RIPPED: A Dark Romance (Killer Lips Book 1) (5 page)

“Do you like our playroom?” he asks, turning away from me to gaze at the screen. I open my mouth but no words will come out.

He turns back to me and crushes me to him with one tug of his iron force. I'm so wet my underwear is bunching damp between my thighs.

“I want you naked,” he growls as he mounds my breast in his fist, tugging the ravaged nipple through the fabric. His massive rod is pressed like iron into my pelvis. I'm mindless with the right and wrong of it. How much I want him to rip my clothes to shreds and force his way into my deepest inner cavern.

“Do you want to be naked for me, Rye?” He tears open the top of my silk shirt and pulls my globe of flesh from the lace cup.

“You do. I can tell.”

He rolls the engorged pellet in his brutal fingertips as he asks me again.

“Beg me, Rye. Beg me to fuck you right now.”

With beyond possible effort, I push past him and blunder from the tight airless room.

Chapter EIGHT

At dinner, Josh says nothing about our interlude and I'm sure he hasn't mentioned it to his father. It doesn't alleviate the guilt I feel at what we did. I don't know why it felt wrong, as though I was betraying Mark, which is completely ridiculous. Perhaps it's how much I wanted Josh to continue, to make my decision for me so I could not resist.

He knew. He said he could tell and he was right. I wanted him beyond all conscious thought. Just to tear my underwear to one side, rip his zipper down and shove his huge throbbing dick all the way into me. I'm boiling even now with the imagined memory.

Perhaps it's that good girls don't covet two men at once. Especially not when they're from the same family. I look back and forth between the two gorgeous hunks and can barely believe my good fortune. I feel like a movie star. People in the restaurant are looking at the three of us like we must be somebodies.

This is getting crazy, though. It's simply not possible that both these men find me attractive when they could have anyone. My mind is a fog and it doesn't help that I'm spending so much time in bed, sleeping like a princess out of a fairy tale. It's becoming impossible to make a decision, or take action.

I'm mindless with the hedonism of the situation. The crazy part is me being lost in overwhelming attraction to both men – me who can barely let one man get close. Maybe it's time for me to leave because two men can only mean one thing - twice the pain.

“I get so repressed in that
pallaz
, all that old furniture and ghosts of centuries past,” Josh barks, unaware of the women all around staring at him.

I steal a glance at his father, debonair in a tight cut dark suit. His biceps visibly curling against the wool. A wide bow tie hanging trendily loose around his neck.

He's unfazed by Josh's rudeness and meets my gaze with a small smile. Through the rest of the meal I find my eyes irresistibly drawn back to Mark and every time discover he's watching me. The smile he gives me is small, like our secret.

Josh also has a secret and passes the meal with long meaningful gazes at me when he drops snippets into the conversation and mentions hunger and kisses. After dinner Josh wants to party.

“You know I don't club anymore,” Mark says. “I'll see you tomorrow, when you roll out of bed.”

“What about you Rye?” Josh grounds his gaze into me, willing me to go with him.

“Riley's coming with me,” Mark states.

There follows a war of eyes that must be about the power battle between them more than the desire for my company. Except they both insist they want me with them and it makes me feel more desirable than I could possibly imagine.

“Okay, Mom,” Josh teases when I say I'm tired and going home with his father. Does he forget how he tried to fuck this momma just a while ago?

“He's like that every weekend,” Mark tells me as we walk the empty paved fondamenta back to the Palace. “Needs to go out and set loose a bunch of tension.”

“We were all that way at twenty.”

“You’re still in your twenties. Would you prefer to go clubbing?” he asks, searching my face for the truth as we reach the top of the step bridge beneath the old streetlamp.

“No.” I reply and I mean it. “I'd rather be- with you.”

In that instant I'm surrounded by his powerful arms scooping me into his broad shield of chest. I tip my face up and receive his lips as they connect to mine with an electric force. My mouth opens to take more of him, his tongue ravages deep into me, entwining and twirling expertly around mine.

I'm completely lost inside his kiss. Beneath distant sounds of lapping water and the clink of the gondolas moored against each other under the bridge.

