Venice Vampyr - The Beginning

“I see you agree,” he commented and brought his attention back to Isabella, who’d followed his glance. Her mouth dropped open.

“Yes, he’s stroking himself, wishing it was your hot cunt he’s pumping into. Does that excite you?” He delivered a hard thrust, and she snapped her gaze back to him, dropping her lids as if in shame. With another thrust, he jolted her. “Oh, no, you won’t turn away. I want you to watch him watch you as I fuck you.” Her eyes went wide behind her mask. He knew she wanted to watch, but was too ashamed to admit it.

He pinched her nipples hard until she cried out, her lips quivering, her breath at a fever pitch. “Now watch him. But remember, it is my cock that’s inside you. My cock that fills you.”

He wanted to possess her, every cell of her. And he wanted the whole world to know she was his, his to drive to ecstasy, his to pleasure. His body set his rhythm now, plunging deep and hard into her with long strokes.

He noticed her pull her lips between her teeth as she watched the other man stroke his own cock. Raphael heard the grunts the man let out, but he only saw her, his beautiful angel, ecstasy written all over her body. He released one of her tits and dropped his hand to her pearl. She snapped her head back to him as he rubbed his thumb over it. A moment later, she cried out, and her muscles clamped around his cock, igniting his own climax.

His seed shot from his balls through the length of his cock and exploded from its tip, pumping into her channel, flooding her with it. But he barely noticed any of it as his entire body was gripped by his orgasm, shaking him to the core. Nothing had ever felt as raw and earth shattering as the consummation of his marriage.





Chapter Twelve




Raphael kicked the door to his home shut with his foot even as he cradled the sleeping Isabella in his arms. He’d removed their masks and tossed them shortly before they’d reached his house. He carried her into the parlor and laid her onto the large sofa.

“You brought dinner. I guess that’s the least you could do after making me worry about you,” his brother’s voice droned from the corner, where he sat in his favorite wingback chair.

“Dante, I was hoping you’d be home. We need to talk.”

His brother rose from his chair, his long legs eating up the distance between them without effort. “Yes, that we do. But after dinner.” He glanced down at Isabella. “Have you tasted her yet? She looks positively delicious.” Dante licked his lips.

Raphael blocked his brother from approaching her. He would have liked to give Dante the news in a less abrupt way, but the cad didn’t leave him any choice. “She’s my wife. And you’ll do well keeping your hands and fangs to yourself. As well as your dick.”

“Your wife?” Dante’s voice filled the entire room. His doubtful look would have been amusing if Raphael didn’t have other things on his mind—like her family connections.

“You got married?”

He couldn’t miss the accusatory tone in Dante’s voice. “That’s my own business.”

“Not when it affects us both. She’s human.” His brother squared his shoulders, but Raphael wasn’t intimidated. When he ran his hands through his thick, black hair, Raphael knew that Dante wasn’t planning on a fight. “Why in hell would you do such a thing?”

“She saved me.”

“What?”

“She saved me from drowning. Pulled me out of the canal when I’d already slipped under. She risked her own life.” There was a certain pride with which he said it. His wife was a brave woman.

Dante took a step back in shock. “You nearly drowned? What happened?”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I felt a hand on my back and fell into the canal. But there were lots of drunken revelers around, a rowdy crowd. It could have been an accident.”

His brother raised an eyebrow. “What if it wasn’t?”

“Then you and our friends will help me find out who’s behind it.”

“I could venture a guess.” Dante gave him a pointed look, and Raphael knew immediately that he was thinking about the Guardians of the Holy Waters. A moment later, Dante glanced at Isabella still lying motionless on the sofa. “By the way, what’s wrong with her? What did you do, drug her?”

Raphael grinned. “Multiple orgasms.”

The laugh that followed echoed in the entire mansion. “You scoundrel!”

“Not likely—what I did was entirely proper. After all, she is my very respectable wife.” Respectable—yet with a lusty streak he didn’t mind a bit. “Now, let’s let her sleep. She’s exhausted.” He pulled his brother away toward the sitting area in front of the fireplace.

“Yes, and sore, I’d imagine. She looks petite.”