I should be over the moon. This suite is more sumptuous than anything I’ve ever stayed in. Aside from that penthouse I spent the night in with him.
The dove-gray carpet is plush beneath my bare feet, and the silvery-blue curtains that shut out the view are on an automated system. If I was a kid, I’d be playing with the remote control right now. But I’m not. I’m sitting rigidly at the table, blow-drying my hair, staring into the huge mirror that stretches wall to wall and floor to ceiling. The dressing room alone is bigger than my entire bedroom in my apartment. White paneled cupboard doors flank me, and at the other end of the room is a wall of small cubes. I’m guessing it’s for shoes. It’s empty now. A little like me.
I stiffly go through the motions of brushing and blowing to take my mind off the inevitable confrontation. And what will probably come with it.
The whine of the dryer is the reason I don’t hear the door open. When I look up into the mirror and see Dario leaning in the doorway behind me, I drop my brush.
He’s in tailored black trousers and a black button-down shirt. A vee of tanned skin is exposed by the open buttons at his neck. His arms are folded over his chest as he casually watches me going through my bedtime routine.
It’s easy for him. He’s not the one trapped here.
As he sees me notice him, he drops his arms and steps toward me. He stops right behind me. The fabric of his trousers grazes against my shoulder blades. I fumble with the hairdryer to turn it off.
“Dani likes you,” he says, launching straight into conversation. No niceties. No asking, “how are you settling in?”
I nod. “He’s a sweet child.” My voice is hoarse. I’m practically speechless when he reaches for a curl of my damp hair and rubs it between his thumb and forefinger. “Is that why you brought me here? To take care of your son?” I’ve been mulling this over all evening. It doesn’t seem inconceivable. There’s no sign of the child’s mother, and he clearly needs a nanny or something similar.
“I brought you here to fuck you,” Dario says, and I choke. “During the day, you will take care of Dani.”
“I…” I lick my lips to stifle my gasp. It’s what I’d been afraid of. I know how much pleasure this man can bring, but the thought of being his toy…something to use as he sees fit. It’s terrifying. He spins my chair, and now I’m facing him.
He watches the motion of my tongue over my lips. Then he reaches out and traces a thumb over the wet skin. “Jesus…I’ve been dreaming of these lips,” he says. He presses his thumb into my mouth, and I feel the pad of it against my tongue. I suck down inadvertently. His smile is darkly dangerous.
He drops his hand, unzips his fly, and suddenly I’m faced with the pillar of hard flesh I’d been so intimately introduced to just a couple of weeks back. My imagination hadn’t been playing tricks on me. It’s as impressive now as it was then. I’d half convinced myself I’d made it all up…and I’ve been fantasizing about it since then. Who could blame me? The sex was mind-blowing.
He tangles a fist into my damp hair and brushes the spongy crown along my lips.
“Suck my cock,” he says without any hint of civility. Still no niceties. I’m guessing he’s not a man to waste time on such things. When I hesitate, he twists his hand more firmly into my hair, and I wince. I part my lips, and he shoves in, shocking me with the force of it. It’s a repeat of the previous performance with him fucking my mouth as if I’m merely there as a convenience to him.
“Good girl,” he groans out, and I sneak a peek up. He’s not looking at me. His eyes are over my head. He’s watching us in the mirror as he slams his cock into my throat. I know there’s a technique to this, but I’ve never learned it. I choke and gag as he pumps his hips. It’s all I can do to get air into my lungs.
When he stiffens and then thrusts deep, it’s the only warning I get that he’s about to unload down my throat. I swallow hard, trying not to let the salty stickiness overflow onto my chin. I don’t succeed. When he pulls me up to face him, he leans forward and licks it off my face.
“It’s like your mouth was designed to take cock,” he murmurs, his eyes glittering. “But I know your cunt is better.” It’s clear he’s not done with me yet. I’m not surprised right now. When we were together before, he’d taken me almost half a dozen times before he was sated. He slides a hand past my bathrobe, tugging the belt loose and shoving the fabric over my shoulders. He aims a contemptuous look at my nightshirt beneath it.
“You’ll sleep naked,” he says a moment before he yanks at the front of it. Buttons fly free as he rips the ruined garment away from me. I shudder. I almost cross my arms over myself the way I did that first night with him. When he narrows his eyes, I know he’s expecting me to do it.
So I don’t.
He can’t take everything from me. Covering myself will just give him a reason to rip my hands free. I can see it’s going through his mind, too, because he grins at me. There’s no humor. It feels like he’s taunting me with it. Waiting for me to bolt.
He traces circles around my nipples, watching them pucker and tighten. Then his hand lowers to my mound and strokes his fingertips over the hair there.
“When I touched you today, you were dripping wet, Nikki Love,” he murmurs, staring into my eyes as his fingers toy with my pubic curls. “So wet after I’d chased you down the hall and thrown you against the door.” He chuckles.
His cock is hardening again, and I can tell he’s enjoying the memory. I fight to hold his stare, but when he shoves his fingers into me, my eyes squeeze shut as I gasp.
“Oh, baby…you’re dripping again now. After I fucked your mouth like a hot little slut. Is that what you like, Nikki Love? Do you like to play rough?” he breathes against my ear. I can’t answer. His fingers are plundering me, and my thighs are beginning to shudder.
He kicks my chair aside, grabs my wrist and spins me around. I’m standing naked, facing the mirror, and he’s behind me, pressed against my back. The way we’d been in that bathroom before. It occurs to me that perhaps he’s relived those moments as often as I have. Though it seems impossible to imagine that a man like him might give more than a passing thought to just another quick fuck.
Yet there’s more to this. Had Dario taken me that night knowing he owned me? Some kind of sexual test drive? It’s a mindfuck moment, and I can’t think about it now.
He has one hand over my chest while the other cups my mound. He’s watching my face as he fingers me, expertly seeking out my clit and thrumming it. I arch against him, and he tweaks a nipple between thumb and forefinger. His mouth dips to the curve of my neck, and I feel his teeth graze the skin lightly. But he hasn’t taken his eyes off me.
“I’m going to make you come on my hand,” he murmurs into my ear. “And then I’ll watch you lick your juice off my fingers while I fuck you from behind.”
Oh, God.I’m remembering this part too…how he tells me what he has planned for me. The combination of arousal and shame his words bring leaves me breathless. So do his fingers. They’re working me to a fever pitch. His hand on my chest is supporting me now as I buck my hips forward. He slides a finger deep inside me and then adds another, scissoring them and spreading me wide.
