“I’m going to use you now,” he explained calmly, coldly, as his hands tightened on my slippery hips to the point of pain. I didn’t feel it, not really. I was so deep in subspace that everything done to my body immediately translated into the language of pleasure and aching need. “I’m going to use you until you are a wild, thrashing, wet mess against the table and then I’m going to come all over your beautiful arse. Are you ready, topolina?”
I was, and I wasn’t. There was true fear on the edge of my consciousness that I simply wasn’t able to handle the kind of intense pleasure he was about to give me.
But he didn’t give me time to respond or reconsider.
He pulled out slowly to the tip and then crashed back into me, hammering into me with his hips angled up so that his cock dragged over every inch of my sensitive channel.
I squealed on the first thrust, groaned on the second, yelled, and then finally, blissfully, screamed on the fifth as I was torn apart by the hot piston of his cock. My vision shattered, the familiar kitchen around me dissolving to fractured, distorted images spotted in bright colours like fireworks shot off through a broken window. I could vaguely sense my body shaking so fiercely, my legs gave out and the only thing holding me up were Alexander’s punishing hands, but the only thing I was truly cognizant of was the lightning strike of nearly unbearable euphoria tearing me apart from the inside out.
I collapsed against the island, limp and used as discarded spaghetti, panting loudly but not so loudly I couldn’t hear the slosh and churn of his balls hitting my wet, engorged sex as he drove into me.
“Such a good slave,” he praised, his voice gone to smoke with lust. “Such a good slave for your Master. Do you think you deserve my cum?”
“Only if you think I do, Master,” I replied between my broken pattern of breath.
He groaned so gutturally he sounded like a beast faced with his next meal. I loved the animal side of him, the one that rutted and fucked as if it was his life’s purpose. Finding the last of my strength, I straightened my legs so that I could push back against his punishing thrusts again.
“That’s exactly right. I own your pleasure. I own your pink cunt, and your gold pierced clit, and your lush tits, and this sweet, fucking beautiful arse. And I’m going to sign you like an artist with his painting,” he growled as he thrust one last time, ground into me so deeply it curled my toes and made a second, smaller orgasm pulse through me and then there was emptiness and cold air around me, inside me and he was pumping his cock so that molten ribbon after ribbon of his seed spilled over my glistening skin.
When he finished, he lazily rubbed his thumbs through the cooling cum and kneading it into my flesh, testing the weight of my ass checks in each hand, dipping a sperm-coated finger into the sensitive rim of my opening just to test the resistance, just to feel me shudder and whimper for more even though I was spent.
“All fucking mine,” he practically purred as he placed a sweet kiss to the middle of my spine before pulling away.
He began to unwrap me from the posts and then gently free my hands, massaging them to bring back the lost circulation. When he was done, he carefully peeled my sweat-sticky torso off the countertop and lifted me into his arms. I wrapped my limbs around him, tucking my face into his neck with my nose against his pulse so I could smell his cedar forest fragrance as he walked us into the bedroom. He held me reverently, a father with a newborn child, as he pulled back the covers and dipped me beneath them, fluffing the pillows at my back until I was ensconced in cosiness. After gazing at me with exquisite tenderness as he pushed back an errant lock of my hair, he turned, naked and at ease, to walk back to the kitchen to clean up.
I snuggled deeper into the covers and stifled a yawn as my cat, Hades, jumped onto the bed and moved to curl up in the bowl of my lap, already purring. I scratched his ears as I waited for Alexander to return, wondering what was taking him so long, wondering if Mama, Sebastian, and Elena were together celebrating Christmas while Giselle and I were absent.
I had wanted to be with them, but not only was the auction more important, so was spending my first Christmas with Xan. Years ago at Pearl Hall didn’t count because I’d been enslaved at the time and barely able to comprehend why I loved his sexual games, let alone acknowledge that I actually liked my captor.