“Yes,” I manage.
“Say it properly.”
My entire body bows, trembling, helpless.
“I like… Boris’ cock,” I choke out, ashamed, humiliated, desperate to finish, desperate to please him because I want him to keep touching me.
“Where? All of it. Fucking say it.” He rolls his hips, his thick cock straining me. He stops. Waits.
I close my eyes, because I know what he wants.
“Say it. All of it. Now.”
My throat tightens, but the words tumble out:
“I love it. I love Boris’ cock in my tight little ass. Okay?”
He pumps the object and immediately, I groan in pleasure.
Gustav doesn’t stop. He gives me what I begged for, fingers sliding, his cock pummeling, in sync with the wicked version of Brutus in my ass, threading pleasure into pain until the three merge and I unravel. My climax tears through me like something ripped out of my soul. I cry out, shaking hard, the cold floor wet under my cheek, my body convulsing around him.
“That’s it, little slut.” He moans, loud and deep. “Milk my cock. Milkhis.”
He doesn’t move.
I lie there shaking, breath ragged, terrified of what comes next. Because I know I’ve given him what he wanted, but may regret it.
He eases out of me slowly, careful, then pulls the object free with one steady motion. I whimper, a tiny, exhausted sound. He gently tugs my leggings up over my shaking thighs.
I don’t move. My cheek still rests on the floor, eyes unfocused, expression dazed and frightened.
“Look at you. So well behaved. Staying still like I want.” He crouch beside me and brushes a damp strand of hair from my face. My lips tremble. “And you spoke your truth.”
Tears pool in my eyes. “Gustav. I would’ve said anything. You made me. I can’t… I can’t say no when you touch me.”
“I know, but it was hot, right?” He grins. “And my wife was scorching.”
I exhale a sigh of relief and sit up with a big smile.
“Want to know what the other gift was?” I ask.
“Hm?”
I clutch my hands together and say the real truth on my heart. “I’m… I’m in love with you.”
His eyes double and his body stiffens. He looks around, panicked, yet I just sense he’ll say it back. I know he wants to. I know he’s dying to be that much closer. His rapid search of theroom for either a way out or the courage to say it stops when he freezes.
He squints. Toward my bed. Toward my pillow. “Is that… your phone?”
“I—” His searing glare steals my words.
Ice courses through my veins, because unlike before, there isn’t any doubt in his eyes.
There’s rage.
Oh, shit.
Chapter 31
