Chapter 114: They Don’t Call It The City Of Love For Nothing (18+)

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[Alex]

The second kiss didn’t stay gentle for long. One moment Lorenzo’s lips were softly pressing against mine, carrying the sweet remnants of gardens and rain, and the next his tongue slid past my lips with purpose, tasting like something darker, something hungrier.

My fingers were already clutching the front of his soaked shirt, the cold fabric heavy in my grip, while his hand slid under the hem of my own wet shirt, spreading across my stomach as if he needed my warmth.

That contrast made me shiver more than the rain ever could.

With cold stone at my back and the rain still dripping from the overhang, his palm moved higher until his thumb grazed my nipple, making me gasp against his mouth, a sound I immediately wished I could take back.

He didn’t give me that chance. His hips rolled forward almost instinctively, the hard outline of his cock pressing into me through layers of wet fabric that failed to hide how much he wanted this.

Oh...oh fuck--!

I could feel every inch of him, thick and insistent, and the friction of our soaked clothes moving against each other sent a jolt right down my spine.

He nosed along my throat next, breathing me in like my scent was the one thing he’d been craving all day, his lips brushing over the fading mark he’d left days ago.

The rain fell relentlessly just outside the alley, with distant city sounds filtering in—voices, footsteps, the occasional car horn...making the tight space feel both hidden and completely exposed.

Anyone could walk by, anyone could look...hell even a kid could walk past and see us making out like thirsty animals!

And somehow, those thoughts just made my heart race even faster.

I broke the kiss first, breathing hard like I’d just sprinted the length of Paris.

My lips felt swollen, my hair was stuck to my forehead, soaking wet, and when I stole a glance toward the entrance of the alley and then back at Lorenzo, the reality of our situation hit me all over again.

"Wait... are we doing this here, Dracula?"

He didn’t step back, of course he didn’t.

Instead, he pressed even closer, one hand firmly on my waist, the other braced against the wall beside my head, effectively trapping me.

The smirk that curved his lips was low and unapologetic, an expression that said he had already decided, and was just waiting for me to catch up.

"Of course." His voice dropped as he leaned in closer, his mouth just beside my ear, warm breath ghosting over my wet skin. "Don’t pretend you wouldn’t love the thrill of getting caught like this, naughty omega."

He rolled his hips once, slow and deliberate, letting me feel just how hard he was. "Although...you are free to tell me to stop and I will. But I don’t think you want me to."

My face felt like it was on fire, so hot I was half convinced the rain should be steaming off my cheeks.

I glanced toward the alley mouth again...still empty, just rain and distant noise, then back at him. The smart move would have been to say stop.

The safe move, the choice that didn’t involve risking public indecency charges right in the middle of Paris, with bodyguards probably losing their minds somewhere out there searching for us.

But instead, the words that came out were sharp and flustered, nowhere near a refusal.

"You’re fucking insane! This is a terrible idea, if anyone sees us...I’m blaming you for the rest of my life."

Lorenzo took that exactly how I expected, he kissed me again, harder this time, already turning me with that same controlled strength that never felt forced, only inevitable.

I let myself be turned, even as I muttered under my breath about how we were both going to end up on the front page of some French tabloid, how Timothy was going to have a mental breakdown, how this was the opposite of subtle.

The cold, damp stone met my palms and then my chest as he pressed me forward with one hand between my shoulder blades.

His other hand was already working my belt open with quick, practiced movements, the metal buckle clinking softly in the stillness of the alley.

My pants and underwear were shoved down just enough for the cool air to hit my bare skin, making me gasp. He only opened his clothes as much as he needed...urgency taking precedence over fully undressing.

So when he stepped in close again, the wet fabric of his coat clung to both of us, water dripping from our hair onto the stone and onto each other’s skin.

Without any buildup, his fingers slid between my ass cheeks, and coating his fingers with the slickness I had made from our kisses from earlier.

It felt warm against the cooler air, and the first press of two fingers made me drop my forehead against my forearm, a muffled sound escaping my lips.

He worked me open for himself carefully but didn’t waste any time, scissoring and pressing deep, the stretch both hurting and feeling just right, threatening to make my knees buckle.

A third finger joined soon after, and the wet sounds mingled with the steady rush of rain just a few feet away.

Every time I tried to stay quiet, another small, desperate noise slipped out.

