Ruin Me With Lies, page 27
People who know me would say I’m tough as nails. But with Stefano Castello inside me, I’m nothing but a soft, soft girl.
“That’s it, beautiful. Keep choking the fuck out of my cock with this greedy fucking pussy,” he grunts out, railing me relentlessly. “You’re being so good for me, aren’t you? Fuck—you’re taking me so—ugghhfuck…”
He’s close.
And just knowing that, knowing he’s this wrecked from fucking me, sends me spiraling and does me in. Watching his neck strain, veins thick and bulging, the sweat glistening along his chest, his eyelids heavy and his jaw clenched tight, I fall apart around him, shattering to pieces.
As violent tremors pulse through me, I have to let go of my legs and claw the edges of the table to withstand the turbulent quake tearing through my body.
Only when I’m wrung dry, limp and boneless in the aftermath, do I realize Stefano has stopped moving.
To watch me.
“You’re a work of art when you come, Delilah,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe. “The sweetest fucking sight.”
Oh God. I cover my face with both hands. Why does he keep making me feel like this? I’m not a blusher, dammit! I don’t get flustered. And yet…here I am.
At the fluttery sensation of tender kisses peppering across my belly, my ribs, my waist, I peek through my fingers and catch sight of him peering up at me through those thick, dark lashes as he trails kisses all over my abdomen.
Voice low, possessive, feral, he says against my skin, “Don’t ever ask me to let you go.”
Before I can ask what the hell that means, he’s upright again, plunging deep inside me once more. The strokes are slower now, languid, drawn out. He’s trying to hold on. Trying not to come. But it doesn’t last.
Before long, his hips are snapping again, pace brutal, rhythm lost, like his body’s taken over. All instinct now. All need.
With a guttural, blasphemous curse, he slams in deep and stills as he comes. Body taut, head thrown back, throat exposed.
I watch him come undone with quiet reverence, chest full of warmth, heart full of butterflies. If this is all I ever get, if this moment is the only one we’re allowed to have, then that’s enough. It’s more than enough. I’ll die content.
The disobedience was worth it. The lies, worth it. No regrets.
I have tasted Stefano Castello. And nothing, nothing will ever compare.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Raya
IT’S THE LOUD CRACK of thunder that wakes me, not Stefano, who has me cradled in his arms as he carries me up the stairs.
A lazy peek through my lashes catches the dull gray light outside the windows. Damn, it’s already dawn. At some point during the night, while Stefano dealt with Black Gold drama on the phone, I fell asleep out on the couch with my head in his lap, because he wouldn’t let me out of arm’s reach, not even to sleep.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” he whispers when he notices I’m awake.
“Hey, vampire.”
His answering chuckle is warm and comforting as he carries me into the bedroom. After laying me down on the bed, he gets in beside me, stifling a yawn into the back of his hand before wrapping me up against him.
“How tired are you?” I ask, running a lazy finger down his chest.
He kisses the tip of my nose. “Tell me what you need.”
“You. Inside me.”
No hesitation, he shifts and reaches across to the nightstand drawer for a rubber.
“Let me…” I steal the condom from between his fingers and push him onto his back. “Leave this round to me.” I pull down his silk bottoms and find him already hard and swollen. “Someone’s eager…”
In response, his cock twitches in a blatant come-hither motion.
“Stop,” I laugh out. “I need to get his cape on.”
A smirk ghosts his lips as I manage to roll the condom down his thick shaft. There’s tiredness in his eyes, but he’s evidently not too tired to fuck. And I’m too selfish not to take advantage.
I slip out of my dress, slide off my panties, then move astride him, rubbing my slippery wet folds up and down his rock-hard length, coating every inch in my arousal. The friction, hot and delicious, draws a long moan out of me.
Stefano latches onto his bottom lip with a deep groan as he watches me position his cock at my opening, his eyes glued to us, alive and eager, as if nothing else in this world matters more than being inside me right now.
I’ve never felt so wanted. So needed. So utterly desired.
