“Christ,” he chuckles, making my cheeks burn with the force of a thousand suns. “Look at you. So needy. So fucking sweet. You make me so proud, Cecilia.”
His finger exits my ass before another, bigger object breaches my entrance. It feels cold, metallic, smooth, and it stretches me more than his finger did. Still, the pleasure builds and builds, so much so that not being able to touch my clit simultaneously brings tears to my eyes.
“I said please.Please. I asked you...”
“Ah, fuck this,” he mutters to himself, removing the object and throwing it to the floor. The sound of his zipper tells me he’s had enough of preparing me for his cock. Thank God. I need more.
The creak of that lube bottle rings in my ears again. More liquid drips down onto my asshole right before he grips my thighs and guides the crown of his cock there. I let out a moan at the feel of him—big, warm, silky. He groans too, and then he pushes himself against me, a ring of fire replacing all the pleasure from earlier.
It hurts. It goddamn hurts, and he’s not even inside me.
“You can take me,” he murmurs, bringing his thumb to my clit and rubbing a little—a much needed relief. “You need to relax. Let me in.”
“I don’t know if I can,” I whimper, tears prickling my eyes.
Just say it. Give him your safe word.
I don’t want to.
“You can. I’m fucking this ass, Cecilia.”
He leans into me, his mouth cupping my nipple, his tongue flicking against it as if he’s kissing my mouth. My breathing hastens, my back arching as my mouth hangs open, erupting with moans. His cock pushes against my ass a little further, and his thumb keeps rubbing my clit, his lips teasing my breast. The sensations build upon each other, my core tingling with need, my chest exploding with the proof of my pleasure. He praises, groans, and fucks until, eventually, I end up with all of him inside me.
“Oh my fucking God, sweetheart.” He breathes hard and fast, kissing the side of my neck. “You feel incredible. Better than I could’ve ever imagined. Fuck, I wish you could feel this like I do.”
Only, I do feel it. I’m full of him—he’s everywhere. My pussy pulses and pulses, and I’m flooded with an overwhelming need to come. And when he starts thrusting in that forbidden hole for the first time, we both lose it. His cock is hungry and rabid, pounding into me the same way he did my pussy when he first took me. It hurts and it doesn’t. It stretches and it relaxes. He fucks me like he owns me, and I want it.
“So fucking tight. So beautiful. Look what you’re doing to me?—”
“Ahhh,” I moan, arching and squirming, needing to run my fingers through his hair and brush my lips against his. I want him everywhere.Everywhere.
My orgasm ripples through me out of nowhere. I clench and twitch and throb, oceans of pleasure washing over me as I chant his name like a prayer. Tears flood my eyes. Inside me, his cock grows harder.
“There’s my good girl. There she is,” he groans, a sound that reverberates low in my core, brushing against my pussy. Warm cum pulses inside me like a caress, and I close my eyes, tilting my head back and focusing on all the sensations. He’s insane. Possessed. A devil in disguise. And I can’t help but want him to ruin me this way forever.
After he unties me, my limbs barely function. Mikhail takes me in his arms, cradling me to his chest and whispering sweet nothings in my ear. His lips kiss every inch of my neck and face—my nose, my cheeks, my temples, everywhere. I smile at the endearing gesture, feeling warm and safe in his chest.
31
Cecilia
Weeks pass, and snow keeps falling from the sky, turning everything white.
The days blend into one another, and a calming routine finds me. Everything’s different now, better than before. Every morning Mikhail wakes me up with that wicked tongue between my thighs.
We end up skipping breakfast, and I’m almost always late to the piano practice in the study room he built for me, but I don’t mind. I’m locked in there for most of the day, except for when my empty stomach forces me to go downstairs for lunch or dinner and to socialize.
Most nights, my husband comes home before midnight now. I used to worry he’d stop coming back at all, like he did that time after we first kissed, but that hasn’t happened. I stopped worrying, stopped asking him where he goes or what he does. The dried blood on his knuckles usually tells me enough.
And I trust him—blindly, perhaps foolishly, even—but he hasn’t given me any reason to question his loyalty. If anything, he keeps on strengthening it more than I could’ve ever hoped.
He takes me out on dates, and we eat together, bonding over a newly shared passion—food. Although my father always had a cook back in San Maleno, I rarely indulged in anything or paid much attention to the flavors. My life was routine, control, and staying in line.
Now, my new-found freedom pushes me to explore things I haven’t considered before.
And wow—foodis incredible.
After the Christmas dinner a few nights ago, Mikhail took me to a different party in New York. He said they’d serve an exclusive nigiri by a chef Ali Nakamura. He was retired, apparently, but the party was his daughter’s, so he came and prepared the dish one last time for her guests. It was phenomenal.
