Dominic (Benedetti Brothers 2)

I wept silently for so many things. For my brother. For myself. For the shame I felt as cool air dried my pussy, dried where he’d licked me to orgasm. I cried, knowing I’d come under my enemy’s tongue, knowing this was only the beginning, knowing there would be so many betrayals, so many concessions. I wondered who I’d be by the end of this. If I survived, that is.

And I hated myself for not wanting to be left alone anymore. Hated myself for my weakness. My fear.5DominicEating her pussy didn’t involve penetration. It wasn’t the same as fucking her. Not that I didn’t fuck the other girls. I did. Some. Not all. Only if they were virgins in any way. Well, that was mostly true. It would be better for them, easier, if I took that from them. I’d never eaten one out, though. I’d never wanted to. I’d played with them, I’d enjoyed fucking the ones I did, but it was just that, a fuck, a piece of ass. This was different. Maybe it was like kissing. Too personal.

And I’d kissed her too. Or tried to. Hell, I should have thanked her for nearly breaking my nose.

I don’t even know what made me do it. Yes, my cock was already hard after our little struggle, but hell, that was the norm, and in the last couple of years, I’d gotten to know my fist pretty well. And when I wanted a woman, I paid for it. Anonymous sex, exactly how I liked it.

So why the fuck had I eaten her out?

And why couldn’t I stop thinking about how she tasted? How she sounded when she came? How she thrust her hips at me, wanting more, even as she resisted me?

I’d felt it again, that strange sense of familiarity, when I’d walked into the room and she’d been sitting on the bed, watching me like that. It was those damned haunted eyes. Haunted? Or haunting. They’d seen evil. They saw through me and into my evil. She’d survived evil. But would she survive me?

Yet it wasn’t just that. I knew those eyes. As ridiculous as it was, they were connected to some distant memory, something brief, something…better than this.

Hell, this was all ridiculous. I just needed to focus here and do my job, and if it meant I fucked her while I was at it—virgin or not—then so be it. Stupid fucking rule anyway, considering I trained them to become sex slaves. What difference would it make for them if I did fuck them? None, that’s what. And I needed to remember this was a job. Any nostalgic feelings, any attraction to this girl—it would have to get gone. She was a fucking job. Granted, a job with a restriction: no penetration. But hell, if it happened, it happened. No one would give a fuck, not in the end.

I finished my coffee, closed the shutter letting the too-bright sunshine into the kitchen, and walked into her room. She lay awake, but the moment our eyes met, she blinked and looked away. I closed the door and locked it behind me, walked into the bathroom where I’d left the chair, and brought it into the bedroom. I set the blanket I’d carried in on it.

She eyed it.

“Chilly in here,” I said casually.

She searched my face, my eyes.

“I’m thinking you need to use the bathroom?”

She nodded, her gaze settling on a spot just beyond me. I guessed she’d be embarrassed after last night’s impromptu session. I hadn’t intended to do what I’d done. I’d just meant to fuck with her a little. I’d been reading, and all her racket had been annoying, quite frankly. She had to know I wouldn’t keep her somewhere she’d be found so easily, so why the screaming?

“Did you sleep well?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and tracing the edge of one of her ankle cuffs.

“How well do you expect me to sleep in this freezing room bound and naked and fucking humiliated?”

Well, no elephant in this room, then. She was straightforward. I liked that. I brushed a strand of hair from her face, and she shook her head to rid herself of my touch. I gripped her chin and forced her to look at me. “Getting my cock sucked puts me out like a light. The way you came, I’d thought you’d have slept into next week.”

Her face grew warm beneath my touch, and I had to smile at the blush creeping up her neck and cheeks.

“The least you can do is thank me.”

“I hate you. You’re the worst of them all.”

“Worse than the men who branded you?” I raised my eyebrows, although truly, I didn’t care. Fact was, she was right. I was the worst of them all.

“The worst,” she spat out.