Chapter Eighteen

Celine

The apartment was beautiful. In the month I'd been gone, Stefano had finished the renovations. Part of me missed the simpleness of before, but now, this was a home with butter-soft leather furniture, a state-of-the-art chef's kitchen, and a bathroom with a tub for two.

Stef slept beside me with one arm over his head, and the other draped across his muscular chest. Dark hair dusted his pectorals, bisected his ribbed abdominals, and disappeared beneath the sheet. My gaze continued the trek lower to the soft mound of his cock.

Last night, he'd fucked me like he owned me, like he couldn't get deep enough, couldn't touch enough, that he couldn't taste enough.

While on the island, I'd imagine him in bed with me. Sometimes, I could smell the masculine spice of his cologne, other times I could feel the heat of his body against my skin. When I'd close my eyes, I'd listen for him on the wind.

But I would never feel…this. The emotional connection, the perfection of my love for him. He was everything.

He'd asked me if anyone had hurt me. I'd hurt just being apart from him. Scar, the man who'd violated me, had still been on the island, and he was dead. My dark, dangerous, mafia monster had slain my demons.

We hadn't talked about the possible pregnancy. I hadn't taken a birth control pill during the month I was gone, and last night he hadn't pulled out. I might not be pregnant now, but one day, my babies would be Stefano's.

I padded barefoot to the walk-in closet off the bathroom, slipped on a pair of loose shorts and one of Stef's T-shirts. I quietly slipped out of the room, rode the elevator down one floor, and went to my studio.

My Stefano playlist pumped through the Bluetooth speakers in the studio. Tea steeped in a mug as I set up the area where I'd paint. First, I spread tarps on the floor and laid the massive canvas on top.

As I went through the shades of color on the shelf, I thought of us. He was tall, handsome, and deadly. But he saw me as light, innocent, and his.

With the lights turned low, candles burned, and the music moved through me. I pulled my hair into a messy bun, prepped the canvas, and painted from my heart. I painted us. Two shapes took form on the canvas. Light blended with dark. The lines blurred. Using my palm, I ran my fingers through the black paint, cutting through the white space on the canvas.

Music matched my mood. Strong beats with seductive words. I stretched, reaching over the canvas, pushing my body into positions, using color to bend the light. The painting was raw and erotic.

Heat rushed through my veins, hardening my nipples, and making me wet. A visceral reaction to the way Stefano made me feel.

The door opened. I glanced over my shoulder. He stood in silhouette. My gaze followed the strong hills of his shoulders, the taper of his torso, to the sweats hanging low on his hips. He absently rubbed his hand down his chest, over those taut abs, to fall away before grazing his groin.

"I missed you." The gravelly tone of his voice sent a tingle into my nipples.

Sitting back on my heels, I used the back of my hand to push my hair from my face. A few sweat-dampened tendrils stuck to my temple. "I needed to paint."

The door closed behind him, and he crossed the room. He stood over me, his gaze on the painting, mine on the soft slope of his cock. Rising onto my knees, I kissed along the V of his groin, and breathed in his warm scent.

"Angel."

My name, whispered as a plea, was all the encouragement I needed. Careless of the paint on my hands, I tugged his sweats down. His cock dropped forward, thick and hard. He stepped out of his sweats, and I leaned forward, licked the bead of salty gloss from the slit, and opened my mouth.

"Cazzo." He cradled my skull in his hands, and he thrust into my mouth.

His smooth flesh glided across my tongue. Saliva pooled in my mouth. I swallowed, my cheeks caressing the length. This was where I belonged, on my knees for him. I was his, and I knew he was mine.

He'd killed for me, and I'd fought my fears for us.

"Eyes on me."

I lifted my gaze, relaxed my throat, and braced my hands on him. Paint smeared across the hard cut of his thigh. Muscle and tendon flexed beneath my palms. I squeezed my thighs together, aching for more. Without him inside me, I felt hollow and incomplete.

Stef pulled his cock from my mouth. Spit coated my lips and soaked his shaft.

I tipped my head back, and my lips parted. His amber eyes darkened, his jaw clenched, and his hand fisted my hair.

He bent and kissed me, dragging his tongue over my lower lip, and sucking it into his mouth.

I whimpered, my body and mind surrendering to him.

"Ti amo." His gaze focused on my eyes, and he spit into my mouth.

A dark hunger coiled low in my belly. "I love you, too."

His fingers traced my face and lowered to circle my neck. I wrapped my hand around his wrist as he covered my breast through the T-shirt. Without a bra, my nipple prodded against his palm.

"I'm so wet, Stef. I need you inside me." I ached for him.

With a growl, he ripped the T-shirt up my torso. Shifting to sit on my butt, I lifted my hips, and he stripped me of my shorts.

