Page 32 of Wicked Mistletoe

“Fuck you.” I hiss, balling my fists together as I writhe on the floor, desperate to rub my thighs together. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I need to come so badly. His eyes glitter under the mask, full of sick satisfaction as he watches me squirm, taking his sweet time undoing his pants. My pulse quickens, the wait almost unbearable.Hurry the hell up.Every second drags, making the ache between my legs even worse.I can’t take it anymore. Just do it already.

When he pulls out his massive cock, I can’t help it—my mouth waters, and I watch, mesmerized, as he strokes himself, squeezing the swollen, angry red crown. It takes everything in me not to whimper. Then his hand slips back between my legs, and it’s like my brain short-circuits. He rolls my clit between his fingers, and I’m powerless to stop the moan that rips out as pleasure slams into me, leaving me gasping, utterly at his mercy.

“That’s it, moan for me. You want this, you little slut. Girls like you always want it but act like you’re too good for it. Like you’re too good for me. So I simply have to take you for myself. Prove just how much of a slut you are.”

His words stroke my pleasure even higher. But just as I start to revel in it, his hand vanishes, replaced by his cock sliding wetly through my folds. I moan his name, feeling so impossibly turned on, knowing I’m on the brink of something explosive.

“That’s right, moan my name like you belong to me. Because you do. You’re mine,mine.” He drives each word home with a thrust andfuck fuck, fuck,it’s too much. I scream as a dizzying rush of pleasure swells within me., It builds to a crescendo, and I come so hard, my cunt pushes his cock out.

“Fucking hell,” he curses as he forces himself back into my tight sheath, fucking me right through my orgasm. “You’re so fucking tight. You’re going to milk every last ounce of cum from me. But not yet. No. I’m not done with you.” He groans the last part and spanks my ass as if punishing me for my own pleasure.

The pain mingles with his thrusting, stoking my arousal even higher. Before my first orgasm even ends, another barrels into me, hard and fast, followed by a third. My body shudders around him, my whole being focused on nothing but the pleasure and evenmorepleasure.

His thrusts become faster, harder, his rhythm no longer paced but frenetic.

Words spill from my lips, but I’m not sure what I’m saying. I’m lost, completely delirious with pleasure, until he yanks my hips higher and my body goes like a rag doll. His fingers find my clit again, rolling and pulling, and somehow, unbelievingly—God, I don’t know how—I come again, screaming his name so loudly I momentarily lose my breath.

This time he comes with me, his hot seed filling me as he groans my name. Then his warm weight covers my back, and for a moment, we’re one.

10

EMILIA

My eyes slide shut, my body sinking into the floor, completely wrecked. I can’t feel anything—except this heavy numbness spreading through me.

His breath ghosts across my face, blowing strands of my hair into my eyes. I should push it back, but I don’t have the energy. Hell, I don’t even know if I can move anymore.

Then, surprisingly, he does it for me—brushing the hair out of my face with this ridiculous tenderness, like he didn’t just tear me apart, body and soul.

“Are you okay, love?”

I can only manage a soft, “Hmm.” And honestly, what could I even say? I’m too spent, too ruined.

He shifts, pushing away from me. And—click,the handcuffs release my wrists, followed by the soothing sensation of his fingers massaging my skin. Then his warmth disappears, but I catch the sound of his footsteps padding towards the bathroom.

Curiosity nags at me to open my eyes, to see what he’s up to, but my eyelids feel like they’re made of lead. The soft sounds of running water and drawers opening drift to my ears, but I’m toofar gone to care. My limbs are dead weight, and I feel like I might pass out right here, fused to the floor.

It’s like he’s fucked me straight into the floorboards.

Summoning every ounce of willpower, I force myself to open my eyes when I sense him re-entering the bedroom. He’s taken off his mask, so I notice the furrow in his brows as he scoops me up.Is he… worried about me?My head lolls against his chest while he carries me into the bathroom and slowly deposits me inside the bathtub. I let out a blissful sigh, sinking deeper into the warmth, allowing the hot water to cocoon my aching body and soothe every muscle.

The tub is too small for the both of us, but Rafael makes it work. He kneels beside it and slowly passes the washcloth over my body with reverent care. I lean back, too exhausted to do anything but let him tend to me.

After he’s washed me, he carries me back to the bedroom and dries my body. Then I watch through half-lidded eyes as he rummages through my closet for some clothes. My brain doesn’t fully compute what’s happening until he’s sliding sneakers onto my feet.

I blink at him, confusion cutting through the post-coital haze.

“Are we going somewhere?” My voice comes out scratchy and hoarse, so I clear my throat.

He glances up at me with a determined look on his face, “Yes. We’re going home.”

“Iamhome.” I point out, which earns me an irritated glare.

“No, you’re not. You’re going to accept my proposal, Emilia. And tonight, you’re coming home with me. Tomorrow, we’ll come back for your shit.”

A spark of defiance flares in me. “You can’t just order me to marry and move in with you. It doesn’t work like that. And Ithink I’d like to sleep in my own apartment.” But even to my own ears, my voice lacks conviction.Darn it.

He ignores my protests, just wordlessly tying my laces before moving to the other foot. “Rafael...”

---