Page 23 of Dangerous Games

I cradle his balls, feeling them drawing up. He's close, and I'm not letting him finish, not like this. But before I can even pull away on my own, Dominic grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks me back. "Not like that," he hisses, forcing me to stand.

"How then?" I smirk, watching him out of the corner of my eye. My head cranes at an odd angle until he lets me go with a growl of desire. He pushes me backward until my ass rests against the desk, then sweeps an arm across it, clearing it for our fuck session.

I try to lift my hips up to sit on the edge, but he's faster than me, picking me up and placing me there. He tugs my jeans off, then rips my panties. He must have a thing for torn panties because this is becoming a habit. I spread my legs to him, and he doesn't hesitate to slide his cock right into me.

"Fuck, you're so wet,” he grunts as he pushes himself into me. He grabs hold of my legs and pulls them until he’s deep between my thighs. I throw my own arms around his neck and dig my nails into his back as he thrusts hard inside me again, then again and a third time.

"I love fucking you,” he grunts in my ear. "I love all the ways I can fuck you, the way you look at me while I'm filling you with cock. I love the way you feel around me, the way you don't stop until I'm soaked with cum. You're the best fucking sex I've ever had.”

I run my tongue over his chin and bite at his lip before kissing him soft and sweet. If there's one thing that makes me come harder than anything else, it's when I know I've got the power, and I know I do right now.

"Girls like you need to be fucked hard,” he insists pitilessly as he thrusts himself inside me. I gasp and dig my nails into his back, with nothing else left to hold on to.

It's deeper than any other time we've been together, more desperate and out of control. His hands slide up to grip my shoulders, my pussy clenching around him and releasing everything I need to give. The pleasure crawls through every inch of my body, while without warning; sweat starts dripping off of every available surface in my body as he works me over.

"Fuck me,” I yell at him as I let my head drop back and shudder around him. His cock is throbbing hard and fast, pounding into me so hard that he's knocking the desk against the wall, shaking the framed picture with every thrust.

His hands grip my thighs so tightly I know he will leave bruises, but I'm close. My body is tensing, my pussy clamping down around him, and then he pulls out. In a split second, he grabs my hair again, forcing my face downward as he strokes his cock. He explodes, cum spraying on my nose, cheeks and chin. The startling lack of dick inside of me makes me whimper, my mouth dropping open, and his cum squirts inside of my mouth. The salty, chunky liquid makes me nearly gag, and I yelp.

"What the fuck!" I shout, coughing. I try to push him away, but he's too strong. He smacks my ass hard, and I shudder as I feel his warm cum drip down my throat and all over my neck.

"Bad girls don't get to come, Nanette,” Dominic says as he looks me up and down unhurriedly. The bastard is entirely too smug for what he just did. He lets go of my hair and I straighten, the need between my legs still throbbing.

I lick my lips with that last taste still bitter in my mouth as my body slides off the edge of the desk to the floor where I sit feeling shocked. He can’t do this to me. I’m supposed to be the one with power. I need this; I need release. My pussy hurts so bad I almost cry.

“You sick bastard,” I shout, pushing myself up off the floor. As I do I pick up his stapler, tossed to the floor as he cleared his desk. I throw it at him, and he dodges it, then yanks his pants up.

“You were told not to go in that room.” His gravelly growl infuriates me. I frantically look around the room for something else to throw at him, but he is there, scooping me up. He tosses me over his shoulder fireman style, and I pummel his back with my fists.

“Put me down!” I shout, kicking and flailing. He carries me out the door of his office and down the hallway. We head up the stairs, passing my room with its broken door. He ducks into a different room; all the while, I’m still pounding his back. When he tosses me onto a bed, a squeak escapes my lips as I bounce. “You jerk!” I am sobbing now, shaking with rage. He can’t do this to me.

This room has no clothing, no pleasant bed spread. There is no window, no vase of flowers. It’s plain, as if it has been ignored since his mother died, since his family left. I curl into a ball and scoot back against the headboard. My sobs come harder. I feel powerless, exposed, vulnerable. I feel weak. Too weak, and he is the reason.

“I hate you!”

“Hate is such a strong word, Nan.” Dominic stands there staring at me smugly as he unbuttons the cuffs of his long-sleeve button down and rolls them up. His shirt still hangs open, the scar on his chest exposed. He catches me looking at it through my tears. I’m supposed to be the one with power right now, not him, not this.

“Well it’s true. I hate you.” It’s not true, not even a little. I’m scared of him, yes, but I don’t hate him. How can I hate him? How, when I know he knows what happened to me, and he still wanted me enough to fuck me? He knows and he thinks of me like he thinks of his mother, a victim that needs rescued. Only, I don’t want to be the victim; I want to be the powerful one. He raped me of that power. Why? To prove something to me?

“We have too much in common for you to hate me. You know that.” He moves closer, pushing the sleeves up a bit farther. I wipe at my eyes, still furious that he withheld an orgasm from me. My body throbs, moisture still dripping out of me as I realize my face is covered in his sticky release. I touch it gingerly, disgusted by the tack texture. He tosses his handkerchief at me and I wipe myself clean, then blow my nose.

“You don’t know me,” I tell him, throwing the soiled rag onto the floor.

“I know you, Nan. I know you better than you know yourself.” He moves closer, turning the bed down on one side. “Lie down,” he orders, and I want to protest, but a part of me still wants that orgasm. So, I slide beneath the covers, letting my fingers slip into the soft folds between my legs.

When he climbs into bed, I expect him to touch me, to say dirty things, but he doesn’t. He forces me to face away from him. Then he pulls me against his chest. I hate this, this vulnerability. I don’t want to be held. I want fucked. I squirm uncomfortably, feeling tears welling up again. He doesn’t know me. If he knew me, he would just make me come again. I whimper, ready to protest, to beg him to make me come. I know that makes me the weak one, but my body needs release now.

“I know you Nanette,” he coos, squeezing me more tightly. “This is what you need right now.”

I want to fight, to resist him, but tears well up. “I don’t need held. I need release.”

“You need to understand vulnerability and what it’s like to feel safe again.” His words prick my heart, and the tears spring from my eyes. I don’t want to learn this. I was vulnerable once, trusting even. Gallagher ruined that; he stole from me. I can still feel the sensation of his hands touching me, his body moving against mine.

I can still see the look of shock on Jimmy’s face as he was forced to watch it in horror. He protested, begged, but Gallagher was evil, and I was weak. I swore I would never be weak again. So, I wrestle against Dominic’s arms, pushing at him, clawing at him. A scream erupts from my throat, a scream I’ve suppressed for more than ten years. I jerk my body, trying to get away, but his arms tighten down around me. I can’t move.

“Fuck you!” I scream, drawing blood on his arms. “Fuck you and fuck your business.” I am sobbing, flailing to get away from him but he is too strong.

“I saw too, Nanette. I saw what happened to my mother. Tried to defend her. You’re right,” he says in a low tone, so low I almost miss what he says next. “The scar is from him, the man who hurt her. He nearly cut me in two when I attacked him trying to get him off her.”

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