“I’m yours.”
“And nobody else’s?” I snarl, sinking back into a rhythm now, fucking her like she deserves to be fucked, pounding into her hole and against the raw pinkness of her pubic bone like any second she’s going to snap in half.
I’m using her like she wasn’t a virgin just a few minutes ago.
I’m using her like she was bred to be the hot hole I’d lose myself in, the only woman I could ever give myself to like this, the only woman who could make me teeter on the edge of insane brutal beastliness like this.
“Nobody—else,” she cries. “Just you. Always you.”
I let out a roar and then lean back, grabbing her hips and flipping her around in one savage movement.
“On your knees on the edge of the bed. Put your knees together. Make your ass frame that pussy. Push your ass out.”
She’s such a quick learner, my eager-to-please nympho, perching on the edge of the bed with those big mouth-watering ass cheeks round and ready to grab for me.
I stand up and lean down, bringing the helm of my cock to her hole again, slipping in effortlessly this time.
“Feel how bad you want it,” I snap, pounding her as I use those big ass cheeks as handholds, the sweetest ass cheeks in the world, so round, so succulent, almost losing my hands in the delectable rippled folds of her flesh.
Fuck, I might come soon.
Everything about her is so perfect.
I make another roaring sound, unable to form words, hoping she knows it means that her body is flawless, every curve, every voluptuous inch of her.
I wish I could eat her up, her flesh is so appetizing, bouncing as I hammer into her, my length so wet with my precome and her wetness that it slickly slams in and out now.
“C-come,” I growl, struggling to force the sentence out. “I said come. Now. Aida. Come or I’m going to spank you so hard you won’t be able to sit down for a week. Fucking come. Come. Come.”
With each come, I pound into her even harder, the whole mattress rocking on its legs with the force.
I’m shocked she’s still able to take this, but then there’s nothing she can do now.
I’m lost in the feeling of her, my cock on the precipice of an explosion that might turn me even more savage.
I slide my hands from her ass to those hips, digging my fingers into her flesh, pulling on her as I thrust into her.
All she can do is try to hold on as I fling her back and forth like a rag doll, completely punishing her never-been-touched-before cunt, a cunt that was made to be fucked by me, and me alone, forever.
“I’m—”
“I can see,” I gasp, staring down as a torrent of thick white come squirts all over my cock, sliding down my length and painting it so I can’t even see my own skin, just her come, a torrent of it.
“More,” I demand. “More, more, more.”
She whines and the bed leaps up as though it’s trying to tell me to calm down, her virgin cunt can’t take this hard of a pounding.
But I know my woman better than anybody.
She’s been waiting to be used and fucked like this for a long time.
She’s been waiting for a man to realize that her baggy hoodies and sweatpants hide a body designed for pleasure, a body designed to please a feral beast like me, and all I can do is howl out in fucking victory that no man noticed how perfect she was before.
Because she’s mine—
“Mine, mine, mine,” I pant, hardly even hearing the words, every sensation, every noise, everything second place to the sensation of my cock slamming into her.
“Ah, ah,” she cries, gifting me more thick come, steaming down, so much that it drips down my length onto the floor.
Some of it pushes up my base as I grind into her, gathering in tempting globules around her asshole.
I bring my thumb to that ass and probe lightly, circling it, wondering if she’s ready.
More come, fucking more.
“You—want—it,” I gasp.
“My ass,” she moans. “Just a finger, baby, just a finger.”
I slip inside of her, using her own creamy come as lube, just enough to feel it clutch around my first knuckle as it protests against the invasion, her body simultaneously telling me that she’s my crazy personal nympho and she’s never been taken like this before, never been taken like anything before.
I roar as the liquid fire finally blazes up my length, so much of it, I feel like it’s never going to stop.
All I can feel is the primal release of my seed, my vision going bleary as I gaze down at my come-soaked finger in her asshole.
She’s so tight I can feel my thumb against the top of my shaft through her asshole, against her pussy, pressing down to add to the explosion of the release.
My seed—she’s taking all of it, greedily, bucking as her womb greedily gulps whatever the fuck I give her.
That’s her job now, her purpose, to take my seed.
Finally, I collapse forward, laying myself against her back, removing my finger from her ass, and wrapping my arms around her body to feel her breasts.
I keep my cock inside of her as the last of my come shoots out.
She shivers and writhes against me.
But then I lean up and look down at the bed, searching for it, pulling out of her and scanning the sheets.
Then I spot it, the spot of crimson, evidence of her virginity.
She looks at me over her shoulder, still on her hands and knees.
“I didn’t lie,” she moans.
“I know,” I tell her. “But goddamn, the way you worked my dick …”
She collapses onto the bed and rolls over, lying on her side, her shapeliness even more evident from this angle.
“I did okay?” she says.
I climb onto the bed and lie down next to her, something I wasn’t planning on doing.
But I hadn’t planned to do anything with this woman.
She just compels me.
