hardcore need for her.
“But I’d rather eat my dessert from between your thighs.”
Her breath caught. Before she could respond, I took the dish of panna cotta, set it on the counter,and swept my arm across the table, sending everything crashing to the floor. Plates and glassed shattering, silverware pinging against the floor tiles.
I lifted her onto the cleared surface in one brutal motion, laying her flat on her back and shoving her dress up to her waist.
“Alexei,” she gasped.
I brought the panna cotta back to the table, set it beside her, and smeared a dollop of the cool, smooth dessert over her bare pussy, watching the white cream and red juice from the berries drip obscenely down her swollen folds.
The sight was filthy. Perfect.
Then I buried my face between her legs and devoured her.
I ate her like a starving animal, my tongue dragging through the sweet mess, licking every drop of panna cotta and berries from her clit before sucking the mixture from her tight little hole. She cried out, hands fisting in my hair, hips bucking wildly against my mouth as I growled against her soaked flesh.
“So fucking sweet,” I snarled, smearing more dessert over her clit and sucking it off hard enough to make her mewl. “This cunt is becoming my addiction.”
She came hard, thighs clamping around myhead, a broken scream of my name tearing from her throat as her pussy pulsed against my tongue. I didn’t stop. I licked her through it, cleaning every sticky drop until she was shaking and oversensitive and whimpering my name.
I rose up, freeing my aching cock, the tip already leaking, and flipped her over in one savage motion. Ass up, knees planted at the edge, and chest pressed to the table. I spread her knees wider, lined myself at her entrance, and slammed into her tight, dripping pussy in a single brutal thrust.
“Fuck,” I growled, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. “This is what I’ve been thinking about all day… coming home to my wife and losing myself in her.”
I fucked her like I needed her to survive. Hard, deep, punishing strokes that made her cry out with every thrust. Her pussy clenched around me like it was made for my cock, milking me until I felt like I was losing my mind.
“You’re becoming everything to me,” I snarled, one hand fisting in her hair, the other slapping her ass.
She came again, clenching around me so tightly I lost control. I came with a savage roar, burying myself to the hilt and flooding her withthick, hot ropes of cum until it leaked out around my cock and dripped down her thighs. I kept thrusting through it, pushing my seed deeper, marking her as mine in the most primal way.
When I finally pulled out, I lifted her into my arms and carried her upstairs to our bedroom, her body limp and marked and mine. I laid her on the bed and stood there for a second, looking down at her, at the mess I’d made of her, and at the way her body still reacted to me even after everything I’d done.
My hand slid over her thigh, slow and soothing, my gaze locked on her like I was memorizing her inch by inch. She stripped me down to something more honest than I was used to giving. “My Lucia,” I murmured.
She looked up at me, her chest rising and falling in quick pants, her lips parted, still swollen from my mouth. I felt something settle in my chest that had nothing to do with control and everything to do with something far more dangerous.
I leaned down, my mouth brushing hers, softer this time but no less claiming. “You’re mine,” I said against her lips. “And I don’t think I’m ever going to let you go.”
For the first time in my life, this wasn’t about possessing her. This felt like something I couldn’t survive losing.
Chapter Sixteen
Lucia
The house was quiet the morning after Alexei fucked me on the kitchen table. I’d felt him get out of bed early this morning, well before the sun even rose. I was in that middle ground of sleep and wakefulness, and the last thing I remembered was my husband kissing my temple, whispering something in Russian, and leaving me to fall back asleep.
The weight of his absence lingered like a shadow. Even when he wasn’t home, the house held the spirit of his presence.