Slowly, I ease down on just the tip, then slip him out and begin rubbing my slickness along his length again, teasing him.
“Raya,” he warns, voice tight, strained.
Biting back a wicked smile, I do it again. Just the head, slip him out, then a back-and-forth glide along his veined hardness in a slippery wet tease. Over and over. I’m so sopping wet that this is undoubtedly torture for him.
“Raya, if you don’t want me to flip you over and fuck you while I stifle you into this mattress until you run out of air, then quit messing with me.”
Why are his threats always so violently enticing?
Taking pity on him, I ease up, then slowly sink down. On all of him this time, gasping as he fills me, stretches me.
“Fuck, baby, yeah,” he groans, fingers digging into my thighs.
Undulating my hips, I begin riding him. Slow and sensual, deliberate and unhurried, squeezing my breasts, pinching my aching nipples, enjoying myself. Sinking into the pleasure, the power, the possession of it all.
And as I lose myself in the moment, gliding up and down, rolling my hips, riding him like we both deserve, determined to savor every second of this moment, Stefano whispers sexy lies up at me, watching me through dazed eyes, drunk on lust.
He’s telling me I’m perfect. That I’m a work of art. That I fuck like a queen. That my pussy is the best he’s ever had. That I’m royalty. That he loves being inside me...
And God, how easy it would be to fall under the spell of that mouth, those words. To dive in and drown. His tongue is a double-edged sword that’s undoubtedly sliced countless hearts into ruin, driven sane minds straight into madness. And here I am, moaning, grinding, letting him cut me wide open with every word.
He feels so damn good inside me, I could ride him like this all night. Every inch of him hits just right. But while it’s a slow, rolling high for me, it seems to be torture for him, because he suddenly sits up with a guttural curse, as though he just can’t take it anymore.
Stealing control, he locks an arm around my waist to keep me firmly in place, then begins rutting up into me from below, hitting me just right. His mouth feasts on my breasts like a starved beast, all while he rocks into me with an orgasm-taunting rhythm.
It’s too much, too good. And before long, my walls are clenching around his cock. Head falling back, toes curling, I implode, falling to pieces against him.
Even through the nebulous haze of my orgasm, I feel him slow to a lazy roll. And I just know it’s because he’s watching me fall apart. He likes seeing me come undone. Enjoys seeing me wrecked to orgasmic pieces.
When the stars finally fade and I’m free of the blinding clutches of euphoria, I open my eyes and meet his dark, molten stare.
Low and gravelly, he breathes, “Kiss me.”
I shake my head no.
As though he expected the rejection, he nods once without a trace of indignance. No flared nostrils, no clenched jaw. Just a silent beat of acceptance.
I don’t trust it.
And I’m right not to. Because in the next breath, he lifts me off him and flips me around, forcing me on all fours. Before I can catch my breath or stabilize, he grips my hips and slams into me with ruthless abandon, knocking a startled cry from my lungs.
He starts fucking me like he resents me. Hard, deep, punitive. Fists a hand in my hair and jerks my head back, driving into me without an ounce of mercy. No tenderness now. Just raw punishment.
And. I. Love. It.
Out of nowhere, another orgasm crashes into me like a sneak attack, weakening my arms and legs as rippling waves of pleasure wrack my body.
When Stefano’s thrusts start getting erratic, his rhythm wild and jagged, I know he’s close. And I want to watch, to see him consumed at the height of pleasure.
“Stefano…”
No answer.
“Stefano.”
“What?” he grits out.
“I-I want to see you when you—”
“No.”
“Please?”
“Fuck off.”
Oh, he’s mad, mad. “Get even with me, then,” I coax. “Come on my face. Debase me. You’ll feel better.”
His pace slows.
Good, he’s considering it.
Not for long though, because in the next breath, he pulls out, flips me onto my back, and straddles my chest. He rips off the condom, fists his cock at the base, and levels it at my mouth. “Suck.”
No hesitation, I avidly oblige, sucking him all the way in. Committed. Devoted.
