Chapter 16: Sated Morning
Alessia woke slowly, cocooned in warmth and the heavy, possessive weight of Toto’s arm draped across her waist. Consciousness returned in layers: first, the solid heat of his body behind hers, then the dull, sweet ache in her muscles. Every part of her hummed with the memory of the night before—the desk, the shower, the laughter. She shifted slightly, a cat-like stretch, and felt it. A warm, thick trickle escaping her, his cum still leaking from her well-used pussy onto the cool sheets beneath her.
A soft sound escaped her, half-shame, half-pride.
Toto stirred. His hand, which had been splayed over her stomach, slid down. He cupped her mound possessively, his broad palm covering her entirely. His fingers pressed gently against her swollen outer lips, and she gasped at the direct contact on her tender flesh.
“Good morning, my filthy girl,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep, his mouth against the back of her neck. He kissed the sensitive skin there. “You’re wet.”
“You left me full,” she whispered, pushing her hips back against him. He was already hard, his erection a thick pressure against the curve of her ass.
He didn’t answer. He rolled her onto her back with effortless strength. The morning light streamed through the windows, merciless and bright, painting his face in stark detail. He looked at her, his gaze traveling from her sleep-tousled hair down to where her legs fell open for him, a silent, eager invitation. He pushed her thighs wider apart, his hands firm on her inner knees.
He lowered his mouth to her cunt without preamble.
The first flat stroke of his tongue made her back arch off the bed. He licked her clean, his tongue broad and demanding, lapping at the mixture of their releases that had seeped out of her all night. The taste was salty, musky, profoundly intimate. He ate her with a focused intensity, his nose buried in her curls, his hands holding her hips down when she tried to squirm away from the overwhelming sensation.
“You taste like you belong to me,” he growled against her clit, the vibration shooting straight to her core.
He sucked the sensitive nub into his mouth, applying just the right amount of pressure, then releasing it to flick it with the very tip of his tongue. He was relentless, reading her body’s twitches and shudders like a map. Pleasure coiled, tight and hot, in her lower belly. Her fingers clawed at the sheets.
“Daddy…” she moaned, the word slipping out like a prayer.
He hummed in approval, the sound sending another jolt through her. He pushed two fingers inside her, crooking them, and sucked her clit hard.
She came with a broken cry, her body seizing, her cunt fluttering wildly around his fingers. He worked her through it, gentling his mouth but not stopping, until the sensations bordered on pain and she was sobbing, pushing weakly at his head.
He crawled up her body, his lips and chin gleaming. He kissed her, letting her taste herself on his tongue. She kissed him back desperately, hungrily. He positioned himself at her entrance, which was slick and loose and throbbing from her orgasm. He slid his still-hard cock into her in one smooth, deep thrust, burying himself to the hilt.
She cried out again, the fullness breathtaking. He was so deep, stretching her so perfectly.
“One more time before breakfast,” he said, his voice tight with control. He began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that had none of last night’s fury. This was languid, almost lazy. Each withdrawal was almost complete, each push back in a deliberate, soul-touching invasion. He watched her face, his eyes dark pools of ownership.
She clung to his shoulders, her legs wrapping around his waist. “You feel… you feel so big,” she panted. “So deep. Daddy, you’re so deep.”
He liked that. A muscle ticked in his jaw. He thrust harder, angling his hips to hit a spot that made her see stars. “This cunt was made for me. Admit it.”
“It was,” she sobbed, meeting his thrusts as best she could. “Only for you. It’s yours, it’s always been yours, I didn’t even know…”
Her second orgasm built slowly, a rising tide rather than a crashing wave. It started where they were joined and spread outwards, warming her limbs, tightening her scalp. She felt his control fraying, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, less measured.
“Come for me, baby,” he grunted, his own breath coming in ragged gasps. “Squeeze my cock. Milk it dry.”
She shattered, a silent, wide-open scream on her lips as her cunt convulsed around him, a series of tight, fluttering clenches. He followed her over the edge, slamming into her one last, brutal time and holding himself deep as he emptied. She felt the hot pulse of his release inside her, another claiming. He collapsed on top of her, his full weight a comfort.
They lay like that for long minutes, joined, breathing in unison. Slowly, he softened and slipped out of her. He rolled onto his side, pulling her with him, tucking her back against his chest. She was boneless, utterly spent. The room smelled of sex and sunlight.
Then, without a word, without being instructed, she turned in his arms. She slid down the bed, the sheets whispering against her skin. She took his softening cock in her hand, brought it to her mouth, and sucked it clean.
She did it slowly, languorously. She used her tongue to lave up every drop of their mixed spend from his sensitive skin. She slurped gently, savoring the taste—his, hers, theirs. It was filthy. It was obscene. It felt, to her, like the purest form of worship. A silent vow. Her dark curls fanned out across his thighs, her eyes closed in concentration.
Toto watched her, his hand coming to rest on her head. His fingers threaded through her hair, not guiding, just holding. A low, appreciative groan rumbled in his chest. “Good girl,” he breathed.
When she was finished, she crawled back up and rested her head on his chest. His heartbeat was a steady drum under her ear.
“What happens today?” she asked quietly, tracing the dusting of hair on his sternum.
“Today,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact, “you have breakfast. Then you have a fitting for the gala tonight. You’ll need a dress.”
She lifted her head. “Gala?”
“The foundation dinner. For the team’s charity wing. It’s a significant event. You’ll be on my arm.”
The reality of the outside world, of his world, crashed in. A public event. People. Cameras. Kimi. The thought of Kimi sent a lance of cold panic through her warmth. “Kimi will be there.”
“He will,” Toto said, his hand still stroking her hair. His tone gave nothing away. “He is a driver for the team. It is unavoidable.”
“What do I… what do I say to him?”
“You smile,” Toto said, his fingers tilting her chin up to look at him. His eyes were calm, unnervingly so. “You are polite. You are the guest of the Team Principal. That is all you need to be. He has no claim here.”
She searched his face. “He’ll know. He’ll look at me and he’ll know.”
“Let him,” Toto said, a sharp edge finally entering his voice. It was the voice of the man who had thrown the phone. “Let him see that you are no longer his quiet little shadow. Let him see that you are cared for. That you are full.” He emphasized the word, and she felt a fresh trickle of his cum between her thighs as if on cue. “That is not his business. You belong to me. That is the only fact that matters.”
He kissed her, hard and brief, then swung his legs out of bed. “Now, breakfast. I have meetings. You will be taken to the stylist at noon.”
He walked, naked and utterly unselfconscious, into the bathroom. The shower started.
Alessia lay in the warm hollow of the bed, her mind racing. The scent of him was all over her, inside her. The soreness was a constant, reassuring reminder. But the thought of Kimi’s blue eyes, confused and hurt, looking at her across a crowded room… it made her stomach clench.
She belonged to Toto. That was the fact. It was a fact written on her body, in her muscles, on her soul. It was a fact she had begged for. She touched her lower belly, wondering if any part of him was still swimming inside her, taking root.
She got out of bed. Her legs were shaky. She walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, naked, and looked down at the Vegas Strip, sleepy and pale in the morning sun. The noise was down there. The world was down there.
Her reflection in the glass was ghostly. A young woman with tangled dark hair, olive skin marked with faint red patches from a man’s stubble, dark eyes that looked older than they had two days ago.
She placed her hand on the cool glass. Then she turned her back on the city and went to find her clothes.