Page 35 of Dario DeLuca

His words are a lash, each syllable a strike against my self-composure. I’m none of those things. Yet he doesn't see all of me, just facets in the dim light of his prejudice.

"Difficult? How often do you kidnap women and have them too?”

“You can ask your daddy for that answer.”

"Fuck you. You disgust me," my voice is a weapon, sharp and loaded.

"Thank you," he spits, venom dripping from every letter.

"You’re a nasty mother fucker," I say, the taste of the words bitter on my tongue.

"And you're a fucking cunt."

Rage surges within me. It propels my arm forward to wipe that smug certainty off his face. I make contact, the sting of the connection rippling through my hand. Dario's reflexes react to my actions. His hand snaps out, capturing mine in an ironclad grip.

"What did I tell you about those hands?" The unbridled arousal is evident in his shorts.

His grip is my anchor, a reminder of his effortlessly wielding power. He stands from the bench, my wrist in his grasp, and backs me into the wall.

“I warned you about striking me again,” Dario's hand moves, a silent command I can't ignore.

He spins me around with deftness born from dark intent. My chest is now flush with the cool surface, and my heart races, each beat resonating against the wall that now supports my weight. The air between us crackles.

A gasp parts my lips, but the echo of the first slap to my ass swallows it. Pain blooms across my skin, a fierce blossom of red no doubt painting my flesh. It stings, yet the sting is sweet, awakening a hunger I've been desperate to deny.

"Ah," escapes me, an involuntary surrender to the sharper, more insistent second spank.

My body betrays me, responding with a shameful rush of warmth. Even as my mind rails against this crude display of dominance, my curves yearn for his touch, craving the roughness only Dario can deliver.

He doesn't hesitate, seizing control as confidently as one might claim their rightful throne. He draws me back from the wall in a fluid motion, turning me once more. His hands frame my face, and then his lips find mine—hard, demanding, a collision of need that scorches every reasoned thought from my mind. The taste of blood is evident from the force of his kiss.

Heat pools within me, a whirlpool centered at the very core of my being. It pulls me under, drowning me in sensation as our kiss deepens—a tangle of tongues and teeth, the sweet agony of giving in.

His left hand splays across the base of my neck, squeezing gently. His fingers hook into the waistband of my workout shorts with urgency, dragging them down with a zealousness that leaves me exposed and vulnerable.

There's a brief chill of air against my heated skin before he lifts me and then slams into me without warning. I moan at his insertion, the lips of my pussy stretched open.

His grip on my neck tightens, angling my head to maintain eye contact as he drives deeper, harder, animalistic in his need for me.

My legs hook around his waist, and my hands find his back, nails digging into the skin. The beast within him roars to lifewith each violent thrust, leaving his ink-covered body slick with sweat that drips down like molten honey onto my quivering skin.

He grips my hips as if they were born to hold me like this - bruises blooming where his fingers press into my flesh. My cries echo off the weights and treadmills, an ebb and flow of pleasure mixed with pain that makes us both shudder.

With every thrust, he claims me as his own personal property. My walls clench and unclench around his length in a rhythm that matches his hips. I teeter on the edge, that wicked place where pain becomes pleasure. And then, like a volcano finally bursting forth after years of dormancy, I shatter beneath him.

It starts deep within—a shuddering quake that works its way up through every nerve ending until it explodes from between my legs in an audible gasp of release.

"Dario,” I mutter as he continues to plunge into me despite my orgasm.

I arch my back and feel his lips at my ear, his words hushed. "That's right... come for me."

Dario's teeth scrape down my neck as his free hand works between us, finding my throbbing clit and rubbing just right.

His scent envelops me, musky and masculine. The mix of soap and sweat is all too intoxicating. I bite my lip to stifle another moan, arching into him even more as I feel the walls start to close in on me.

The intensity of it all—his eyes devouring me, his hands possessing me, and his hardness pounding deep inside—overwhelms me with desire. The taste of him—the salt of his rough skin and hot sweat mixes with my own on his tongue as he kisses along my jawline.

The sound of our flesh slapping together resounds around us, muffled only by our harsh breathing and heavy panting. His mouth meets mine roughly, his tongue invading and claimingevery part of me in a possessive kiss that leaves no questions unanswered about who owns whom at this moment.

---