“You can’t,” I whisper, my eyes welling up with tears.
“I believe I can,” he responds, still working up and down, lubing himself up as well.
The flashbacks hit me.
Trapped in the gray cellar.
That big man with the bruised face and broken nose.
In and out. Dry strokes.
Screams and cries for help.
All I needed was help.
And the blood.
Surrounded by so much blood.
I was helpless then, and I’m helpless now. This time I really can’t fight. I’m strapped down. A hostage, all over again.
“And,” he whispers in my ear, “I refuse to be gentle.”
After he says that, he thrusts himself inside me. The galería is filled with a sharp gasp and a loud, heavy groan. The thrust is deep. He went right in. And when he’s in, he doesn’t stop. My braid is still wrapped in his hand, my face forced up. He releases a feral sound and his mouth comes down on the bend of my neck, sucking, devouring, as he strokes in and out of me.
He pumps his hips with strong, full thrusts, still cupping my breast, and then slowly sliding the oily hand around my breasts and down to my pussy, one of his fingers landing on my delicate, aching nub again.
My tears have fallen. They aren’t tears from distress. They are tears of something else. Something that I can’t describe. This isn’t as painful as the cellar. It’s familiar, but it’s not the same. And it’s like he knows it. Punish me by doing something he knows I will hate, but do it just so that I can’t resist. So that I can’t fight like I tried to do down there.
Devour me. Take me. Own me.
His way.
He fills me up with each pull and drive and my fingers curl, my legs shaking when his finger slowly swirls around my clit.
“You. Are. Mine. Gianna,” he says in my ear, still going. He releases the braid and uses that hand to clutch my face, his thumb purposely removing the tears. “I own you. You accepted me. And by accepting me, that means you will take me in any way that I see fit.”
Eyes hot, I feel myself slowly unraveling. He’s still making loops on my nub, swelling me up. I hear myself panting and moaning as he pounds hard enough for me to truly feel him.
In and out.
Swirls and loops.
My body rolls with heated desire, swimming with ecstasy and resentment. My tears come to a halt. I’m on the edge. I’m right there. So close.
And I shatter. He doesn’t stop torturing me with his fingers or his cock in my ass. He’s still pumping as I cry out my pleasure, causing the chains to rattle repeatedly with the powerful orgasm, and for his groans to grow louder.
And then I feel weak. So weak. My arms are tired, and I dangle, breathing in and out.
He stops almost immediately, but I know he’s not done. Bending down, he undoes the chains around my ankles. When he rises, he catches my eyes, and I hold his gaze, despite how hot he looks with sweat glistening on his chest or how hard and thick he is right now between the legs.
One arm is set free and it drops like dead weight. I catch myself just as he undoes the other arm.
“Upstairs,” he commands.
I look up, my feet moving before I can even process his words. I walk up the stairs with him following closely behind me. And then I crawl on the bed, on all fours, peering over my shoulder at him. His eyes spark with lust and he stalks forward, climbing on the bed and gripping the back of my neck.
He forces my face down into the comforter, grinding his cock between the crack of my ass again. “You like when I treat you like this,” he says. A statement. Hardly a question. “You like it because you don’t think. You just do. You don’t want to think about the terrible shit you’ve done. But guess what, Gianna, there is no denying it. You did it. It happened. And you did it because that’s who you are. Don’t try and blame this on guilt. You’re in denial.”
He pulls away and climbs off the bed, hustling down the stairs. I hear the water from the sink start up. About a minute later and he’s back. He flips me over and I sigh, spreading my legs for him. He’s cleaned himself up, I notice.
“Just take me, Draco,” I breathe when he perches himself on his knees. My eyes are still damp with tears.
His jaw clenches. He grips my hips and picks them up off the bed, balancing my ass on his upper thighs. He slides right in, slowly, deliberately, watching my eyes. My face. Watching me.
“You need me, reina,” he says, thrusting so slowly, swelling up inside me. My legs wrap around him, my body greedy for more. The power. The ruthlessness. “With me, there is no one to fear. No one but me. You know that.”