“Don’t make me tell you again,” he warned.
I lookeddownat his cock, at the thick, glistening head, at the vein that pulsed along its length. It was still coated in our combined release, a slick, intimate mess that was mostly of my own making.
My lips parted reluctantly. I could feel the shame burning in my cheeks, a hot, humiliating flush that I couldn’t control. I leaned forward, my movements slow and awkward.
Then I obediently took him into my mouth.
The taste was shocking. Salt and musk and the faint, bitter tang of his release. It was the taste of my own arousal too, a flavor that was as intoxicating as it was degrading. I could feel the smooth, heavy weight of him on my tongue, the slight, spongy texture of the head against the roof of my mouth.
“That’s it,” he crooned, his voice full of condescension. “Clean it. All of it.”
His hand tightened in my hair, a proprietary caress that was both a threat and an anchor. He guided me, setting the pace, the rhythm, the depth. I was no longer in control. In that moment, I was just a plaything to be used for his pleasure.
I licked, I sucked, I swallowed. I could feel him hardening again in my mouth, a slow, inexorable process that was both terrifying and heady at the same time.
I closed my eyes and gave myself over to the sensation, to the raw, primal act of submission. There was no fight left. No resistance. Only the overwhelming, all-consuming reality ofhiswill.
He started to move, his hips rocking forward in a steady rhythm, his cock sliding deeper into my mouth. I gagged, a reflexive response to the intrusion, but he didn’t stop. He just kept going, pushing past the resistance, pushing deeper, until I felt the head of his cock press against the back of my throat.
“Relax,” he demanded. “Take it.”
I tried. I really did. I took a deep breath through my nose, trying to suppress the gag reflex, trying to accommodate his size. It was a battle of wills, a contest between his dominance and my forced submission.
He groaned with pure bliss. His hips began to move faster, push deeper, the rhythm becoming more demanding and possessive. He was fucking my mouth now, and a dark, shameful part of me was reveling in it.
I could feel the tension building in him, the way his muscles tightened, the way his breaths came faster. His hand tightened in my hair, a brutal, unyielding grip that was a clear, unspoken command. He was close. So very close.
“Swallow,” he commanded.
He came with a low, guttural groan, his head falling back, his body taut as a bowstring. I felt his cock erupt in my mouth, andhis seed hit the back of my throat, a salty, bitter flood that I had no choice but to swallow.
When he was finished, he pulled out slowly, an unhurried movement that left me feeling achingly empty. I knelt there, on the hard teak deck, my body a quivering, oversensitive mess. My jaw ached and my throat was raw.
I swallowed again and allowed my eyes to travel upward to meet his.
“That’s my good girl,” he praised, a look of satisfaction finally breaking over his features.
He didn’t offer me a hand up. He didn’t offer me a robe. He just looked down at me, his gaze a cold, possessive weight. He took a step back, tucking himself back into his trousers, the sound of his zipper somehow insulting in the quiet morning air.
He was a king surveying his conquest, and I was the spoils of war.
“Get up,” he ordered.
I pushed myself up, my muscles screaming in protest. My legs were trembling, my mind whirling with shame. I felt his cum on my thighs, a sticky, intimate reminder of my surrender.
“Look at me,” he said.
I lifted my head, my eyes meeting his. There was no triumph in his gaze. No satisfaction. Just a cold, calculating stillness that was more terrifying than any rage.
“You belong to the Markovs now,” he growled his declaration of ownership. “You will do as we say. You will go where we tell you. You will be what we want you to be.”
I wanted to fight him, scream at him, tell him that I would never be his, that I would never submit.
But there was a hidden part of me that liked the idea and that part was screaming louder than all the rest.
CHAPTER 13
Dmitri
