Page 72 of Beauty and the Daddy

I'm still pulsing around the aftershocks when he grabs my hips and takes what he's been dying for. I feel it, the blunt head of his cock pressing against me. One hand still in my hair, the other gripping my hip, he pushes inside in one long, relentless thrust.

"Oh my God," I choke out. The stretch, the fullness, the slight burn, it's all agonizing bliss.

He stills, buried to the hilt. "You okay?"

"Yes," I manage. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."

He pulls back slowly, then slams back in.

My toes curl like ribbons.

I cry out, bracing myself harder against the wall as he drives into me with a vicious, beautiful urgency that knocks loose another broken sound from my throat. It's a rhythm that feels like theend of the world, and I egg it on, greedy for the quake, greedy for the way he loses himself. The wall is alive. My body's electric. He's everywhere.

"Mine," he growls, forehead at the back of my head, breath hot, pace wrecking me in the best possible way.

"Then take it," I scream, and he does.

Every drive punches the breath out of me in ragged little sounds, half-gasp, half-moan. The sharp smack of our bodies ricochets down the hall, braided with our rough breathing and filthy little curses. It's raw, feral, and exactly what I begged for.

"Harder," I push back to meet his thrusts.

He tightens his grip on my hair, pulling my head back farther. His other hand slides around to find my clit again, circling it in time with his thrusts.

"Like this?" he growls.

"Yes, God, yes," I pant.

I can feel the tension building, a coil winding tighter and tighter at the base of my spine. My inner walls clench around him, and he groans, his rhythm faltering for just a moment before he doubles down, fucking into me even harder.

"Come for me, Belle," he commands. "I want to feel you come on my cock."

He's pounding me until I'm crying out again, until I'm shaking in his hold, until the only thing I know is Luca and heat and the wild, relentless drag of him.

It slams into me like a runaway train. Everything tightens, then breaks open—shockwaves firing center-out until my toes curland the world goes star-bright. I'm not even speaking words anymore, just his name, wrecked and grateful, riding it out.

We free-fall together. I feel the exact second he breaks—his grip turns brutal-sweet, his breath stutters, a curse against my shoulder as he lets go, warm and sticky life melted toffee, all inside me.

Slowly, he releases my hair, his hand sliding down to wrap around my waist instead. The gesture is oddly tender after the savagery of what just happened.

My legs feel like jelly.

We collapse against the wall like survivors of some beautiful war, breathing hard and laughing softly at our own destruction. My legs are useless, his heartbeat thunders against my ear, and for a moment the world is just this, sweat and satisfaction and the strange peace that follows storms.

"That wasn't hate," I whisper against his skin.

He tilts my chin up, eyes dark and serious. "No. That was me forgetting how to want you gently."

Luca

Night in the house feels different after you've set it on fire with your mouth. Quieter. Meaner. The kind of quiet that thinks it's keeping secrets.

I head to the security room to chew out a guard about coverage on the south cameras—busywork for my hands so I don't go back upstairs and ruin Belle with round two.

Door's cracked. Screens glow blue over a dozen angles of my life. I push it open and stop.

Declan's already there. Feet up. Arms folded. Eyes not blinking as he watches whatever plays out on the screens.

Then, his eyes meet mine in the reflection of one of the screens, and slowly, deliberately, he smiles.