Chapter 125 Bruises and Vows
Valentina
His hands were fire. Possessive. Unrelenting.
They gripped my hips like they were his anchor to this world—and maybe they were. Because I could feel it in the way he held me, the way his fingers dug into my flesh. This wasn’t just sex. This was a war cry. A reclamation. A promise dragged raw and bleeding across my skin.
He yanked me down the bed until my knees hit the edge and my chest stayed buried in the sheets, face turned to the side, hair tangled and wet, breath coming in sharp, broken waves.
“Look at you,” he rasped behind me. “Wrecked already. And I haven’t even given you what you’re begging for.”
I moaned—needy, shameless, already soaked from the way he’d devoured me.
He grabbed my ass, spread me, and groaned. “So fucking pretty when you’re open like this. When you’re mine like this.”
Then I felt him.
The thick head of his cock sliding between my folds, teasing. Coated in heat and the remnants of melted ice and my slick, he rubbed against me just long enough to make me sob into the sheets.
“Please,” I gasped, clawing the bedding. “Please, Matteo—”
The sound of his name on my tongue made him snap.
He slammed into me with one brutal thrust.
I screamed.
It was too much—too deep—too perfect. The stretch, the burn, the fullness of him splitting me wide open. I felt every inch of him like a brand being pressed inside me.
He didn’t stop.
He fucked me hard from the first stroke—deep, punishing thrusts that jolted through my spine and down to my toes. My body met him every time, like it had no choice but to take everything he gave and still beg for more.
“You want to come again?” he growled, fucking me harder, slapping skin to skin. “Earn it. Take it. Take every inch.”
“I—I am,” I whimpered, the pressure building again already.
He reached around, fingers finding my clit and rubbing it in tight, merciless circles while his cock pounded into me from behind. The mix of roughness and perfect rhythm had me unraveling fast.
“Tell me who owns you.”
“You do.”
“Louder.”
“You fucking do, Matteo—fuck—”
He slapped my ass, the sound cracking through the air like lightning. “Damn right I do.”
His pace faltered for a second, not from weakness—but from focus. He pulled out slowly, all the way to the tip, then slammed back in so hard I thought I might shatter.
Over and over.
Brutal. Beautiful.
A rhythm of ruin and worship.
“You feel that?” he grunted. “You hear that? That’s what your pussy sounds like when she’s begging for me.”
I was sobbing into the sheets now—half from the overwhelming pressure inside me, half from the way his voice made me feel seen. Claimed.
Loved.
Even when he was wrecking me.
Especially then.
And then he slowed.
Just enough to make me squirm, to make the tension crawl up my spine and tighten around my throat.
He leaned over me, chest to my back, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
“I never wanted a wife,” he whispered. “Didn’t want a partner. Didn’t think I could love anyone. But then you… you fucking showed up and made me need all of it.”
My eyes burned.
“You made me believe in something again,” he said, grinding deep, rolling his hips so slow and deep it made my toes curl. “You made me believe in you.”
His hand slid up my back, pushing my soaked hair out of the way so he could kiss the nape of my neck.
It wasn’t just filthy anymore. It wasn’t just fucking.
It was an oath.
He kissed my spine like he was sealing something eternal. My hips lifted to meet him, and his thrusts quickened again—this time fueled by emotion as much as lust.
“Come with me,” he growled. “Now. I want to feel you lose it on me. Give me all of it, Valentina. Everything.”
And I did.
My body shattered—writhing, gasping, screaming his name like a prayer as I clenched hard around him, the orgasm crashing through me like a dam breaking.
He followed with a snarl.
Buried himself deep and came with a force that shook the bed frame—every pulse of him claiming me in the deepest, most permanent way a man could.
We stayed like that.
Bodies locked.
Hearts fucking tethered.
But just when I thought he might be done—when my body had barely stopped trembling and my breath was still ragged against the sheets—he leaned back and let out a low, dark laugh.
“You know what else is begging for me?” he murmured, voice thick with hunger.
I barely had time to gasp before I felt it—his spit hitting the tight ring of my ass, warm and filthy.
Then his thumb.
Slow, steady pressure right there.
My whole body arched again, instinct and want warring inside me, but god it felt so fucking good.
“Ohhh,” I moaned, head dropping down to the mattress. “Fuck…”
He pushed deeper, working his thumb inside me, stretching me open while his other hand gripped my hip like a vice.
“You like that?” he rasped, leaning close to my ear. “You want more of that, baby? You want to feel my cock stretch this perfect little ass?”
“Yes,” I gasped. “God, yes—please—”
He pulled out of my pussy with a wet, obscene sound, leaving me empty and desperate as he moved toward the nightstand.
I looked back just in time to see him grab the bottle of lube.
“Eyes forward,” he growled. “Ass in the air.”
I obeyed so fast it was embarrassing.
A second later, I felt it—the cool slickness of the lube pouring straight onto my asshole, running down between my cheeks, dripping onto my thighs.
Then his hand was there again, rubbing it in, spreading it.
“Does this belong to me too?” he asked, voice dark silk.
“Yes,” I whispered.
He grunted. “Say it like you mean it.”
“It’s yours,” I breathed. “Take it. Take all of me.”
“Oh, I fucking will.”
He lined up behind me again, this time with the blunt head of his cock nudging my tighter hole. He didn’t push yet—just held it there, letting the pressure build, letting me feel what was about to happen.
“Breathe for me,” he murmured.
And then he started to push slow, relentless, stretching me inch by aching inch until I felt every vein, every shudder of restraint as he held himself back.
“God, you feel good,” he groaned. “So fucking tight. So perfect.”
My fingers clawed at the sheets. My body trembled with every second he sank deeper.
“You take me so well,” he murmured, bending to kiss my spine. “Like you were made for this. Made for me.”
He fucked me hard. Filthy. Like he was claiming the last piece of me he hadn’t taken yet.
And I gave it to him. All of it. Moaning his name, crying out, until I couldn’t take any more and begged him to stop.
“Good girl,” he breathed. “I told you we wouldn’t stop until you begged for it.”