His lashes flutter, his abs flex, and a curse punches out of his throat.
I suck him until his cock becomes iron-pipe rigid, signaling his imminent implosion.
“Milk me,” he rasps, voice tight and strained.
Wrapping my fingers tightly around him, I pump him tight and fast, wringing his orgasm right to the edge.
Until he explodes with a vicious growl. “FUCK!”
White ropes of warmth spurt out and paints my face.
His orgasm’s hitting him so hard that he rocks forward and grips the sheet on either side of my head to ride it out, his hips jerking involuntarily. His whole body is tense, strung out on the knife’s edge of release.
Yeah, I love watching him come, too. Watching him unravel. Veins prominent, jaw clenched, eyes glazed over with something primal.
He’s erotic art.
I make soft, idle swirls around the head of his cock, petting him, easing him down.
Eventually, he rocks back on his heels and gazes down at me, chest heaving, lips parted.
Slowly, I lick my lips and smile. “Was I right? Does it make you feel better, seeing me like this? Beneath you. Your cum all over my face.”
He just stares at me, eyes dark and stormy.
The silence stretches, nothing but the sound of our mingled breaths in the quiet of the room.
Then, without a word, he drops back on the bed and drapes an arm across his eyes.
Goodness gracious. For a grown-ass criminal, a man who takes lives without blinking, he sure sulks like a toddler. All because I won’t kiss him? Whatever.
I get up and go into the bathroom to freshen up. Afterward, I return with a warm washcloth and clean him up as well. He doesn’t move, arm still draped over his face, ignoring me.
When I’m done, I pull the drapes shut to block out the approaching daylight so he can sleep well. My alarm won’t go off for another hour, so I slip back under the covers.
If Stefano wants to give me the cold shoulder, that’s his prerogative. I’m freshly, thoroughly, and exquisitely fucked. And thanks to his beautiful cock, I’m riding a sweet, sweet high.
Nothing’s ruining this temporary bliss for me.
Stefano Castello is a fickle, capricious man. In a few hours, he might wake up and decide he hates my guts again. Might even want me dead. So I’ll bask in this euphoria while it lasts.
I’m on the brink of dosing off when the heat of his body shifts up behind me. Followed by his arm curving around my waist and molding me snug against him.
With a sigh swollen with surrender, he whispers, “You’re ice, Raya. Ice fucking cold.” He nuzzles into my hair, presses a kiss to my shoulder. “You’re my karma.”
~
IT’S EXACTLY MIDDAY when sounds of life from upstairs signal Stefano’s return to consciousness. Sitting cross-legged on the couch in the living area, laptop on my thighs, I gnaw at my bottom lip, unsure what to expect. Which version of him am I getting today? The tender, touch-hungry man who practically worships me? Or the darkly intense enigma who thinks I’m a lying threat and wants me gone?
Shaking off the nerves, I refocus on the task at hand.
When he eventually comes downstairs, there’s no mistaking which Stefano is in play today. His resting mean face is locked in, his energy dark. He doesn’t even glance in my direction as he heads straight to the kitchen.
Yep. He hates me again.
Still…he’s in lounge pants, not one of his full armor three-piece suits. So, maybe he still plans on staying in with me for the weekend?
A few minutes later, coffee in hand, he strides past me without a word and heads out to the pool area. Maybe he just prefers quiet time to himself when he first wakes up. Nothing’s wrong with that.
Except that theory’s torched a minute later when I hear his voice on a call. So much for that.
He thinks I’m his karma? No, he’s my curse. A menace to my peace. A threat to my sanity. A terrorist to my heart.
I shove in my earphones, crank up my playlist, and lock in on Lorenzo’s long as hell to-do list.
Time passes, and I’m halfway through a surveillance team debrief when one of my earphones is abruptly plucked out. Focus broken, I twist around to see Stefano behind me, chin propped on the back of the couch like a bored kid.
“How much work do you have to do today?” he asks.
“A bit,” I cautiously reply. “But it’s easy stuff, easy to multitask.”
