Obsessed with His Bride

“So now you’re okay with violence?” he said. “All because they were important.”

“I just… I hate them, okay? I hate them for trying to hurt you. I hate them for doing this to you.”

“You’re conflicted,” he said.

“I hate violence just as much. I hate myself for liking what you are. I hate you for making me like it.”

He kissed my throat then bit my lip. “Tell me how much you like it.”

“I like that you’re strong. I like… I like that you take what you want.” I gasped as he pulled my hair and slid a hand down the front of my shorts.

I moaned as his fingers began to roll around my pussy. He spread my lips and teased me before finding my clit.

“I like… I like that you’re strong. That you don’t take shit. That you hit back and hurt people that try to hurt… hurt you.” I moaned and he pulled my hair again, making me gasp, as he worked my clit faster with his fingers.

“Tell me more,” he growled.

“I like that you fuck me,” I said. “I like that you fuck me and aren’t gentle. I like that you’re hard, and it turns you on when I’m rough. I like that you… oh, fuck… oh my god…” I gasped as he bit my lip and kept working my clit faster, faster. “I like that you don’t stop… don’t stop… oh my god… I like that you don’t stop when you’re hurting. I like that you… fuck. I like that you fucking protect me.”

He growled and kept moving his fingers, pleasure flashing through my body. I grabbed at his chest, my fingers digging into his skin. I tried to kiss him but he pulled me back by the hair, pinning me to the wall, fingers working my clit faster, faster, and I began to pant and moan, rolling my hips along his hand. I groaned, losing my mind, losing myself.

“I like that you’re hard,” I moaned. “I like that you take me. I like that you make me… make me harder… oh, my fucking god.”

I arched my back and he grunted in my ear as his fingers made me come. I came hard and he kept working my clit, sending the orgasm through my skin like fire. I gasped and threw myself at him, kissing him hard, sucking his tongue, biting his lip back. He grunted and finished me off, then slid his hand back out from my shorts and stepped back. I leaned against the wall, flushed and panting, sweat dripping down my skin.

“And I like that you come so easily,” he said, a smile on his lips. “I like how badly you want me, and yet you keep trying to pretend like you’re above all this shit. But at the end of the day, little Aida, you’re dripping wet and ready to suck my cock. You’re just as violent as I am, but you don’t even realize it.”

I glared at him, hated him, wanted to get away from him.

And I knew he was right.

As much as it drove me wild, I was a hypocrite and I knew it.

One second, I was disgusted by him and everything he stood for.

And the next, he was taking his shirt off and I was melting for him, coming on his fingers, panting his name.

I wanted it. God, I hated myself, but I wanted it. I needed him to be hard and violent, to be the killer I know he is. As much as that scared me, when it came down to the truth, I was enamored with a monster and I couldn’t help myself.

“Maybe it’s just time to accept it,” he said, turning away. “Get yourself together, little Aida. I’m going to cook you dinner to celebrate.”

I shook my head, wanted to say something in return, wanted to show him that I was better than all this.

But I was silent as he left me alone in the bathroom, my panties soaked through, my legs trembling and head buzzing from the orgasm he just gave me.

I didn’t know what kind of person I wanted to be.

All I knew was that when Dante was around, I felt good. I felt really, really good. I felt more alive than I ever had before, and I thought that if he never left, I’d always be on that high.

I pushed myself from the wall, walked to the sink, and took a deep breath. I fixed my hair in the mirror then went downstairs and into my room. I changed my panties, tossing the ruined, soaked pair in the laundry, then walked down into the kitchen.

I found Dante with an apron on, a knife in his hand, chopping garlic. He grinned at me.

“Pasta?” he asked. “Wine?”

“Yes, please.” I walked over, sat down, and watched my monster cook.