Page 157 of The Crowned Garza

“Good. That’s good,regina.” He breathes roughly. “Because right now…right now I’m raw and restrained, and I need to fuck you like an animal, okay?”

Oh heavens. “Okay.”

“And I need you to take it like the bad little brat you are, okay?”

My walls clench around him. “Okay.”

He bites my bottom lip. “My beautifulragazzaccia.”

Before I can get another breath out, he pulls out and flips me over as if I’m nothing but a coin. He grips my hips and hauls me up until I’m on all fours.

Voice gruff, he orders, “Move up and hold on.”

Anxious and eager, I move up to the headboard and grip the edge of the mattress for support. Just in time for him to grip the back of my neck and plunge into me with punitive preciseness.

A curse squeaks out of me, getting muffled in the mattress, but the pain is delicious. Especially when he flattens his palm at the center of my back with force to get my ass to arch higher, and proceeds to rail me like an escaped demon. Harder, deeper, wilder, than I’ve ever experienced.

Whatever he needs to release, I don’t mind being his vessel. Not when he’s making being brutalized feel so damn good.

“Look atmiapiccola regina,” he grunts out, pounding me without mercy. “Taking this bruising like a perfect little brat.”

Easing his pace, he lowers his chest to my back and reaches around between my thighs, finding my clit. Rubbing, pinching, massaging…

Just like that, my walls are squinting around him as another orgasm thunders through me, cracks me open like a hot, dry pavement, and euphoria gushes out uncontrollably.

My pussy greedily cinches his cock and it hardens like a steel rod inside me, a long, guttural groan reverberating in his chest.

He buries his face in the back of my neck, mumbling, “Fuck,regina. You’re choking me.”

“I can’t—” A rippling spasm jolts me. “I can’t help it...”

“Not complaining,bella.” His fingers dig into my skin, gripping tightly, and he resumes fucking me like a madman. His usual preciseness replaced with erratic, rhythmless pounding. A string of incomprehensible Italian words leaving him in ragged grunts.

As his words get gruffer and growlier, he pulls out of me and flips me onto my back again. Every muscle in his neck and face is taut and strained, skin sheened with sweat, eyes like liquid whiskey, drunk on desire. That melting gaze locks with mine as he fists himself, fast and hard.

“Tillie,” he utters on a gasp of breath.

My dream. “Come for me, baby,” I return. “Paint me with your pleasure.”

“I—fuck,fuck. I love you,” he grunts out, then spurts white ropes of warm liquid all over my stomach.

Eyes shuttered closed, neck arched, shoulders shuddering, he finds his release.

Glorious. Gorgeous. Divine.

Mine.

Once he’s drained and his arms fall lax at his sides, I push up onto my knees, covered in his cum, and lock my arms around him.

Pressing my face against his sweaty chest, I ask, “Better?”

His arms curve around me, and he kisses my temple. “Always better when I’m with you.”

~

THE SUN CLIMBShigh outside, but we don’t get out of bed.

Not talking, not doing, just being.