“Okay?” I growl, grabbing her and pulling her into me, hugging her and not giving a damn if a man like me shouldn’t show any kind of affection.
I can’t stop.
Not after what we just did.
“Aida, you blew my fucking world,” I tell her.
I feel the shape of her smile against my chest.
“Maybe next time, you can get naked too, hmm?”
I smirk despite myself, chuckling sincerely.
“Don’t push your luck,” I say.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Aida
I wake the next morning feeling sore and content at the same time, the events of last night – or early morning – returning to me like warm bathwater poured over cool skin.
I reach out for Arturo, expecting him not to be there, but I find that he’s still asleep on his back, half tangled in the sheets.
I blink open my eyes and find the room still hazy with early morning darkness. My heavy eyelids tell me it’s only been a few hours since we fell, accidentally, amazingly, to sleep in each other’s arms.
I watch Arturo in his sleep, his mouth twisted, twitching.
His whole body is twitching, in fact, and then he begins to moan in a low, growling voice.
“No, no,” he breathes. “Fuck—no, no.”
“Arturo,” I whisper, my heart cracking.
He’s human.
Oh, God, my man is so wonderfully human.
“It’s okay. It’s just a dream.”
“No—”
He snaps awake as I reach out to touch his face, his forehead dappled with sweat, his mouth tight as though he’s clenching his teeth together. His iron hair is pushed up from where he slept awkwardly on it, giving him an almost boyish look …
Or it would give him that look if he hadn’t grown a layer of iron fuzz on his jaw overnight. His eyes are narrowed, confused for a moment, and then turn back to their signature Arturo fierceness.
“I think you were having a nightmare,” I murmur, glad that the sheets are pu
lled up around my naked body.
Because he looks pissed.
“A nightmare,” he repeats.
“Yeah,” I say. “You were talking in your sleep.”
“I don’t remember it,” he says. “I never remember my dreams. What was I saying? Actually, don’t worry. I’ve got work to do.”
He stands up fluidly, moving with such casual confidence for a man of his hulking size. My body gives a flutter when I remember how he claimed me just a few hours ago, my pussy still aching and throbbing with the way he slammed into me.
I feel like singing when the sentence screams out in my mind.
I’m not a virgin anymore.
I want to run a lap around the estate and dance and throw a freaking party.
But now my man is striding away, heading for the door.
He’s so uncomfortable with intimacy – clearly – that he slept in his shoes.
“Wait,” I call, sitting up and pulling the sheets around my chin.
He pauses at the door with his back to me, fists clenched, his back moving up and down to show me the intensity of his breathing.
“What?” he growls.
“I know who you are,” I say, the only thing I can think to keep him here. “I know you’re at war. I know you and Dad were friends.”
He turns slowly, his volcanic eyes glaring at me.
“What else do you know?”
“Why don’t you come and sit down and we’ll talk about it?” I say.
He smirks. “Are you giving the orders now?”
“No,” I say, my voice suddenly biting. “I’m asking you a question. And I think it’s the least you can do after I gave you my virginity, don’t you?”
He laughs grimly, pacing back over to the bed, standing over me with the lamplight making his iron facial hair glimmer.
“You didn’t give me anything,” he says. “I took it. And I’ll take you again, any time and anyway I damn well please.”
Do it, a voice deep within cries. We need more of his seed. There can never be too much.
“You said you wouldn’t take me without consent.”
“I’d never need to do that,” he says, with a passing smirk. “You’re too much of a horny girl for that.”
“Well, if you don’t at least sit down and have a conservation with me, we’ll see about that,” I snap.
“Such sass,” he chuckles.
“I deserve to know what’s going on,” I say softly, and again the urge rises inside of me to tell him about my dreams of children, of us belonging together.
I fight them fiercely, battering them down with everything I have.
He sighs and drops onto the end of the bed. He glances at me with fierce light glinting in his eyes, making me see things for a long moment that surely aren’t there.
It’s like he’s having the same crazy feelings that I am, the same surreal notions dancing around his alpha’s mind.
No, I scream in my head, battering those thoughts down. Stop being stupid.
But then why is he still here?
He’s already gotten what he wanted, surely.
“What do you want to know?” he says sternly.
“Where were you last night?” I say the first question that pops into my head. “Why did you come to me so late? What were you doing—”
“Enough,” he sighs, but not with his usual fierceness.
It’s like the sex has changed things between us.
“I get it. Fine. Fuck it. It’s not like you can do anything with the information, anyway.”
He pauses, his jaw becoming tight, his gaze flitting over me. I make sure the sheet is pulled up around my breasts.
As insane as it seems, I know he might pounce on me if he saw my exposed breasts.
And despite how badly I want that – it’s a constant ache, my sex screaming for another round – I need to know what’s going on.
“I was questioning the men who were involved in your kidnapping,” he says.
“Wait … why would you be doing that? Didn’t you order it?”
He stares hard.
I let out a gasp, reading his expression, the meaning in his dark intense eyes.
