Before I even have a chance to process what he just said, I feel his wet cock slide up my crack, and the tip sinks into my ass.
"Ah, fuck!" I scream, kicking my legs up and grabbing the slats on his headboard.
"Shh," he says, resting his cheek against mine. "The worst part is over."
I realize that—it's not my first time, but there have only been a couple. And they weren't as big as Dax.
"This won't take long," he says before he thrusts the rest of the way in, fucking me in short bursts. "You've got a body that just begs to be fucked. And I want to fuck you like this sometime while Nolan fucks your pussy; we've never done that before, and you're just fucking perfect for it. It's better if I get you used to it now."
I whimper, partly from pain and partly from pleasure. I'm not sure if it's his words—if it's the thought of taking both of them at the same time that does it or if it's actually starting to feel good.
But then he slides his hand between my pussy and the mattress. I rock my hips a little, rolling my clit over his fingers while he fucks me.
Now, I know which one it is—it feels really fucking good. After a couple of minutes, my legs are shaking again, and Dax catches my mouth, burying my moans against his lips, kissing me through it until his dick pulses in my tight hole.
It hurts again when he pulls out, and I know I'm going to be sore.
He rolls off of me, and I turn onto my back before he gathers me in his arms.
"Ripley, I'm obsessed with you," he says. "I'm already thinking about where I want to come next. My sweet, submissive little doll…"
"I'm not—" I start, but don't finish the sentence. I'm not submissive—that's what I'm about to say. That's never been on my mind during previous sexual encounters. I never would have used that word to describe myself before. I've always preferred control.
"Not what?" he asks. "Submissive?" He shakes his head. "Then explain why you're such an obedient little fuck doll, Saige. Why does your body respond the way it does when you do what you're told?"
"I don't really think that's what's happening…" Is it?
He trails a hand down my body, stopping to tease my nipple with his thumb. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to be a good girl, Saige."
Even though I just came…twice…the wordsgood girlstill hit me right between my legs. My breath catches, and he smiles before sucking the nipple between his fingers into his mouth.
And then he sinks his teeth into my flesh, and I yelp.
"I heard you liked the handcuffs; I can see the marks on your wrists. And you know what else I think?" Assuming it's rhetorical, I don't answer, and he continues. "I'm willing to bet you like a little pain, too. You better make sure Elias doesn't find out."
This time, I'm not confused about the implication at all. I remember what happened when Elias spanked me. It still hurts when I sit down, and I'm surprised Dax hasn't mentioned the bruise. He didn't quite leave a handprint, I guess going easy on me that time, like he promised, but that left a mark, too—a scar I definitely don't want to look at.
I still don't know how I'll face him.
"Are you okay? You seem overwhelmed."
Yeah, I am. I'm really fucking overwhelmed. And that's without the added stress from coping with becoming a murderer while being threatened by a stalker.
It's like the walls are closing in on me. I wonder if this is how Nolan feels all the time.
When I don't answer, he says, "If you miss the illusion of control, I'll let you ride my dick next. You'll still be my good girl while you're doing it."
Dax grabs me by my thigh and turns me onto my side so that I'm facing him, and drapes my leg around his waist. He continues kissing me, sucking on my neck while he teases my nipples, his cum dripping down my backside. I close my eyes, savoring his teasing for a few minutes. Even sore and freshly fucked, it turns me on again. I think I could lie here, letting him tease me and touch me for hours, and I'd never get enough of it.
Like a good girl.
But he's right. I do miss the illusion of control, if that's all it was.
I reach between his legs, working his cock with my fist while he lies back with his eyes closed, teasing him for minutes until he's solid and throbbing in my hand, his soft groans making me slick again. Then, I climb on top, lowering my pussy onto his cock, gasping when he fills me.
And then I ride him like my life fucking depends on it—like if I can fuck him hard enough, I'll regain a semblance of control over it.
When I come screaming, I know that I won't. I'm still a murderer. I'm still his fuck doll.
