Page 111 of Dance of Madness

Sweat glistens on her skin and drips down my back. The world around us becomes a mad blur. My cock is so over-used that ithurts.

But the way her choked, whimpered little moans punch out of her in sharp, staccato breaths as I fuck her has me spiraling toward the abyss, and I’m determined to take her with me.

“Eyes on me, princess,” I grunt. “Look me in the eye when this hungry little pussy comes one more time. Let me feel it, baby girl. Let me feel that fucking cum flood my balls. Be a good girl andfucking come for me right now.”

My hand tightens around her throat hard enough to make her face darken. My thumb rolls her clit as my cock thrusts deep into her molten pussy, fucked raw.

She breaks in real time.

She’s a whimpering, drooling, limp little fuck-doll when that final orgasm hits, but then it’s like someone just plugged her into a live wire.

Milena’s body twists and writhes, almost wrenching in half as her back arches violently. A raw, primal sound roars from her throat and her eyes bulge wide as her legs kick and clench and shake viciously.

Just as she goes completely boneless, I pull out of her with a snarled groan. I move up her body, straddle her chest, and lock eyes with her as I stroke my veined, swollen cock.

With a choked roar, my cum explodes out in thick, heavy ropes, splattering across her face, her neck, her tits, covering the soaked panties stuffed into her mouth. She moans, still writhing, her eyes rolling back like she’s in another fucking dimension as I fist my cock and empty my balls over her.

The room is spinning, my vision turning dark at the corners. I barely catch myself as I fall forward, one hand on the headboard. Milena is utterly limp on the bed as I undo the belt and let her arms drop.

My body feels numb as I somehow stagger to her bathroom, grab a cloth, and wet it with warm water.

She’s almost out when I crash onto her bed. I pull the panties from her slack mouth and clean her face with the washcloth.

My lips find hers, and I kiss her as I pull her into my arms.

“Fuck…”she barely breathes out, her eyes still closed. “…you.”

I frown, blinking as I pull back, my brows furrowed heavily. Then her lips pull into a lazy grin, and one eye barely opens to look at me.

“…For ever doubting me,” she mumbles with a sleepy smile. “You’re…lucky I decided to give you a break, asshole.”

I grin. So does she. Then her eye closes once again.

Darkness starts to pull me under as I drop back onto her bed. I feel her skin and her warm breath, her cheek lying on my chest.

Marathon over.

I think this might be a draw.

That means more than I can comprehend right now.

22

MILENA

Madame Kuzmina has toldme about eleven million times that repetition of the impossible makes it not only possible, but routine.

I’m beginning think that might translatefarpast ballet into the madness that has become my…whatever I’m doing with Nero.

Because it appears repetition ofinsanityturns it not just intosanity.

It turns it into thenorm.

Notnormal is mynewnormal, and I’m not sure I have anything bad to say about that. Sure, my body kind of hates me these days, and that’s saying something after a lifetime of ballet training.

To say that I’m sore would be the understatement of the century. My new skin tone could be described as purplish-blue, sometimes with a hint of yellow-green, from the bruises on my…well, everything. It's to the point that, in addition to all the long-sleeve shirts and pants instead of tank tops and skirts, I might be single-handedly bringing turtlenecks back into fashion.

Scarves, too, but I’m not the trendsetter there. That honor would go to Lyra, who has acquired quite a collection of them since she married Carmine Barone.

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