Chapter 11 Rush
Serena's POV
The question froze my entire body. My legs stopped trembling for a second. I wasn’t expecting that—not now, not like this.
How much do you want your freedom, Serena? I heard it again, but not from him.
I blinked up at him. My brain began scrambling for words. What the hell did he mean? Was this a trick? A test? Or some crazy new way to break me?
Before I could get a single word out, Dante snapped his hips forward and buried himself deep inside me in one brutal thrust.
“Ahh—fuck!” I moaned, caught by surprise and pleasure all at once. He filled me completely, stealing my breath away and stretching me till I felt split open in the best way.
He leaned down, brushing my ear with his lips. “Guess that means you don’t want it that bad.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he pulled back and slammed in again—harder, then again, faster this time around. He showed no mercy, pounding into me. My words came out as muffled cries.
With that, talking was over.
He entered into a punishing rhythm, crashing his hips into mine, slamming the bed into the wall with every powerful strike.
Our skins slapped against each other, wet and horny. I clawed at his back, digging deep enough into his back with my nails to leave marks.
He growled against my neck, scraping my throat with his teeth gently before sucking the bruises that would sting by morning.
“You are mine,” he snarled, pushing deeper, hitting that spot faster, blurring my eyes with each strike. “This pussy is mine.”
I couldn’t answer—could barely breathe. Every thrust shoved me higher up the bed till he hooked an arm under my lower back and yanked me down to meet him.
He went harder, faster, like he wanted to fix himself inside me.
Sweat dripped from his chest onto mine. I reached up, licking it off his collarbone, tasting him. He groaned, grabbed my thighs, and spread me wider, folding me nearly in half with my legs hanging high.
The new style was devastating. His cock rubbed over every sensitive inch on the way in and out.
“Please—Daddy—” I begged, not even knowing what exactly I was begging for.
He slowed down just enough to torture me, rolling his hips in slow, grinding circles. His body rubbed my clit with every move. I sobbed, raising my hips as I longed for more.
“You take it so fucking good,” he rasped. “Soaking wet—creaming all over my cock.”
I glanced down between us. He was right. I was soaked, spilling on him every time he pulled out. I wrapped my legs around him at the sight.
He hissed, slammed in once, twice, then flipped us around. Suddenly I was on top, straddling him, his hands gripped my hips hard enough to leave a bruise.
“Ride me!”
I didn’t hesitate. I placed my hands on his chest, then sank down slow, taking every thick inch till he was buried in me. We both groaned.
Then I started moving—rolling my hips, grinding my clit against him, lifting and dropping. Faster, faster, faster.
His hands roamed everywhere—squeezing my ass, slapping it sharp enough to sting, then sliding up to pinch my nipples till I cried out. I leaned forward, swaying my breasts in his face. He caught one in his mouth, sucking hard on it while I bounced on him.
I felt the orgasm building right through me. My thighs shook but I rode him faster, chasing it.
Dante sat up suddenly, wrapped his arms around my waist, and took over. He thrust up into me brutally with his lips on my neck, biting down as he pounded.
“Cum on my cock, piccola. Now.”
That was it. I shattered. "Oh, Dante—" I moaned out as my walls quivered around him. I could barely see his face as I spilled over him. The pleasure washed over me relentlessly.
He followed right after, slamming deep into me till he spilled inside me. I felt every hot pulse, every deliciously painful throb.
We collapsed sideways, with him still inside me. We were both breathless like we’d run a marathon—I mean, we literally did.
He stayed inside me, locked his arms around my body and buried his face in my hair.
I couldn't tell when I fell asleep. All I could remember was the feel of his heart beating against my head and the soft ache between my legs that felt perfect...
Lights flooded my eyes, stinging me as it dragged me awake. I looked over to windows, noticing the annoyingly bright morning lights.
"Ahh," I groaned, stretching and instinctively reaching across the bed for him.
Nothing. My hand hit cool sheets. I rolled over, patted the other side. Still nothing. My eyes snapped open again.
Dante was gone.
The room felt too large without him. I rolled to my side and hugged my knees to my chest, that lonely ache settled in my tummy. He’d fucked me, then vanished before dawn. Typical of his kind. Why did I expect anything less.
I looked up and noticed a single red rose laying on the pillow. Its stem was trimmed perfectly, and it's petals looked quite charming.
My breath caught. Same as the other one he’d left the other night. What could it mean? Maybe a promise. Or a warning. Or probably a sign of his claim.
Memories from the previous night flooded back—his body on mine, in mine, the way he’d owned every inch of me.
And so did his question. How much do you want your freedom?
I stared at the rose, my heart began racing. Did I still want it? Out of this life, away from the blood and the danger and the constant fear?
Part of me screamed yes. The part that remembered being locked in Marco’s apartment, that remembered pulling the trigger to survive.
But another part—the part still sore from Dante, still tasting him on my skin—whispered something else.
I reached out and touched the rose.
“I need it,” I said out loud. “I need my freedom.”
Another thing caught my eye. On the nightstand sat a set of pills and a glass of water. Same as the other night. Thoughtful bastard.
I swallowed the pill dry, washed it down with water, then stood. My legs still felt wobbly, and my thighs still had that sticky feeling. I smiled despite everything.
The door flew open suddenly. I jumped, spinning around, and pulling the sheet to my chest.
Valentina stood there—Dante’s housekeeper, the one who’d always given me weird vibes since I got here. The one that cleaned me up the other day.
“Sorry,” she said quickly, but didn’t look sorry. “Mr. Russo needs you.”
I nodded, reaching for the robe. “I’ll be right—”
“No.” She cut me off, taking another step inside. “Ha bisogno di te adesso. È urgente.”