She gasps, but her lips curl into a smile. “Harder.”
I reach down and pinch her nipples, drawing out a low shuddering moan.
“Harder!” she cries.
I slap her breasts, left and then right. She yelps in delight.
I fist my hand in her hair. “Are you a good girl who wants me to hurt her?”
“Yes,” she breathes, pleading. “Yes, I’m your good girl. I want you to hurt me. I need you to hurt me.”
I yank her hair to expose her throat. “Then shut the fuck up and take that cock like a good girl.”
She opens her mouth obediently, and I bury myself to the hilt.
38
BELLA
His cock ishuge in my throat.
I can’t see—the silk of his tie blocks everything, leaves me in darkness—so I experience this only through what I can feel. The masculine taste of him on my tongue. The grip of his hand in my hair. The summer air on my naked skin, warm and slightly damp, carrying the scent of night-blooming flowers from the chateau gardens.
He sets a ruthless pace as he fucks my face, exactly like I demanded.
Each thrust hits the back of my throat. Every time it does, I gag, recover, and breathe through my nose as my mouth does its best to accommodate him. My jaw aches. Tears are soaking the blindfold. My wrists strain against the fabric binding them to my ankles, and my body curves into helplessness.
He calls me his good girl with every thrust as he fucks me like a whore. And it’severythingI can possibly fucking want.
Everything I know I deserve.
He’s responding to the guilt I gave him but not the guilt I need to confess. But it doesn’t matter because he’s punishing me for it.
And as long as he punishes me, that’s all that matters.
Salt coats my tongue. Musk floods my throat. And he tastes exactly like how I always want him to taste.
This is what I deserve for betraying him.
The thought pulses through me like a second heartbeat, and I lean into the intensity. I embrace the total annihilation of thought. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can’t even really know if I’ll make it out of this alive.
But one thing I know is that this is the real thing.
Because no matter how hard he fucks my throat, I’m not waking up. My thighs clench together, growing slick and wet.
And above me, his words turn dirty and obscene.
“Who gets to fuck your filthy little throat?”
You do, I think, and I let him know by moving my head to match his relentless pace.
“Do you like it when I fuck you like my personal cock slut?”
Yes!
“Have you been dreaming about me fucking your throat?”
I nod and he quickens his pace.