I tip my head further back so my breasts mash against his chest. The pressure between us sending tingles all the way back down through me. The streets are so empty he could take me right here, with the black water sparking when a ripple meets a streetlight.

He pulls away and our eyes lock, searching. Is there hope buried in there? But he can't hold back and his mouth comes down over mine again for a deeper exploration of our connection.

We stand on top of the bridge in the soft pool of golden light, reaching into the other. Making our desire crystal clear as the length of our bodies press tight together. I feel his bulge growing against my lower stomach and the gathering damp between my thighs. It's been too long since I felt this extreme of intense need. Or not long enough.

Eventually, our mouths let go. He presses his lips to mine one last time. One more. And another. Then he takes my hand and leads me down the steps but instead of continuing along the cobbled street, he turns to the quay and whistles.

“I'm not waiting one more fucking night,” he growls as the sleek black boat slithers through the water toward us like an adder.

“Isn't this a funeral gondola?” I hold back from clambering down the slippery wet stone into the gondolier.

Mark has his hand extended from inside the boat, offering to steady me but I remain dumbly standing on the quayside. It's not a normal gondola. The tar black box cabin mounted in the center reminds me of a coffin.

“No, it's called a
felze
. All the high society people used to use them for their illicit assignations,” he replies, extending his large hand with an undeniable command.

“Get in,” he orders. “I told you, I don't intend to wait any longer.”

I make the semi-leap down into the boat and grab his powerful grasp just in time. The boat sways on the high water as Mark pulls me close into him. I'm crushed into his chest and the memory of that other night with the man who pulled me back from tumbling into the icy water looms vivid.

I shiver with the image of falling into the icy dark water as Mark pushes me toward the box. Every nerve is screeching against being locked inside the black carved casket and Mark has to tug me down through the low door.

I distinguish myself with an ungainly tumble through the low doors of the sinister cabin. The warmth hits me first. The small heater in the corner makes a significant dent in the Siberian chill.

“You can look now,” Mark says and I realize my eyes are screwed up tight like I'm watching a horror movie when the killer appears out of the shadows. The thought of four black walls closing me in is making me quiver all over despite the cozy heat.

He's stretched out on his back with his hands behind his head and grinning at me like the silly girl I am.

“Okay stop laughing now. I know I’m an idiot.” The box room of the cabin is like a tardis or a Mary Poppins bag. It appears much larger in than out and is as sumptuously decorated as a mini dollhouse palace.

Soft light emanates from crystal sconces in the walls. The heavy silk curtains over the large picture windows are open for a cinematic view of the passing palaces. Mark is laid out on a pile of red and gold brocade pillows and thick furs that create a luxurious mattress.

“You look like a sheik waiting for his harem.”

“Then get on your knees slave-girl.”

With a flex of his abs he sits up and grabs me by my arms. Lifting me as though I'm weightless, not a sensation I'm accustomed to, he pulls me down on top of him. 

The gondolier pushes off and with only a few punts of the oar, we move languidly along the narrow canal. I release Mark's pants and wrap my fingers around the solid rod of iron to gently tug it from its moorings. And it stands hard at my mouth, as fantastic impressive as I knew it would be.

Without a thought I take the entire length into my taut lips and right into the back of my throat. I suck the delicious velvet skin until Mark daggers his fingers into my hair to pull my face close into his musky warmth.

  Applying soft suction with my tongue and palate I saw along his blade, swirling the head with my tip until he shudders in my mouth. Never has a man tasted so divine and as soon as he finishes I want him to fuck my face all over.

I'm nestled on top of Mark's massive chest, secured in his solid embrace. He leans down to kiss me again and his hand cups my breast, squeezing gently and toying with my hard peak. When I open my eyes from the rapture of his kiss, we have turned out of the thin waterway and into the mega wide Grand Canal, bobbing smoothly along on the tidal flow.

Momentarily terrified at the expanse of water and how we're barely floating above it in the low narrow boat, I clutch Mark, relishing the strong flex of his bicep in response. The fear evaporates. I know he'll take care of me if anything should happen.

I lie on top of him safe in his arms, swaying gently on the indolent toss of the water, as the Renaissance world floats by.

