"No," he whispers, "you ruined my shirt."
Our mouths crash together again. He lifts me off the vanity and carries me to the bed, laying me down on my back with my bound hands trapped beneath me, arching my tits up toward him. He pulls the belt loose and tosses it away. His mouth trails down my neck, collarbone, and sucks one breast. He sucks hard, teeth grazing my stiff nipple. I arch with a loud moan.
His hand slides between my spread thighs and thick fingers glide through my soaked folds, spreading my wetness before one pushes deep inside my tight pussy. I cry out at the sudden stretch. He kisses me again, tongue invading my mouth in the same rhythm as the thrusts that match his finger fucking me.
I hear his zipper open and then the heavy, burning-hot weight of his massive cock against my thigh. It's huge, veined, and throbbing. I reach down awkwardly and wrap my fingers around his thick shaft, stroking the hot length. He stops kissing me for a second and just looks at me, eyes burning with raw need.
"Please," I breathe, voice hoarse. "Don't stop. I like it."
He smiles and kisses me again. His finger keeps thrusting, curling against that perfect spot inside me while I stroke his cock faster, squeezing, feeling him pulse and leak precum over my fingers. The pressure inside me coils unbearably tight as I moan into his mouth, kissing him harder. He thrusts his finger so deep hitting a spot that I let loose and I come hard, moaning into hismouth, my cunt clenching and gushing around his finger, my whole body shaking. At the same moment, his cock swells and he groans deeply, shooting thick, hot ropes of cum across my stomach, my tits, and dripping down my sides.
I let out a sigh letting myself sink into the bed and he falls to the side panting.
* * *
"I'm sorry about your shirt," I say.
The water is still warm. His arms are around me from behind and the bathroom is quiet. I am looking at the pile on the floor, my clothes, and the ruined blue shirt that had ended up in pieces and I feel heat crawl up my neck that has nothing to do with the bath.
"It's fine," he says.
Silence settles.
Then he says, "You're a virgin."
It isn't a question.
I go still for a moment. The water shifts slightly around us.
"Are you dissatisfied?"
He opens his mouth.
"Don't," I say, before he can get there. "I'm not asking you to take responsibility for anything. I know what this is." I turn in his arms to look at him, water moving around my shoulders.
He looks at me for a while.
Then he lowers his head and his mouth finds my shoulder and he bites. I pull in a breath that embarrasses me slightly with how unsteady it is. His lips travel to my ear and I feel his teeth and my hand finds his arm under the water and grips it and my eyes close and my head drops back and I am thinking absolutely nothing and then he stops.
I open my eyes.
He is looking at the distance with an expression I can't read and he says, in a voice that has rearranged itself back.
"Best not to get distracted, princess." He pulls back slightly. "You're still my hostage."
I look at him.
I look at his face, the jaw, the pale eyes that are doing the thing they do where they give nothing away, and I feel sadness settle in my chest like a stone finding the bottom.
Does he not want me?
He stands up and the water moves and he reaches for the bathrobe on the rail and slides it on and I watch him and I say nothing because there is nothing yet to say.
"Renzo will be contacting your father." He ties the robe. "Letting him know we have you."
I look at the water.
"He won't come," I say. "My father." I trace a line on the surface with one finger. "My mother died years ago. A car accident. I think—" I pause. "I think he blames me for it. I don't know why, I was twelve and I wasn't even in the car but he looked at me differently after. Or he stopped looking at me at all, I'm not sure which came first." The water is cooling at the edges. "I'm sorry I'm not more useful to you. As collateral." I look up at him. "I genuinely don't think he'll come."
