Page 118 of The Ache That Stayed

“Everywhere I take—you give. And you don’t even realise you’re doing it.”

His mouth found my nipple, and he bit slowly, teasing. I couldn’t hold back any longer, and I shattered around his cock with such intensity.

“Santi—I—oh fuck—”

Pleasure crashed through me so hard it ripped a cry from my throat, my body completely losing control around him. I came so hard my body gave way entirely, wetness soaking the sheets creating a mess.

It wasn’t just my body reacting. Whatever I’d locked away had started cracking too. And for one terrifying second—I didn’t want it to stop. My body craved more.

His eyes dropped between us.

“Fuck.”

Genuine surprise crossed his face. Then his mouth curved slowly.

“Didn’t peg you for a squirter, baby.”

His fingers caressed the inside of my thigh, spreading the wetness with almost obscene tenderness.

“All this for me, Volpi?”

His eyes stayed fixed between my legs, where he was still inside me. Twitching.

“Santi…” I whispered, mortified.

I suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable. Like I’d lost control in the worst way. Like I’d become someone else entirely. Someone reckless. Someone hungry. Someone who had crossed a line she could never uncross. My head turned to the side, guilt hitting sharp, suffocating.

“Don’t you dare hide from me now.”

My eyes lifted back to his. The smugness had faded, and what remained in his expression almost undid me.

Wonder. Pride. Something dangerously close to tenderness.

His thumb stroked my clit again.

“Look at me, Volpi.”

His voice had softened.

“That’s it. Stay with me.”

My eyes never left his. His pace quickened, his head falling back as his stomach tightened, chasing his own release. He collapsed over me and then rolled to the side, holding me. I felt the sudden loss of his weight on me and in me.

“I’m not done with you. I could never get enough of you.”

It was as though he read my thoughts. I didn’t know how long we stayed tangled together afterwards—kissing, touching, simply existing—but neither of us seemed capable of letting go.

“Next time I won’t be so gentle,” he murmured.

A breathless, disbelieving laugh left me.

“You call that gentle? You had your hand wrapped around my throat.”

He leaned in, brushing his lips against the tip of my nose.

“Yeah, Volpi. That was me being gentle.”

His hand tightened at my jaw, his eyes darkening. The playfulness was gone, replaced by a hunger so heavy it pressed down on me like gravity, stripping away every trace of softness.