“What's so amusing?” Mark whispers into my hair, feeling me laugh against his taut rolling body.

“I can't believe this. People pay for the chicanery of this in a hotel back home and here, it's not only real but I'm wrapped in your arms.”

The perfect hold of the most amazing man. Every fantasy I've ever had.

“You're so beautiful. I knew it the moment I saw you on the quay,” he murmurs.

“That night I was half drowned in terror? I say.

Still the mistrust hasn't quite left, the momentary fear that he'd confused me with some other women tourist.

“My excuse to come to your rescue. You were, are, so beautiful and not just to look at.”

He wraps a tendril of hair at my cheek around his finger so tenderly I feel a tear prickling at the back of my eyelid.

“So warm and so vulnerable. The barrier you have up to protect yourself makes me want to hold you and keep anyone from ever hurting you again.”

He kisses me again and I lie in his arms as we float up the Grand canal until finally the Rialto Bridge is right up ahead. All those barriers are melting away into the water around me. The Gondolier pulls up at the pontoon floating outside Mark's palace.

Pinch me, pinch me because I'm positive this has to be a dream. No, second thoughts, leave me sleeping, I don't ever want to wake.

Mark hands me up out of the low boat and holds me locked close to him while he pays. Then the gondolier pushes off back upstream, wailing a tortured Italian aria of lost love and we burst out laughing in unison.

We should move inside the palace but instead remain fixed solid on the bobbing dock, the water thrashing directly beneath our feet. Our eyes are melded together and the pressure rises between us as though it's being forced up from the gashing tide.

My pulse is beating inside my ears so hard I can't draw a single breath of stinging cold air. Mark is so close my body shimmers from the electricity coming off him. He leans forward, his head tipping down to come closer.

Chapter NINE

I let him take my mouth, rapturous at how he plunders me with his tongue. His fingers dagger through my hair above my ear, scraping it back and taking my head to one side with his heavy palm.

At the same time his mouth moves to trail a line of kisses from the lobe to my clavicle and I gasp with the shivers coursing down every limb. I don't care how bitterly cold it is, my body glows with internal warmth.

I have never in my life wanted to feel a man inside me so urgently. A deep moan escapes my empty mouth when his hand returns to my breast, squeezing it a little harder now with the same need I'm harboring.

“Let's go inside,” he whispers. “I'm taking you to bed.”

“No dungeon in this castle?” I joke. Then I recall the very full-on dungeon in the
portigo
. How could I have forgotten already?

“Next time,” he says, almost serious. “Tonight I want to be sweet.”

He undresses me very slowly, savoring every newly exposed pore. He trails his fingers along my skin, then kisses and suckles a path as though to discover every nuance of my body. I have never felt so known and he hasn't even uncovered the intimate areas that are screeching with hunger for his touch.

When he slides the strap over the curve of my shoulder, I have a moment of deja vu from the dream and color slightly, remembering the salacious way I'd opened my legs for him.

“I dream of this,” he murmurs, his voice a timbre of rusty nails.

Could his dream possibly be as lewd as mine? His desire as rabid?

As though reading my mind, he yanks the strap down the final few inches and pulls my breast from its lace cup. His firm fingers cup the underside and push the mound up to his mouth. His passion kicks in as he suckles the point hard into his mouth, lapping across the peak with the flat width of his hot tongue.

I moan out loud as he continues to lave my nipple while reaching into the other cup and freeing my swollen globe. With both breasts in his heavy grasp, he mounds them together while his mouth switches from one tip to the other, keeping them both equally inflamed with his tantalizing tongue.

When I reach my hands up to the side of his neck to tease my fingers through his hair, he becomes a wild man, throwing me back onto the huge bed and hauling the black wool Prada pants down my legs.

He pauses a moment to observe me splayed on the gold silk with my naked breasts pulled free of my bra. Wearing the only pair of ridiculously expensive black lace panties I own and never thought I'd get to wear at such a perfectly appropriate moment.

Again I raise my hands to reach for him. To trace a fingertip along the ridge of muscle exposed as he pulls open the buttons of his shirt. But he grabs my wrists, yanking my hands away from his bare chest and pulls one hand to the post at the foot of the bed.

