Page 67 of Trapped

“Come for me,” he demanded. “Show me who you belong to.”

The orgasm crashed over me, my body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through me. I screamed, my nails digging into the sheets as I lost myself in the ecstasy he forced on me.

He didn’t stop, thrusting into me. “That’s it. Take it all.”

As the pleasure ebbed, I collapsed onto the bed, panting. He stayed inside me, his cock still hard. He started moving again.

He flipped me onto my back, moving my legs over his chest. Santino worked his body into a frenzy, his face screwed up in theutmost concentration. His forehead sparkled with sweat as he thrust into me like a machine.

My scattered gaze locked onto his black eyes. So black. His pupils had almost swallowed his irises as he watched my face. Unblinking, like a creep. Like he actually cared about what I felt. Other men looked at me like an object.

Santino stared into my fucking soul.

I tangled my fingers in his hair, yanking him closer. My legs locked around his waist, the heels digging into his back. He groaned.

“Oh fuck, Delilah.”

I wanted him. I didn’t care how fucked up he was or how he’d basically tricked me into this position. I had a broken brain. That wasn’t news. My nails scratched him as I held onto his back, gouging his flesh as he fucked me so hard my body slid up the bed. I kissed his panting mouth and sucked on his lip, biting down hard.

He came, clutching me closer as he emptied inside me. He stayed there, his eyes shut, breathing hard. Eventually, his dazed eyes opened.

“I can go again in a few minutes,” he said.

“You’re insane, you know that?”

His mouth pulled into a beautiful smile.

I traced his lips. “Santino, why do you want a baby withme?”

“Why do you think?”

“I don’t know. I think you’re crazy.”

“You’ve driven me to this point,” he whispered harshly as he slowly thrust his cock inside my tender pussy. “You made me crave you in ways I never thought I wanted.”

This was such a bad idea.

And yet, my hips lifted to meet his, and I moaned when he sucked on my nipple. He bit my breast like a beast claiming his mate. Every moan from my lips was a surrender I hadn’t agreed to give. Escape wasn’t an option anymore.

TWENTY-THREE

SANTINO

Delilah was pissed.

She was curled up on the couch, her mouth drawn tight as she stared at the TV. She’d left the bedroom in the middle of the night. I’d followed, keeping my distance. She needed her space.

After last night, she needed to readjust her expectations of this relationship. She hadn’t realized how serious I’d been despite the heavy hints I kept throwing at her. Delilah was a little delusional sometimes. That was alright.

I watched her from the kitchen island as she flicked through the local Italian channels. She settled on a baking show featuring a model-thin brunette who looked like she’d never eaten a cornetto in her life. Did Delilah like pastries? She hadn’t eaten much since she got here. Just some pastina mixed with broth. Withdrawal had hit her hard, and it made me feel like shit for not noticing sooner.

I’d had no idea about her drinking problem. Two months of hanging out, sex, and fun. I thought she could handle her booze. She was good at hiding it, but when I saw her at myapartment…? That’s when it clicked. When I realized this, I researched alcoholism on the internet. It’d been so long since my old man died, and I couldn’t remember much about the disease. All the literature said that withdrawal from alcohol was dangerous. She could’ve died without a medical team closely monitoring her, so I contacted a few uncles who still lived in Italy, and they helped me find doctors. She’d be okay. The worst was over. Maybe the TV show she chose meant her appetite was coming back.

I texted Anna, the housekeeper, to bring fresh pastries in the morning. The leather couch creaked as Delilah turned around, scowling.

“Are you going to stand there and stare?”

I put my phone away. “I’m trying to give you space.”