“Yes, kitten. Milk my cock and show me how badly you want this,” I growl, grasping ahold of her hair as reins while I slam into her.
I take a good look at her in the mirror, swiping my eyes over that delicious body of hers so I can imprint it in my mind. Each time I pull back, her body inches away from the mirror so I can have a full view of her. Her tits are pushed up against the mirror, nipples hard and begging to be sucked. Her lips are parted like she’s trying to say something, but each slam of my hips against her ass knocks the wind from her, and it causes her to mewl even louder.
My hand finds its way to her pussy again, and I circle around her clit until her pussy begins to tighten even harder. She’s getting close, I can feel it, and it’s turning me on so much that I need her orgasm in order to be satiated.
The scent of her heat, the sound of her moans, the feeling of my cock at long last hammering inside her—it’s turning me into a goddamn sex-crazed monster.
“Come, kitten,” I demand breathlessly.
On my command, her body begins to convulse, and a cry tears from her. I drink in her release, memorizing the expression of pure ecstasy on her face.
Feeling her pussy spasm tightly around my cock is all it takes for me to explode. I groan out loud as delicious spasms rock through me. One, two, three giant spurts as I empty myself inside her.
When the orgasm subsides, I slump against her. I bury my face in her hair as I focus on catching my breath. The scent of her smell, the heat of her body … all of it intoxicating as hell.
Holy fuck. That was unexpected and intense.
What is this woman doing to me?
I thought I was buying myself a prize to fuck until I had my fill. But as soon as she mentioned the names Frank and Molly Fitzgerald, I realized I’d opened Pandora’s box.
Fuck.
I pull out of her and step back for a second to witness the onslaught of my own lust right in front of my very own eyes. And I shake my head with disbelief as she watches me through the mirror.
I don’t care what she thinks. What she feels. What she needs.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I shove my cock back in my shorts. And without another word, I stalk out of the gym.
Harper
One. Two. Three.
I count the seconds out loud, but they don’t calm the storm raging inside my mind.
What Marcello did was unforgivable.
Unconscionable.
And so incredibly fucking hot I’m beginning to question my own sanity.
I can’t stand myself for ever thinking that, let alone admitting I liked what he did.
That every strike he gave my ass felt like pure pleasure even though I knew in my mind it wasn’t right.
Why did I beg?
Why did I want him to fuck me?
My body responded to his demanding touch, to his abrasiveness and sheer domination as if it had always yearned for it. As though we were always meant to end up twisted together.
And it makes me want to scream.
I slam my fist into the mirror, which shatters into pieces. A tiny shard makes its way into my fist. A trail of blood slides down my arm as I pull the piece out and stare at it. Would Marcello get mad if he knew I destroyed a piece of his furniture? Would he even care? Does anything I do even matter, or is it all a sick game to him?
I can’t stop staring at the little piece of glass resembling the same destruction taking place inside my heart right now. And it confuses the fuck out of me.
Marcello has made his point.
I am his pet, and he can do whatever the fuck he wants with me.
And that thought makes me clench the shard so hard my own hand begins to bleed. The pain doesn’t faze me. Because what hurts more is that I actually let him fuck me … and I liked it. I wanted it more than anything.
And I hate him for making me want him even more.
Thinking about it still makes my pussy throb with need, and I struggle to keep the wetness at bay. He fucked me like I was a whore. As if I meant nothing to him. And I fucking let him.
I let him come inside me like a willing victim. And he even made me come.
Why the hell do I keep doing this?
Why didn’t I try to fight him off or kill him?
I should, just for trying to fuck with me, both literally and figuratively.
Maybe I’ll use this piece of glass and stab him when he least expects it.
Back when we were having dinner together a few days ago, I thought about stabbing him with a knife. I’ve fucking dreamed about it every night since.