Both hands grip my hair now. He holds me still and thrusts, slow but relentless, fucking my mouth. Each stroke goes deeper.
I'm dripping. Aching. The velvet ribbons dig into my ankles as I squirm against the chair. Every groan he makes winds me tighter.
"So fucking perfect," he grits out. "That mouth.Blyad, that mouth."
I suck harder. Faster. My tongue works the sensitive spot beneath the head, and his rhythm falters. His chest heaves. Sweat gleams on those scarred muscles.
"Vittoria." My name sounds like a prayer. A curse. "I'm going to?—"
He pulls back suddenly, his cock slipping from my lips. His hand wraps around himself, stroking fast and rough.
"Open your eyes," he commands. "Watch."
I do.
His jaw clenches. Every muscle in his body goes rigid. Then he's coming, hot and thick, painting my breasts in white streaks. It drips down my skin.
Dmitri stares down at me, chest heaving, eyes wild. His thumb traces through the mess on my breast, spreading it.
"Mine," he breathes. "Every inch of you.Mine."
The word settles into my bones. Brands itself there.
And the terrifying part?
I don't want to argue.
Dmitri
Vittoria's chest rises and falls. She looks like a painting. Something priceless that belongs in a museum behind bulletproof glass.
I reach down and pick up her underwear from where I dropped it earlier.
"You're going to wear these later," I tell her, using the fabric to wipe my fingers clean. Her eyes widen as she watches me drag the lace across my knuckles, collecting the evidence of what we've done together. "And when you do, they'll already be covered with my cum."
Her throat bobs as she swallows. But she doesn't look away. Doesn't tell me I'm disgusting or demand I stop.
"Are you hungry?" I ask, tucking the ruined underwear into my pocket.
Vittoria blinks, clearly thrown by the sudden shift. "What?"
"Food, solnyshko. When did you last eat?"
She considers this, her brow furrowing in that way she does when she's processing information. Like everything is data to be analyzed. "I had coffee this morning. And then some cookies."
"That was twelve hours ago."
"I was busy."
I shake my head, already moving toward her. "You don't take care of yourself."
"I take care of myself just fine."
A small gold key dangles from a chain attached to the cuff itself.
I turn the key, and the mechanism clicks open. Vittoria's wrists fall free, red marks circling her skin where the metal pressed too tight.
Blyad.I should have checked them earlier.