He drags the loose tie from around his neck and binds my arm firm to the pilaster. With one hand he unloops the black studded belt from his jeans and straps my other wrist. Then he falls to his knees between my legs and tugs my ass down the bed toward him.

Kneeling at the bedside with my stretched vulva inches from his face, inhaling the aroma of my desire for him.

“You smell like heaven, baby,” he growls. “Let me taste your sweetness.”

He grazes his fingers across my pussy and the light scrape of the lace against my sodden slit makes me shudder. I flinch slightly when he buries his face between my legs, biting the expanse of my sex through the lacy fabric. What does he think of how dripping wet I am?

The momentary insecurity is instantly lost in overwhelming bliss as his fingers slip beneath the sodden fabric. He drags it back to nibble my hard clit and grind his chin into my spread pussy as his fingers swirl around the juices at my entrance.

His restraint won't hold and much as he wants to tease me and make me whimper for him, his urge to plunder my deep channel wins through. He pushes his fingers inside me. I let out a little scream as he stretches me open into unbelievable uplift of joy.

His fingers corkscrew into me, over and over, pummeling my tunnel while he lightly bites and nips the hard bud of my clit. Already the twangs of explosion gather in my pussy lips and he maneuvers my body expertly and easily over the edge into spasms of searing bliss.

I'm still panting and gasping when he undoes the belt shackling one wrist. I tenderly reach for his cheek but he twizzles me beneath the tie onto my stomach.

“Get on your knees,” he orders and I immediately do so, thrilling with anticipation as he ties the belt tighter, both my arms spread wide at my sides.

He tears my underwear down my thighs to my knees and with both palms covering my ass cheeks, spreads me apart while his tongue licks the length of my slit. A series of convulsions powers through me like mini aftershocks of delight.

He's nowhere near done playing his virtuoso concerto on my body. When he finishes stroking his tongue up and down the entire length of the crevasse between my legs, I'm shivering, awestruck.

No one has ever licked me across both holes with such gusto. No man has ever swirled his tongue around my tight rear hole like that, making me quiver with forbidden euphoria. I am almost delirious with rapture.

When Mark has raised me back to the point of detonation, he pulls the trashed sodden underwear off my legs and spreads my legs wide. My face buried in the silk pillows he'd pulled down the bed for me, my breasts caressing the silk coverlet making my nipples peak. My ass stretches high in the air on the edge, with my sex spread wide open to his gaze.

My hands are firmly tethered and I'm under his complete control. I howl into the pillow with utter abandon as his cock shoves hard into my pussy. Filling me to the absolute max, he stretches my hungry tunnel open.

It's almost the first time all over again. It's been so long my walls have contracted from lack of plundering. His fingers reach around my hipbones and drag me back toward him. He strokes back and forth, harder and faster make me shudder with waves of bliss.

I sense the immense power in his arms as he raises me up from the bed. The tethers at the bed posts rise up the post so my arms spread open. I'm impaled onto his shaft, my arms spread wide in their bindings like a crucifixion. Mark grips me firm and molds my engorged tits in his heavy grasp.

He grinds his wide blade deeper into me as far as he can enter and then a tiny bit more. I've never taken a cock so deep inside me. It feels amazing to open up so wide and deep and be so ridiculously full.

He massages my breasts hard, with both hands pressing the length of my spine back into his solid chest, my head against his face so we're pressed into each other skin to skin from tip to almost toe.

  I want, need, to feel him on every part of me at the same time. I need to binge on his body, feel him in every one of my senses, every pore cell and nerve ending. I would never get enough of the being that is Mark Cappelo.

He is mine. All mine.

I gasp and wail out loud as he clamps me to him. His forearm strapped across one breast while he mangles the other. With his free hand he unclips the manacles and carries me across the room, still impaled on him, sailing ahead of his powerful thrust.

He covers the width of the palatial bedroom at speed and when we reach the window I stretch my arms out to halt us as we slam into the glass door. I am pressed into the pane by the power of his body inside me and he trails across the curve of my stomach and slips between my folds, spread open to the audience beyond.

