“Get off the bed,” I command, my voice rougher still, anger cutting through the lust. I want to see her scramble back into that subservient role, to remind her of her place in this world.
Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t move. Instead she spreads her legs more, her fingers pressing inside herself. “Antonio…” the word is a question, a plea, but there’s a hint of challenge in it too.
She knows what I want.
Filthy fucking whore. She thinks she can manipulate me, manipulate what I felt for her.
I stalk towards the bed, the few steps seeming to take an age. She’s perfect. Every curve, every swell, designed for this. My hands grip her hips, pulling her towards me. She gasps, a soft, involuntary sound, arching slightly into me.
“Don’t call me that,” I growl, my lips finding the curve of her shoulder, my teeth scraping lightly against the soft skin. “Not anymore. Not ever.”
She doesn’t resist. Instead she lets out a low moan, her hips tilting, grinding now against my erection like a dog on heat. “Antonio…”
“Shut up,” I snap, but the sound of my own name spoken by her still sends a jolt through me.
I need to silence her, to take control completely. I move quickly, grabbing a ball gag and I force it into her mouth despite her protests. I don’t want to hear her lies, I don’t want to hear her bullshit. I’m here for her cunt. Nothing else.
She whimpers beneath it, but her hands still reach for me.
I lean in, letting her think she’s winning something as my lips trace the line of her jaw, her neck. The skin there is so pale, so vulnerable. I bite down hard, just below her earlobe. She cries out, a sharp gasp that turns into what could be a moan.
“Shut up,” I whisper against her skin, my hand sliding down her back, under the waistband of her underwear. It’s thin, cheap, disposable, just like she now is. I rip it down the middle, discarding the scrap. Her breath hitches. “You’re mine right now, Elaine. Remember that. Titus is dead. Titus is gone. He lost, and I have everything.”
She nods, her eyes closed now, her face flushed. The tears are already starting to streak down her delicate face.
I push my trousers down, my cock springing free, hard and straining. I position myself between her legs. “You wanted this,” I rasp, my voice low and gravelly. “You created this. This is your fault, all of this is your doing. So you’re going to take it again and again, and you’re going to thank me for it. Thank me for every little bit of attention I give you.”
She blinks back, her head shaking enough to show defiance.
Little bitch.If she’d done as I wanted, if she hadn’t toyed with both mine and Titus’s hearts then our circumstances would be entirely different.
I hate her. I fucking hate her.
And yet I cannot stop coming here, using her, humiliating her over and over again.
I sink into her, a deep, stretching invasion that makes her scream. The heat, the wetness, the tightness… it’s everything. It’s a physical and emotional shockwave. She’s so fucking tight, so fucking wet. It feels like coming home, but it’s twisted, corrupted. Like finding the old scent of honeysuckle, only to discover it’s rotting at the core.
I groan, my body seizing, my rhythm already becoming rough.
Her nails dig into my shoulders and her legs wrap around my waist, as if she’s trying to mitigate the fury of the angle of me ploughing into her.
I drive into her again and again, each thrust deeper, harder, stealing the breath from my lungs. The scent of her fills my nostrils, heady and intoxicating. I look down, watching myself move within her, a piston fucking the life out of her.
Her face is a mask of emotion, her eyes screwed shut, her lips stretched and drooling over the ball gag. She’s lost in it. In the pain. In the violation. Inme.
My mouth finds her nipple, sucking hard, biting. I feel her body clench around me. I feel her nails dig into me as she silently begs for mercy, but she’ll get none from me, not when she gave none when I needed it.
The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room in a raw, primal rhythm.
“You like this, don’t you?” I snarl, my voice thick with need and something else, something possessive, almost cruel. “You like being used, like having the mask removed and not having to pretend anymore. You like embracing the whore you really are…”
Her eyes fly open, meeting mine again and the hate she holds there? God, is it glorious.
I lean down, my mouth finding the sensitive skin along her shoulder, and I bite down, hard enough to break, hard enough to tear her flesh and make her bleed.
Hate is good. Hate proves that under that so-called resignation she is still there, she is still present.
My fingers trace the scar along her belly, where her daughter was dragged out into the world.It should have been my child. Not his.
