Shame curled in my gut like venom that burned through my veins. My fingers tightened in his slacks, knuckles white, nails pressing deep enough to leave crescent moons in the fabric.
I could hear my pulse.
“Breathe,” he murmured. “Relax that pretty little throat for me, Dolcezza. It’s going to be a long night.”
He didn’t wait. He never did.
With a slow push, he claimed the rest of me.
And I shattered.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sins and Desires
My jaw ached. My tongue burned. My throat clenched around the sheer impossibility of him. He was too thick, too big, too much for my body to take, and yet—he wasn’t stopping. And he didn’t seem like the type of man to stop either.
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes as I forced myself to breathe, to adjust and survive this moment without breaking. His fingers flexed in my hair, controlling every motion, every breath, every inch I took as he forced his manhood into my mouth. As if he didn’t know or didn’t care if my throat was burning like crazy.
“Come on, Dolcezza.” I hated how his voice was getting raspier and heavier. The sheer lust and desire in his eyes had me pinned in place and kept my head moving back and forth. “You can take it.”
No, I couldn’t. I knew it. He knew it. But that wasn’t the point.
The point was watching me try. Watching me struggle. Watching me mould myself into something he could ruin. Something entirely his.
My throat convulsed as he pressed deeper, the blunt, throbbing heat of him pushing past the tight resistance. My fingers scrambled against his thighs, not to stop him—there was no stopping this—but to anchor myself to something solid so that I wouldn’t end up passing out.
His free hand tilted my chin, forcing me to look up. His stormy gaze burned with possession, with cruelty, with something far more dangerous than lust, and he was still inside my mouth. I bet I looked obscenely lewd in his eyes; that image of me was evident in his eyes. And he loved that more than anything. “There you go,” he praised, dragging his thumb over the corner of my mouth, smearing the moisture that gathered there and pushing the girth of his cock further in. It didn’t make sense how he was still only halfway. “So fucking beautiful when you’re choking on my cock.”
Humiliation licked up my spine, like a slow, searing crawl of fire and shame. I wanted to disappear, to sink into the floor and never return. But he wouldn’t allow that. He demanded presence. He demanded my submission in every way that mattered.
I struggled to take more of him, my throat constricting as my breath stuttered, but he gave no reprieve. Just a slow, steady push that stole the air from my lungs.
“Relax,” he ordered, his grip tightening as he guided my movements again. Slower this time, giving me more time toadjust to his length and controlling the rhythm with devastating care. “You’ll learn. I’ll make you learn.”
I didn’t want to learn. Didn’t want to be moulded into the perfect little pet who knew exactly how to please him. But my body betrayed me, adjusting inch by inch, stretching to accommodate his brutal demands. If I didn’t, he’d probably throw me across the room and force his way in. Like he said, I liked the idea of fake consent rather than being taken by force.
A strangled sound left me as he pressed in further, his fingers flexing, his breath hitching like he could feel every desperate attempt my throat made to reject him.
In and out.
“Good girl,” he murmured, voice husky, edged with dark satisfaction. “You’re already getting better.”
My nails bit into his slacks, my lungs burned, and my dignity lay in pieces at his feet. And yet, there was no escaping the inevitable.
Not when he already owned me. His fingers lightly grazed over the side of my throat, then moved to undo my bun, letting my hair fall all over the sides of my face. I tried my best not to tremble, reminding myself that this would end. The huge thing inside my mouth was far from calming down, and the soreness in my cheeks had started to dull now.
My mind wasn’t mine anymore. My breaths weren’t mine. Shame, rage and fear. I used to think I was strong. That I had a backbone, a voice, a choice. But here, on my knees, with his fingers in my hair and his cock claiming my mouth, I realized the truth—strength meant nothing in the face of absolute power.
This wasn’t just possession. It was obliteration.
To men like him, women weren’t humans. We were objects—bought, used, discarded. A toy to be played with. A doll to be posed. Desire didn’t soften men like him. He was the fire, and I was destined to burn.
“Breathe.” His command came harshly and clearly, laced with lust and something dark. He pulled his manhood out, and I panted, greedily sucking in the air. My chest rose up and down, and I’d lost strength in my body. Through my teary eyes, I dared to look at him and immediately regretted it; he was already staring down at me.
He let out a deep groan, and with an eyebrow arched, he held the back of my neck and forced me to look up at him. My fearful eyes caught the proud satisfaction in his eyes.
His eyes darkened by the second, and he placed his hand on my chin, squeezing tightly. The force exerted was too much, and before I knew it, I was being pushed down on the couch, and he was towering over me.