“I don’t want you multitasking.” His gaze is soft, the harshness that was etched in his features earlier now gone. “I want your attention. All of it. On me.”
“Funny. Considering it took you, what…” I cast a quick glance at the clock on the wall. “…over an hour to even acknowledge my presence?”
“Did you a favor, trust me. You wouldn’t want to deal with me un-caffeinated.”
Oh. “Ah, so you’re one of those people.”
“I’m that person.” He eyes my laptop like it’s a mortal enemy. “Anything on your to-do list that’s actually urgent?”
“Your brother thinks everything is urgent. All the time. ‘Right now,’ and ‘immediately,’” I mimic in a clipped tone, laughing. “He’s the most impatient person I know.”
“Well then…” Without warning, he vaults over the back of the couch, settles beside me, and shuts my laptop with a decisive snap, booting it off my lap. “Relax. He’s not gonna tear himself away from whatever he’s doing in L.A. to scold you.”
Oh, I know exactly what Lorenzo’s doing in L.A. Stalking. He’s not the only one keeping tabs. I know where he is right down to the minute. “You’re a bad influence, bossman.”
He shifts around and stretches out across the couch, laying his head in my lap. “Think it’s already been established that I’m shamelessly needy with you.”
Laughing, I run my fingers through his hair. “Who’s complaining?”
“Take advantage of me,” he murmurs. “Word’s out that I’m not to be contacted for the next four hours unless it’s life or death. I’m all yours, Delilah.”
“Hmm. Whatever will I do with you?” I trace the sharp cut of his jaw. “The possibilities are endless...”
He bites his lip and waggles his brows, pointedly eying my boobs. “The view from down here is magnificent.”
I giggle at his antics. His energy is so much lighter now, a playful glint in his eyes, a spirited kind of frivolity. And it’s clear, so utterly clear, that he wants to be here with me.
Whether that’s because I amuse him or because he genuinely likes me, I don’t know. But the way he’s looking at me makes me feel...weightless. Like I’m capable of more. Like I’m deserving. Like I’m worthy of something. Like I’m wanted. Like happiness doesn’t have to be some unattainable pipe dream.
If I woke up to him looking at me like this every day, I would conquer the world. I would have hope. I would believe in things.
I would…be.
“Raya?”
“Hmm?”
His voice has lost the flirt now, quieter. Sincere. “What’s your name?”
“Raya Michel.”
As if he expected nothing else, he nods once and presses a kiss to my belly. Not in acceptance, but in temporary surrender. “My pretty little liar.”
~
WE SPEND THE rest of the day wrapped up in each other, undisturbed. We eat. We fuck. We idle. We nap. Repeat. All while Stefano keeps trying to seduce little truths out of me. Never enough to get me to crack, though.
Around 3:00 a.m., he climbs into bed beside me and kisses my shoulder, his breath warm against my neck as he whispers, “I can’t wait to meet you.”
I bury my face in the pillow. Suffocation seems preferable to shedding useless tears that won’t change a damn thing.
No, Stefano. You don’t want to meet me. You won’t like me. You’ll want nothing at all to do with me. So please...stop trying to meet me. While we still have time, let’s just enjoy this idea, this fantasy of what could be…if I really were Raya Michel.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Raya
STEFANO EMERGES FROM HIS closet with two neckties in hand, considering them carefully.
A yawn pries my mouth open as I stretch beneath the covers. “You’re up early.”
He glances up from the ties, his lips slanting into a half-smile as if he’s happy to see I’m awake. Tossing the ties onto a nearby armchair, he strides over and leans down to kiss my nose. “Up early for Mass.”
“Oh.” I pout a little, then quickly cover my mouth to block my morning breath. “You’re leaving me.”
Chuckling, he kisses my nose again. “I’d take you with me, but Cora told me you’re an atheist…?”
“Agnostic,” I correct. “Which means I’m still curious, so…I’ll tag along.”
“Up you get, then.” He flips the sheets off me, dips down to kiss my bare stomach, then scoops me out of bed. “We leave in an hour.”
