Claimed

14. The Taste of Sin

Chapter fourteen

The Taste of Sin

In our suite, Gianni was no longer a man.

He was now a beast, and he most definitely was about to fuck me.

There was no escape. Not that I truly wanted to.

He was in front of me in seconds.

And those huge blood-stained hands gripped my waist with a force that stole the breath from my lungs.

Oh shit.

The blood, still warm, smeared across my hips and thighs, seeping into the delicate lace of the lingerie, staining the white with deep, crimson streaks.

I looked down and shuddered with pleasure.

I should be repulsed—it should have made me push him away, scream, do something that a normal person would do.

But instead, I felt an electrifying jolt of desire that shot through my body like wildfire.

And I was so fucking wet.

Surely the lingerie dripped with my essence.

I had truly unleashed something in him, something fierce and uncontrollable, and now there was no turning back.

“Dirty you?” Gianni growled low. “Oh, Princess, you have no idea what you’ve just asked for.”

I widened my eyes.

Gianni somehow yanked me closer, and his fingers dug into my flesh as he pulled me against his hard, muscular body.

The blood from his hands smeared my skin, further marking me.

Claiming me as his.

Telling my body that he had killed for me.

For us.

And he would do it again and again.

And again.

My breath hitched as his mouth descended on my neck, and his teeth grazed the sensitive skin there.

Oh God.

I gasped, but the sound was swallowed by the low, guttural growl that rumbled from his chest.

“You’re mine. Do you know that?”

“Y-yes.” I shivered with desire.

He hissed against my skin. “You belong to me now. Every inch of you, every cell, every strand of hair, every drop of blood, every breath you take—mine. All fucking mine.”

“Y-yes.”

The possessiveness in his voice.

It was so wrong, yet so right.

The dark thrill of it.

The intense heat in every syllable.

Good God, it made my legs weak.

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against my ear. “Say you’re mine.”

Without any hesitation, I whispered, “I’m yours, Gianni.”

Another low, satisfied growl rumbled from his chest, and he nipped at my neck, drowning me in ecstasy.

The coppery scent of blood rose in the air, mixing with his intoxicating aroma.

He had me on that bed fast.

I couldn’t even tell you how long it had taken.

Five seconds.

Four.

No.

Three seconds at the most.

His bloody hands—warm and slick—roamed over me.

Possessively.

Roughly.

Leaving traces of crimson against my dark brown skin.

Each touch ignited a storm inside me.

Fear threaded through my veins, but so did an exhilarating thrill.

Was this madness or fate?

They called him the Devil of Shadows, and I believed them, because he explored me, sinfully, as if he couldn't get enough of feeling me beneath his fingers, as if he wanted to tear my flesh apart just to touch my insides—the very core of my body.

And God help me. . .I would let him.

I would let the Devil unravel me.

I would let him cut me up and caress every vein, every organ.

Touch my heart.

Touch my soul.

As if he heard those twisted thoughts, he groaned, “Say my name, Princess.”

“Gianni.”

“Good girl.”

But would he be the death of me?

Groaning, he crashed his lips against mine in a kiss full of hot, carnal promise.

I moaned against his mouth, and he took that as an invitation to deepen the kiss, his tongue exploring the depths of my mouth with wild desire.

I shivered, again not from fear, but from something deeper—something I wasn’t ready to admit yet. Every logical part of me screamed to run, but there was another voice—one that whispered to stay, to surrender to him, to the darkness.

As Gianni’s blood-stained hands roamed over my body some more, a twisted sense of comfort seeped into my bones. Amidst the chaos and fear, there was something about his touch that promised protection—something no one else had ever offered me.

His hands moved lower, reaching the hem of my now blood-stained lingerie and tearing it apart.

I gasped.

My breasts jiggled.

Cool air brushed against my nipples, turning them into stiff little points.

The notion that this man—this dangerous, darkly alluring beast of a man—wanted me so much sent a delicious thrill through my body.

“You’re mine.” He ripped strips of lace away. “And I’m going to show you exactly what that means.”

His violently filthy hands pawed at the blood-streaked remnants of my lingerie, ripping the delicate lace to shreds as if it were nothing more than an annoying barrier between him and his prize.

My body.

He looked down at me. “Spread your legs for Daddy. Let me see what’s mine.”

Trembling, I started to do just that.

“You're my perfect little princess.”

I bit my bottom lip.

“The people I would kill over. . .hell. . .the people I already have killed over you.”

I blinked, my legs frozen partially open. “What?”

Did he say. . .people? Like. . .more than one?

“Nobody can touch what's mine and live.” He came close to me and then his words rumbled in my ear.

He was panting now, and his breath was hot against my skin.

And his cock was pressed hard against my thigh. I could feel every inch of him, every raging pulse of his fat cock.

Oh my God. It’s really going to happen.

“Now, show me your pussy, Princess.” He locked that wild gaze with me. “Let Daddy see it.”

I curled my fingers into fists on the bed sheet as I slowly parted my trembling thighs.

“Mmmm.” Gianni didn’t bother to hide the animalistic pleasure that crossed his face at the sight of my pussy—wet, wanting, and completely at his mercy.

“Daddy is very pleased.”

My chest rose and fell rapidly.

Gianni’s mouth crashed down on mine again, and this time I swore it tasted like power.

Like death.

Like sin.

And I loved it.

Then, he lifted up and began to explore my body with his dirty hands, skimming the underside of my breasts, dipping into the valley between, then down the curve of my stomach and lower.

I moaned, “Oh.”

His fingers traced my hips, then journeyed inwards, and I gasped as his thumb brushed my clit, sending a pulse of electricity shooting up my spine.

“Gianni!” I whimpered, arching my back as my body writhed beneath him.

“Do you like what Daddy is doing to you?”

“Y-yes.”

He chuckled darkly, removed his hand from my body, and began to undress himself, never breaking eye contact with me.

All I could do was lay there in pure greedy longing.

Not knowing how sex would feel with Gianni but craving him just the same.

An arrogant smirk danced on his lips, and it should not have been as seductive as it was.

More heat pooled between my thighs.

He snatched off his tuxedo jacket and he didn’t bother with unbuttoning his shirt. Instead, he ripped it open, sending buttons all over the place, the bed, the floor.

Next, he flung the shirt across the room carelessly and started undoing his pants.

But I was. . .taken aback. . .like. . .caught in a hypnotic trance that I didn’t think anybody would ever be able to wake me up from.

Dear God. He’s so fucking beautiful.

I gasped at the sight of his bare torso, all the rippling of massive muscles and bullet scars here and there.

He’d fought wars with that body and won.

Where there weren’t just scars, there were dark tattoos covering his skin and drawn by an artist that had long gone mad. It was all dark black roses and skulls.

As Gianni stripped off his trousers and kicked them aside, he exposed more scars crisscrossing his body.

They were all silent tales of more battles.

His legs were beefy tree trunks covered in corded muscle. I could fucking hump them and cum.

But his cock.

It was big. . .

Too fucking big.

Oh no. That won’t. . .fit. . .

What had I gotten myself into?

Vito had told me that he was a monster, but never did that bastard say that he had a fucking cock that appeared thicker and longer than an arm.

And it jutted out before me.

Hard and throbbing.

The physical manifestation of his insatiable hunger.

In seconds, he was back over me, and I was terrified out of my mind.

I shook my head. “No. No. It won’t fit.”

“What?”

“It will not fit. This isn’t happening.”