Chapter 134 134

Chapter 134 134
Mia

I don't wait for him to make the first move. The craving is too sharp, too demanding. I rise up on my tiptoes, gripping the lapels of his jacket, and crash my lips against his.
It’s not a gentle kiss. It is a collision. It is teeth and tongue and desperate, hungry need. I pour everything into it—the boredom of the day, the restless ache, the sheer, overwhelming lust I have for this man. His lips are firm, tasting faintly of whiskey and tobacco, and he responds instantly. His hands leave his pockets and grab my waist, pulling me flush against him. The hard bulge in his trousers presses against my belly, a promise of what’s to come.
I pull back, gasping for air, my hands sliding up to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. I look him dead in the eye, letting every drop of desire show on my face.
"Fuck me right here," I order. My voice doesn't waver. It is a command, not a request.
A low growl rumbles in his throat, a sound of primal approval. His eyes blaze, stripping me bare where I stand.
"Right here?" he asks, his voice a dark velvet rasp. "In the garden?"
"Right here," I repeat. "Now."
He doesn't argue. He doesn't ask if I’m sure. He simply moves.
In one fluid motion, he sweeps me off my feet. One arm hooks under my knees, the other around my back, lifting me as if I weigh nothing. I gasp, wrapping my arms around his neck, burying my face in the crook of his shoulder. He smells incredible—like expensive cologne, danger, and sex.
He carries me across the lawn, past the manicured flowerbeds, toward the stone patio near the edge of the garden. There is a heavy concrete table there, a rough-hewn slab meant for morning coffee or reading the paper. It is cold and unforgiving, perfect for what I need.
He sets me down on the edge. The concrete is shockingly cold against the backs of my thighs, seeping through the thin silk of my robe, but I don't care. I spread my legs instinctively, pulling him closer.
Alessandro stands between my thighs, his hands going to the knot of my robe. He tugs, and the silk falls away, pooling around my hips. The cool night air hits my naked skin, making my nipples pebble into hard, aching points. I am exposed to him, completely open under the starlight and the garden lamps.
His eyes rake over me, hot and heavy. He reaches out, his large hand spanning my waist, dragging up my ribcage to cup my breast. His thumb brushes over my nipple, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my clit.
"So pretty kitten," he murmurs, his gaze locked on my chest. "So fucking pretty."
I lean back on my hands, arching my back, thrusting my breasts toward him. I want his hands everywhere. I want him to leave marks on me, to claim me all over again.
"I want you to fuck me so hard that you'll satisfy my cravings," I whisper, the words spilling out unchecked. "I need you, Sandro. I need you to ruin me."
He leans down, his breath hot against my skin. He takes my nipple into his mouth—not gently, but with a sharp, stinging bite.
I cry out, my back bowing off the table. The pain and pleasure, a white-hot flare that shorts out my thoughts.
"Noted," he smirks against my skin, his tongue soothing the sting before he pulls back to look at me. He unbuckles his belt, the metal clinking loud in the quiet night. The sound is like a starting gun.
He frees himself. His cock springs out, thick, hard, and angry. The head is dark with blood, pulsing. He strokes himself once, twice, his eyes boring into mine.
"Legs wider," he commands.
I obey instantly, spreading my thighs as far as they will go, hooking my legs around his waist, digging my heels into his ass to pull him forward.
He steps into the cradle of my hips, rubbing the thick head of his dick through my soaking wet folds. I am dripping for him, my pussy slick and swollen. He teases my clit with the tip, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves until I am trembling, making breathy, needy sounds in the back of my throat.
"Please," I beg. "Don't tease me."
"You asked for hard, Mia," he warns, his voice rough. "Don't complain later."
With that, he drives forward.
He shoves into me in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt.
I scream. It’s a sharp, ragged sound that tears from my throat as my body stretches to accommodate him. He is huge, filling me completely, splitting me open. The concrete table digs into my ass, but the sensation is lost in the overwhelming fullness. He stills for a fraction of a second, letting me adjust, letting my walls clench around him.
Then, he begins to move.
He fucks me like he hates me, like he loves me, like he wants to crawl inside my skin and live there. His hips snap forward, pounding into me with a rhythm that steals the air from my lungs. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the garden, wet and vulgar and perfect.
"Yes! Yes, Sandro!" I cry out, my head falling back, my hair spilling over the edge of the table. I look up at the stars, but they blur, swimming in my vision.
"Look at me," he growls, gripping my chin and forcing my face back to his.
His eyes are wild, feral. He is sweating, a bead of perspiration rolling down his temple. This is the beast I married, the mafia boss who kills without blinking, currently destroying my pussy with the same intensity he applies to his empire.
He pounds into me, the concrete table shaking beneath us. Every thrust hits that deep, aching spot inside me, the one that makes my toes curl and my vision white out. I can feel the orgasm building low in my belly, a tight coil of tension getting ready to snap.