"Breathe," he murmured against the back of my neck, his voice low, filthy, yet somehow soft underneath. "That’s it. My beautiful, perfect husband. Look at how wet you already are for me, even out here."

His fingers curled just right, making my hips jerk back into the touch before I could even think to stop them. "Don’t you see how filthy you are? How much your body craves this, even if your mouth is trying to argue?"

I shifted for better balance, fingers scrambling against the cold stone for grip, and the only response I could manage was a strangled "Fuck...Lorenzo—" that didn’t sound as protesting as I wanted it to.

He kept working me open, patient and relentless, until three fingers felt almost easy and the need for more became a living thing under my skin.

Distant voices drifted closer for a second...with someone laughing, footsteps on wet pavement, making both of us tense, his fingers still deep inside me while my heart raced against the stone.

Oh shit! We’re gonna get caught like this, how scandalous! All because of my angelic psycho husband!

The voices passed without slowing. He exhaled against my neck and continued moving his hand like nothing had happened, but that near-miss made everything sharper, hotter, impossible to ignore.

When he finally withdrew his fingers, the sudden emptiness made me whimper, the sound embarrassingly loud in the close space.

I felt him lining up behind me, the broad head of his cock pressing against my entrance, slick, heavy and hot against my cold, rain-soaked skin.

He pushed in with one slow, controlled thrust that stole every coherent thought I had.

The stretch was immediate and overwhelming, filling me completely while the rest of me remained cold and wet, creating a contrast that blurred my vision.

My body instinctively tightened around him, trying to adjust to the thick length sinking deeper until he bottomed out with a low, rough sound of his own.

He held still for a long moment, chest pressed to my back, one hand gripping my hip hard enough that I knew there would be bruises later, the other still braced near my head.

He nosed the back of my neck, breathing me in again like I was a drug he was addicted to, and the possessive murmur that followed was barely loud enough to hear over the rain.

"I’m going to take you right here, tesoro. Where anyone could see what I’m doing to my beautiful omega."

I was still trying to wrap my head around the full, aching stretch of him when he pulled back almost all the way and thrust back in.

"Oh...fuck!" I gasped. "Argh~ so deep..."

The pace began controlled but quickly turned deep, every stroke dragging against that spot inside me that made my toes curl against the wet pavement.

The wet sounds mixed with the rain...obscene and unmistakable and a broken noise escaped my throat, immediately muffled when his hand slid up to cover my mouth lightly, not silencing me completely, just reminding me that we weren’t alone in the city.

His other hand gripped my thigh and pulled it wider, opening me up further for the next thrust, then slid under my wet shirt to pinch a nipple hard enough that I pushed back into him despite the sarcastic protests still forming in my mind.

"Quiet, tesoro," he murmured into my ear, his voice rough with barely contained control. "Unless you want someone to hear what I’m doing to you."

"Fuck...you’re actually...crazy—ah!" The words came out muffled against his palm, half accusation, half desperate acknowledgment as he established a steady rhythm against the wall.

Every deep thrust targeted that sweet spot with ruthless precision, the kind of focused, rolling pressure that made my thoughts scatter, morphing around the single overwhelming truth of how incredible it felt.

I was losing it, the cold stone under my palms, the rain still pouring just beyond us, the distant likelihood of footsteps or voices or Timothy finally finding us.

All of it only heightened the heat where our bodies met and I pushed back into every powerful thrust without meaning to, chasing the stretch and the friction, how he filled me so completely that there was no room left for shame or old rules.

His forehead dropped to my shoulder for just a second of sheer intensity, breath hot against my wet skin, and his next stroke was harder, deeper, angled just right to nearly make my knees collapse.

"You...feel go good, my love." he whispered into my skin. "So tight, wet and warm...just for me."

He kept moving, steady and relentless, one hand still covering my mouth while the other held my hip in place so I couldn’t do anything but take it.

Every time a distant sound made us both tense, he didn’t stop, he pressed closer, thrust deeper, reminding me with his body that I could’ve said no but hadn’t.

The risk hung heavy and electric between us, turning every sensation sharper until I couldn’t tell where the cold ended and the heat began.

I was completely open for him against the wall, pants down, shirt clinging transparently to my chest, and all that mattered was the thick, perfect thrusts of him inside me and the quiet, ravenous way he kept claiming every inch, as if we had all the time in the world and none of it at the same time.