Page 97 of Wounded King

"Marcello," I warn, sensing I'm already close again.

"Come for me, tesoro," he encourages. "Let me feel you come all over my cock."

And I do. I come all around him, feel his hot length inside me, feel it pulsing until there is nothing but the waves of pleasure crushing over me once again, taking me under and filling me with the sweetest bliss. "That's it, beautiful. Come for me. Milk my cock."

He's not done, though. Not by a long shot. He gives me a second or two to catch my breath, to calm my heartbeat, before he takes my thigh and throws it around, forcing me onto my stomach without ever pulling out of me. His hands grab my hips, move them up, then they cup my ass. "Fuck, your ass is perfect. I can't wait to fuck it too." I had no idea how erogenous it could be having it massaged like this. He grabs my hips again and begins to move them up and down his cock. He's using my body to jerk himself off, and that is the hottest fucking thing that has ever happened to me. I groan.

"Look at you, taking my cock so well. You're fucking made for me."

This position allows him to enter me deeper, from another angle, and he hits just the right spot. Over and over. A whimper escapes me as my already sensitive flesh is brought to the brink of another climax. I would have never thought I could come twice in one night, let alone three times, but here I am, riding the precipice, while I listen to his praise between heavy breaths. "You're so hot. So fucking wet for me. I love how your pussy responds to me."

I lack the energy to move my body; it's all him at this point. He moves me up and down, until I see stars once again. "Violet!" He roars and stiffens above and inside me. I feel his dick jerk as he too comes, filling me with his seed. "Fuck, I can feel you milking my cock. You're fucking perfect." Exhausted, my body melts into the sheets, boneless and raw. Every nerve feels singed, every breath like a prayer. Marcello collapses beside me, pulling me into the curve of his body, and I let him. I bury my face against his chest, his scent—dark spice and sweat and him—wrapping around me like a spell I don't want to break.

Neither of us speaks. There's only the sound of our heartbeats, tangled together in the hush of the room. After a few moments cradled next to his heated skin, my world slowly begins to drift. My eyelids grow heavy, lulled by his breathing. My mind floats.

Somewhere between one breath and the next, I fall.

The next day…

Violet's breaths are even and deep. She's still out. A small smile curls my lips. I thoroughly fucked her last night until she begged me for mercy. According to my last count, I made her come five times, until she was so exhausted, she fell asleep. I wipe a strand of her hair from her face. Gentle has never been something I've ever been, but with her… she makes me want to be a better man. For her.

At some point during the night, that damn cat of hers came marching into the bedroom and jumped up on the bed as if it owned the place.

"It'smybed," I'd informed it, keeping my voice low so as not to wake Violet. Unperturbed, the fleabag had curled up next to Violet, emanating deep purring sounds.

Fascinated, I'd watched Violet reach up, pull the thing closer to her, and tuck it into the crook of her arm. The cat glared at me with a victorious snarl between its whiskers, and I shook my head. I wasn't about to compete with a fucking cat.

"Accidents happen," I'd mumbled, rolling over and putting my arm around Violet.

When I woke this time, the damn thing had its paw—actually a very soft paw—on my hand, gently kneading while moving its claws in and out, as if in warning.

"Go ahead, I dare you." I challenged it, but it only purred louder.

Now I'm wide awake, watching Violet sleep, and the damn cat is still curled up next to her. The sun is coming up, and I contemplate closing the blinds to let Violet have her rest.

It was a long night, and after her harrowing near kidnapping, she probably needs it, but there are things we need to discuss. One of them being her father.

Luciano texted me more information a couple of hours ago. Supposedly, Enzo is the most powerful capo in Vegas. Apparently not powerful enough to keep his wife happy, but hey, we all have our challenges. All men have weaknesses, and mine appears to be lying in my bed. And I'll do anything to keep her safe, even kill a Vegas capo and risk a war I can ill afford.

Because for her…

Yeah, there's nothing I wouldn't do for her. She's mine, and I intend to keep it that way.

My phone vibrates. Sophia's name pops up.

"Yes?" I answer with a quick bark because I don't dare hope it's her. Preparing myself to hear Raffael's voice taunting me, I hold the phone tightly and step out onto the balcony so as not to wake Violet.

"Hey, big brother," my sister's voice greets me. It sounds low, like it's an effort for her to speak.

"Sophia? Where are you?"

"I'm okay. I'm sorry I worried you," she says, still sounding like she's in pain.

"If that bastard touched you—" I nearly yell, knowing even as I do that it is a useless waste of my breath. It's more important to find where she is. I put her on speaker so I can activate thePhoenix Signal, an app invented by our tech guru, Luca, that is installed on all our phones. It doesn't work if the phone is off, which Sophia's has been until now. I'm sure by now he's got a hit on it as well and should be calling Luciano.

I'm surprised to see her location ping here in the city.

"I'm coming to get you," I promise.