“Are you ready, sweetheart?”
Her hand grabs around my throat, and those nails dig in, creating a hum through my body. “Stop talking.”
“Just make sure you squeeze harder,” I tell her as I stuff her cunt with my cock, stretching out her leg over my shoulder.
Her eyes roll into the back of her head as she moans, her grip on my throat tightening just as I requested. Fuck me, she’s tight, wet, and so ready for me.
Her other hand works on her clit, circling as she rides her own high, and I begin to pound into her. The hand around my throat tightens further, and I relish in the pinpricks of her nails, excited by the idea that they might draw blood.
I lean into her, avoiding her lips as I bite down on her throat, and she groans. I jerk into her, pounding her into oblivion as I lose myself in her, like the very first time we met. Except this time, I have a name for the ravenous little whore.
She groans, her hips arching into me, legs bending farther as I hook the other one over my shoulder, forcing her to cling to the chair for dear life with one hand and my throat with the other as I thrust into her.
She cries out when I twist one of her pierced tits, and her nails dig deeper into my throat, the other hand grabbing my shoulder and then clawing down and into my pec, as if that might give her better traction.
Her nails scratch down my chest as she pants and screams. Fuck, this woman does something to me. No other woman has challenged me head-on like this, treating me like I’m the one being used, and I fucking love it.
Her body begins to shake, and she bucks beneath me, cursing. Her pussy tightens around me, and I slow down, letting her ride her bliss, before slamming into her again.
“Oh fuck.” Her large, brown eyes stare at my pierced cock as it pounds into her, her legs still shaking around my shoulders.
She squirts around my cock, a beautiful fucking mess that only encourages me. Her hand loosens around my throat, so I take that as my cue to lift her and flip us so I’m beneath her. I impale her back onto my cock, and she jerks while readjusting to the intrusion. She doesn't move her hips otherwise. Instead, her nails drag down my chest, and I enjoy the painful red marks she leaves.
“You like pain,” she notes, curiously and slowly.
I lick my lips. “Yes.”
“That’s cute,” she says as she climbs off me. “But I’ve already gotten off now. Thanks, roommate.”
I snatch her hand before she’s out of reach. “What do you think you’re doing,Cattivella?”
She shoots me a wicked smile. “Going to bed now that I’ve gotten what I wanted. Thanks for your enthusiasm.” She glances at my straining cock. “You can deal with that yourself, can’t you?”
She slips out of my grip, her ass swaying from side to side as she walks down the hall. I sit back, stunned. Frustrated. And excited.
I’ve never had a woman deny me.Ever.
The cruelty in it does something to me; it leaves me hanging on for more—excited to fuck her all over again. I almost want to beg her to finish me off, but now that I’m living with her, I’m sure I’ll have another chance.
I look at my hard, angry, unsatisfied cock. I could get myself off. But, like the masochist I am, I deny myself. Promising myself that the next time I fuck her into oblivion, I’ll stuff her cunt with my cum. She's a blank canvas I want to ruin, already a perfect fucking mess, and only one more fracture away from breaking into a million pieces.
And I can’t wait to be the sledgehammer.
She just made this personal.
6
ROMI
It might’ve been a mistake fucking him again. I even promised myself I wouldn’t, but that guy talks too much and, tries to pry too much. But if I’m being completely honest, the arrogant asshole knows how to fuck like a god. I’m not entirely sure what his kinks are, but I’m not opposed to drawing a little blood if I’m close to getting him off—if only to deny him.
I’m yawning at midday as I decide to finally roll out of bed to take Borris for a walk. He’s fallen in sync with me, enjoying his early morning tinkle, then cozying back into bed and snuggling into the warmth of the blankets.
My phone shows two missed calls from Lily, two from my agent, one from Sienna, and one from my mother as well. I don’t return any of them.
I throw on some sweats, wearing a shirt that readsThese are spirit fingerswith two hands giving the middle finger, and throw on a beanie so I don’t have to brush my hair. When I step into the living room, I see the mess from last night has been cleaned up. Looks like the "doctor" is all about cleanliness. I still don’t believe he’s a doctor, but whatever. As long as he pays his share of the rent on time, why should I care?
I grab my keys, and on the way out, I glance back at the staircase that leads to my studio, then quickly divert my gaze. I know I need to pick up a paintbrush and continue with my recent collection. I’m well aware of the countdown until it's due. The thought of painting again repulses me, though. Anything I touch right now, I’ll defile,especiallymy art.