Stef split my legs and shoved two fingers inside me. "Bellissima, so perfect."

I gasped, and my pussy clenched against him. I rocked my hips. I wanted more. I was a greedy girl. I wanted all of him, all at once. His kiss, his body on mine, and his cock deep inside me.

Last night, he'd fucked me in our bed, in the darkness of our room. He'd hovered over me and stared into my eyes. He'd protected me as he reigned over my pleasure.

This was raw and aggressive. His mouth devoured mine, and his hands possessed my body in a bruising grip. He rode a sharp edge of arousal. And I was here for it all.

With a savage growl, he turned me onto my hands and knees. I dropped my shoulders, pushed my ass into the air, and spread my legs wider for him. His palm gripped my cheeks, pulled them apart, and he spit on the tight pucker. His teeth sank into the muscle of my buttocks.

"Oh god." He licked me from clit to pucker. I closed my eyes and fisted the tarp.

His palm pressed against my lower back, holding me down, and bracing me for penetration. His thumb circled my rim and pierced my back hole, and his cock notched the opening of my pussy. Fluids slicked my channel as it stretched, forming to his girth, swallowing his shaft. He twisted his thumb until the tension left my body, and my pussy softened, accepting his cock.

I felt him everywhere.

"I need you, Angel."

"I'm yours. All of me."

His thumb slipped from my ass, and he leveraged over me, continuing to push his dick into me until there was no space between us. His groin pressed flush against me. Then he stilled.

"Dipingi," he whispered.

I glanced over my shoulder as he reared back and speared back into me.

"Paint," he said. "Paint for us as I fuck you filthy."

I lifted my head and focused on the painting. I wanted a fluid motion on the bottom of the painting. I picked up my brush as he picked up his pace.

I white-knuckled gripped the paintbrush, rocking on my bent elbows, forearms on the floor. My knees widened, giving room for Stef behind me. He penetrated so deep that he took my breath. "Stef, I can't paint."

I could only feel.

Gripping hard to my hips, he pounded into me with brutal thrusts. I dropped the paintbrush and slapped my hand to the canvas, splattering paint onto me, onto the floor, and onto the images entwined in my painting.

Italian whispers colored his words. I had no idea what he said, but he sounded dark and ominous. My pussy contracted. I was wet, so wet my juices slicked my thighs.

"My heart is yours. My life is yours." He was like the moon on the tide pulling me under. He was my truth, my surrender, my merciless and dangerous monster. One touch and he'd changed me. I'd been alone in the dark until he'd found me.

Stef ran his strong hand into the sway of my back, caressing my flesh. And still he fucked me, railing into me, bruising me inside and out.

"You feel so good inside me." My body, my heart, and my love were his. He was all I'd ever want. He understood me in ways no one could. "I love you."

Pressure built low in my belly. A dizzying kaleidoscope of madness numbed my thoughts. My heart raced, and my blood sang, racing through my veins, and heating my core. A sizzle of electricity zinged along my spine, surged through me, and seized my muscles.

I cried out as my core contracted. Hard pulses rippled through me. I scraped my nails along the painting, leaving deep gouges in the paint.

Tears dripped from my eyes, splashing onto the canvas. I balled my hand into a fist. Stef pistoned in and out of me. He filled me, completed me. With him, my broken pieces were made beautiful.

He roared, and anchored me hard to his groin. His cock throbbed inside me. Hot spurts of cum bathed my channel. I gasped, soaking in the dark waters of lust, love, and devotion.

Stef's cock slipped out of my body. His lips were on my back, tasting my skin, slick with sweat. Reaching between my legs, he ran his fingers over my swollen clit. I sucked in a sharp breath, and he pushed two fingers into my channel, gathering his cum.

Then he crawled alongside me. He stared into my eyes. I opened my mouth. He had our mingled cum coating his fingers, and I needed his spit. He pried my mouth wider, smearing his cum on my lower lip. Then he spit into my mouth.

Mewls of pleasure climbed up my throat with the warm slide of his saliva onto my tongue. His spit merged with mine. I leaned over the canvas and let it trickle onto the painting.

Stefano raked his cum stained fingers across the painting, spreading our fluids into the two shapes, one willow-like and bending to the will of the dark and imposing force.

With paint on his fingers, he turned my face to his, and kissed me, sliding his tongue along mine. With a savage hunger, he claimed my mouth. This was more than a kiss. He feasted on me as he clutched me close.

My breasts pressed against the muscled plains of his chest. I held tight to him, wishing I could climb into his skin, wanting to drown in the heat of his kiss, and live where only the two of us existed.

Maybe I already had. I glanced down at the painting, a beautiful disaster—our masterpiece of passion. I was his. My every breath, every tear, every beat of my heart. Only his.