“My apologies, sir.”
His dark hair falls across his brow when he tilts his head. “Your skin turns pink quite easily. Do you bruise quickly as well?”
“No, sir.”
“We’ll see.” He circles me with the belt in hand, finally breaking our connection so I can drop my gaze. Starting just below my backside and dragging it down, he runs the leather strap along the seam of my thighs. “Spread your legs.”
I obey and nearly jump when he gathers my hair and tosses it over my shoulder to undo the clasps of my bra. Then he brings his arm around me to trace a finger along the lacy fringe covering my breasts. The bra isn’t heavily padded and offers no protection from his thumb as he glides it across my nipple. The heat of his body pours onto mine, and his breaths skim the shell of my ear, making me stiffen. His erection sits in the groove of my ass, and when he plucks the bra away from my chest, his cock grinds into me.
“Remove it completely,” he says.
Am I imagining the way his voice has become thick or the way his breaths are slightly uneven? His composure is slipping, and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.
The only problem is my composure is slipping also.
I know I don’t have much to fortify me, but I gather the remaining fragments of my resolve and use them to create a mental wall. It holds steady while he fondles me and runs his fingers along my cleavage. Despite the goose bumps breaking out all over me, I believe I can maintain this barrier and protect myself from him.
Until he grabs me between the legs, cupping my sex, and hauls me back to slam against his torso. Skin to skin is intimate, and I’m simultaneously puzzled and frightened by it.
I hate that I crave his touch as much as I condemn it.
“What am I to do with this cunt of yours, hmm?” he murmurs in my ear, his voice a seduction all on its own.
Does he expect an answer? My mind is firing off warnings, making it hard for me to summon a coherent thought, but I don’t want to feel the pain of his belt, so I blurt out the first thing I think of.
“You’re going to do whatever you want, so I assume you don’t care to hear the truth from me. In fact, if I were to give you a suggestion, it could result in the opposite outcome I hope for. Have sex with me or leave me be, but whatever you choose, it won’t be because I encouraged you. This choice, as well as its consequences, is yours.” I inhale sharply at having forgotten to address him and quickly add, “Sir.”
The muscles of his torso twitch as though he’s suppressing laughter. Or anger. I squeeze my eyes shut, since he’s behind me and can’t see. Then I prepare for his reaction, unsure of what’s to come.
“Donnaccia, that is not what I expected. But I’m finding that to be true about you, more often than not.”
He runs his thumb over my clit, outside my panties, and I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and bite down to stifle the sounds that almost tumble from my mouth—the ones that would give him the satisfaction he’s wanting. My lip is already sore from what I did to it earlier, but considering the way Maximus touches me, it won’t be long until I give in to whatever response he’s searching for.
I’m not sure whether to be relieved or surprised when he withdraws his hand. Perhaps both. This entire situation is not something I can wrap my mind around. Maximus scares me just as much as he excites me, and I may not be insane in the sense I can’t function, but I think I am crazy for vacillating between wanting him to touch me and being repelled by it.
I developed an aversion to human contact, yet my husband has forced it on me to the point I’ve learned to cope. And it was a complete submersion because Maximus has touched me nonstop since I first saw him in my room.
The soft leather now hovering just above me snags my gaze, and I follow it as Maximus lowers and secures the belt around my neck. “This will keep you in place when you struggle,” he says. With a sharp tug on the strap, it tightens, encircling my throat like a collar. Then he brings my back flush to his chest and slides his free hand into my panties.
“You’re fucking wet,” he rasps, circling my entrance. He thrusts a finger inside me, then curves it, massaging the walls of my sex. The leather bites into my neck when I jolt forward, and he clicks his tongue at me. “I knew you’d try to run, but you’ll never get free.”
His words settle over me, and combined with the gruffness of his tone, they make me writhe in his hold. My muscles clench around his finger, and pleasure shoots through me, increasing with him touching my clit. The moan I’ve kept hidden this whole time slips past my lips, and Maximus pulls on the belt until the back of my head rests on his shoulder. He places his mouth just beside my ear, and I stare up at the ceiling, unseeing, lost in sensation.
“I won’t let you go until you ask me to come,donnaccia. However long it takes, whatever pain is necessary, you will suffer, and then you will be on your knees, using those lips to fucking beg me.”
A whimper that is partially fear and arousal escapes me. Everything is too much. In the car, Maximus touched me, but it wasn’t with the entire length of his body pressed to mine. It wasn’t with his cock rubbing against me, dredging up fantasies to entice me into imagining what it’d be like to have him inside me. This experience is more heightened than the previous, and I’m worried I’ll lose myself in his embrace to the point I do beg him.
I can’t keep my body from him, but my will is mine.
It’s just never waged war with someone whose very presence ignites me.
He flicks his tongue in my ear right before his warm, unsteady breaths skim it. “How many fingers can you take in this tight cunt of yours? Two?” He inserts another finger inside me, and my hips lurch from the feeling of fullness. “What about three?” This time there is discomfort, but it’s quickly replaced with something I can’t describe. My sex fists him, and tremors wrack my body, snaking along its entirety as my ecstasy grows.
“Ask me,” he growls, his nose and mouth brushing my temple. “I know you’re fucking close.”
I dig my nails into my thighs, and it’s enough to keep me from turning my head to give voice to my plea. He didn’t win when he touched me before, and he won’t now. But the strain has my breaths uneven and thin, along with my heart thrumming so loudly in my chest I fear it will explode. Logic says it won’t, but logic is nowhere to be found. Only pleasure is here, and it demands to be had. And fed.
He withdraws his fingers from me, and I sag in his embrace, uncaring of the belt digging into my throat with my every swallow. I close my eyes, unable to do anything else, and wait for the next round of exquisite torture. He said he wouldn’t give up, so I know not to expect something different.