It's enthralling being splayed against the glass like I'm onscreen to the outside world.  Anyone sailing past on the canal would have quite a shock looking up at the ancient windows and seeing a live camera.

Mark finds my hard protruding nub and pinches it. He rubs circles around in my juices making me swell toward climax again. Once he has me where he wants me, poised on the edge, his thighs grip firm and with a groan his perfect orchestration brings us to orgasm at the same time.

He pumps waves of his pleasure into me, ramming me against the glass screen as my walls tug around his shaft, milking him to stay buried in my deepest chasm.

“You can't leave now,” he growls so softly it's like he's talking to himself and leaves me pressed against the window on view. Like he's showing me to the entire city.

It's all I can do not to say that I don't want to leave. Ever. Because maybe he doesn't mean it as anything more than a climactic gush of emotion.

“You are so beautiful, my angel,” he murmurs into my neck, holding me squashed between the icy glass and the hard rock curve of his body.

“And you're mine.” How easy would it have been for the old masters to be rid of unwanted mistresses by flipping the glass door open and dropping them off their dicks straight into the canal.

Mark senses my trepidation and laughs as he bears me easily back to the luxurious bed. “You felt amazing,” he says, pulling me close to his warm power. “You
are
amazing. Did you mind me tying you up?”

Did I?

I'd never been restrained in quite this manner. Certainly not in the grandness of these surroundings. One quick bang while wearing a tacky pair of handcuffs from a Vegas souvenir store was not bondage for me any longer and never would be again.

I hated it that one time. Not the shackling but the man in charge. Dwayne wasn't dominant, sexy or commanding. He was a paunchy drunk guy trying too hard. My ex needed to feel in control of me and I let him. Thinking it would make him love me. All it did was allowed him to despise me more.

But with Mark, I'm not a pathetic lame pony. I'm a proud wild stallion surrendering to his power. His silent strength is like being up close with an Emperor, or having a Hollywood star in the room.

You don't see men with real power tossing slick lines and snappy dialogue to seduce a girl. They draw you in to them without a word. Mark is a shimmering rock of potency. All knowing without the smirking seduction of less confident men.

When he takes me like that, his domination of me transforms us into equal sensual powerhouses. He has no need of kinky trips to make sex awesome. Every move of his raised me higher. Bringing me to the edge until I couldn't stop from tipping over into an explosive release.

I'm slightly embarrassed by how much of my body he'd examined and probed with his tongue. He'd invaded every secret cavern while I'd barely got the chance to glance my fingers across his neck before he restrained me.

“It was enthralling,” I say, loving the fact that I can tell him exactly what I'm feeling without the fear of him going all psycho as Dwayne used to, seeing a slight to his persona in everything I said.

“But I don't know how much of that was the bondage and how much was, you know -you. You're kinda good at this.”

Ugh that sounded so goofy. But he pulls me tighter into his arms with a gentle squeeze and I feel his heart beating into my back.

“It's only because you inspired me to greater heights. Your body is amazing. So responsive. So willing to receive pleasure.”

I know that isn't true, I mean I've hardly got a body off the cover of Sports Illustrated. But he seems to genuinely enjoy it and that's what matters to me now. He strokes across the curve of my shoulder and down my upper arm while clasping tight around beneath my breasts. My flesh spills over his corded muscle.

“Your skin is so unbelievably soft. And your breasts are incredible. I could kiss and toy with them non-stop they're so astounding.”

For the first time ever I'm not concerned that he means fleshy. I am a goddess woman.

Amazing. Full. Complete.

The memory that I have to leave my ideal man in a day or so fills me with sadness.

“What happened?” he says, his voice full of concern. “I felt you go slack in my arms.”

What can I say?

I don't want to leave.

That's too ridiculous. I have to go home to the States and rebuild a life. Not become infatuated with a dream and a holiday lover.

“No, if anything I'm
too
happy,” I say.

How is it possible to be so ecstatic content and so miserable at the same time?

Of course there's no way to tell him I'm unhappy about leaving him. He'd take off for the mainland in his fastest speedboat with the discovery that he has a woman that clingy in his arms. Maybe I should never have wished for a Venice romance. Holiday flings are a ton of fun until its time to say goodbye.