“You didn’t order it,” I say.
He shakes his head slowly. “One of my men went rogue. Now that man is missing. I needed to find out what was going on. It took longer than I would’ve liked, but in the end, I got to the bottom of it.”
“And?”
“And what?” he growls. “It’s Family business. You don’t need to know.”
“Are you going to keep me in the dark for the rest of our lives?” I hiss.
Oh, no.
The words just came out of me, a lightning bolt of passion that I couldn’t control.
I wish I could snatch the words back, but it’s too late.
Something flits across his face, but he lets the comment pass.
“A government agency has been working behind the scenes to force your father and me to go to war,” he says. “I don’t know all the details, but that was why you were kidnapped—an attempt to make the war worse. They seem to want the streets to devolve into mayhem. Maybe so they can move in on our turf. Maybe so they can entrap us and prove we’re the monsters they wish we were.”
Using one hand to hold up the sheet, I reach across with the other and place my hand atop his where it rests on the sheets. He flinches as though he’s going to snatch it away, but then grows still, letting me clutch onto the powerful force of his hand.
“What about you and Dad?” I murmur. “Why are you at war in the first place?”
“You should ask him,” he snaps.
“I’m asking you,” I say, with just as much passion in my voice.
He smirks. “You’re the only person who’s ever dreamed of talking to me like that, Aida.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” I tease.
“Fuck it—fine, what harm can it do? Your father and I grew up together. I’m not sure how much you know about your paternal grandparents …”
“I know they died before I was born,” I murmur. “Mom’s mentioned it, but never in detail.”
“Well, our parents died in the same car crash. We were taken into the system together. We were like brothers growing up. We met Elmo there. He’s one of my men … He’s the man who kidnapped you, Aida. I’m sorry.”
I almost gasp, the word sorry sounding so incongruous coming from this hulking behemoth of a man.
“You didn’t order it,” I tell him firmly. “It’s not your fault.”
His expression flickers and hardens, as though my words have reminded him of who he is, that he doesn’t owe me anything.
I’m supposed to just be his fuck toy, after all.
But he doesn’t pull his hand away from mine, and that means a lot.
“We came up together,” he goes on after a pause. “And then somewhere along the way, Franco decided that he wanted to be the top dog. He split away from me and started his own organization. By then I was in too deep with my own people to show any kind of weakness, so I was forced to disavow him. We’ve been frosty ever since, but it’s never broken out into war like this before.”
“So why now?” I murmur, head spinning with all this new information.
Arturo sighs and stands up, pacing over to the window, hands behind his back. He looks like he might snap any second and smash the window with his fists, just for the sheer violent release of it.
“Arturo,” I call, unable to move because then I’ll be naked, and this conversation will end.
He’ll take me.
I want it.
Bad.
But I can’t give in to my urges right now.
“I found two of my men slaughtered last month, their throats slits, with a message written on the wall in blood.”
I let out a shivering choked noise.
For a moment, it’s hard to believe that the sound even comes from me.
“What did it say?” I whimper.
> Arturo turns, glaring at me. “It said, Franco, is coming for you.”
My mind conjures up the image in gruesome detail, the blood a vivid sickening shade on the wall, their throats torn open in a way that makes me want to scream.
Part of me wishes I could reverse time and make it so I didn’t ask the question.
But now I know that Arturo didn’t order me taken.
He wouldn’t do that.
Would Dad really order two men killed – or kill them himself – and leave a message in their blood?
I feel sick, and for a second I let myself believe that it’s impossible morning sickness, though of course there’s no way I’m pregnant yet or at least no way that I’d be feeling symptoms so quickly.
“Have you spoken to him about it?” I whisper.
“No,” Arturo growls. “He’s refused to meet with me so many times I stopped asking in the end. All I can do is try to get him and his Family under control. But that’s enough talk, Aida. Shit—that’s more I’ve talked to anybody in years. There must be something special about you.”
Leaving me with a confusing mixture of star-like warmth and death-cold shivers in my body, he paces across the room, throws the door open, and marches out.
It slams behind him with a reverberation that travels along the floor and into the bed and straight into my heart.
My heartbeat becomes deafening in my ears, thoughts whirring.
I wish I knew what to do, but my mind has no answers.
I lie back, closing my eyes, knowing I won’t be able to sleep now no matter how fatigued my body feels.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Arturo
I spend the day attending to mafia business, mainly chasing down leads about the government agency the men told me about last night.
Questioning them was harder than I’d anticipated. I soon noticed that they were trying to hide something from me, everything about them screaming suspicion, their facial expressions dripping in nervousness, every tic, every gesture giving them away.
I didn’t have to hurt them, which I’m grateful for.
They weren’t holding out because of allegiance to some cause.
No, this was fear.
“He’s called Mr. Johnson,” they kept saying. “But that’s it. That’s all we know.”
All the men have been exiled, allowed to flee the East Coast with their families.
His To Claim: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance Page 7