Page 13 of Corrupting Lily

Dominico's fingers, lightly trailing my spine, pull me back to the present as my eyes meet his in the reflection. At nearly a foot taller than I am, I have an unobstructed view of his gorgeous face above my head, though it is of little use. His mask is firmly in place, and I envy the ease with which he gives nothing away. His fingers find the zipper I've been struggling with, a slight tug freeing it from its stuck position. His thumb grazes my skin as he pulls the zipper further down, the brief meeting of flesh on flesh causing a shiver to run down my spine and goosebumps to erupt all over my body. A smirk, an emotion of some sort, suggests he has noticed my body’s reaction. A reaction over which I have absolutely no control.

Many women seem to share this response. I noticed the shop attendants' lust and unrestrained examination of Dominico’s physique earlier. My mind wanders back to Sally’s words upon our arrival, suggesting he had shopped here before. Clearly, this is not a store where he would find something for himself, so he must have been shopping for another woman. This thought triggers a wave of jealousy. It's completely unwarranted and odd, considering I have only been in this man’s company twice. As I take in his god-like features and undeniablymuscular physique, confirmed when he held me securely in his arms earlier, I imagine he must have an array of stunning companions to choose from: beautiful and perfect. The realization strikes me as his finger glides down my back, trailing along the zipper of the dress and successfully pulling me back down to earth. Panic at what he might see makes me jump forward as I turn around to face him.

“That’s perfect. I appreciate your help, Dominico, but I can take it from here.” I offer him a strained smile, hoping he will leave.

But I don’t possess that kind of power, so we stand, staring at each other for a few seconds, my request clearly not going to be honored. His focus is intense, causing me to squirm as he studies my features, searching for something.

“What are you hiding with these clothes?” he finally asks as he strolls over to the daybed, his body sinking into it as he leans back casually, one arm draped over the back while the other rests on his leg.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, looking away as I fiddle with the sleeves of my beautiful dress. I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy trying on all these gorgeous clothes, especially since I can choose them. Before the incident six months ago, I hadn’t chosen an outfit for myself in years, always wearing whathewanted me to wear so that I wouldn’t be an embarrassment, I was told.

“Take it off.” My head snaps up, Dominico’s expression completely unreadable as he stares at me.

“What? Why?” I ask softly. Why is he doing this to me? Why am I even here?

“Take it off. I’m asking nicely, but I don’t like repeating myself…Lily.”

I can feel the blood draining from my face.

He knows. He knows my real name. He knows who I am. But then why am I still here and not back with him?

It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to know. This is one thousand percent better than that. Even as scared as I am with Dominico at this moment, I would still rather be here than face the alternative. Defeated, I realize there is no point in fighting this. I was at Dominico's mercy. Anything he asked, I would do. Even exposing this wreckage of a body to him.

“You won’t like what you see. I’m... flawed. Broken,” I mumble, not averting my gaze as the words escape my lips. This will be a shock for him compared to the women he's accustomed to.

“I’m capable of forming my own opinions, so you can keep yours.” His words leave no further room for argument.

Turning around to face the mirror, I pull the sleeves of the dress down, allowing the material to fall from my body and pool at my feet. Thankfully, Sally had convinced me to replace my worn bra and panties with this beautiful, matching black lace set. When I stripped down earlier, it was comical how alarmed she looked at my mismatched cotton undergarments. The expression on her face conveyed that there was no way she would let the far superior material of these outfits touch those lesser pieces of fabric. Shortly after, ten beautiful and rather sexy sets were brought in.

Dominico rises, his eyes still locked with mine as he approaches slowly. Only when he steps behind me does his gaze drop. I watch his face intently, wishing I meant enough to him to let me see what he feels. What does he see when he looks at me? What opinion does he hold? It's been a long time since anyone's impression of me has mattered.

The light touch of his finger circling one of the small round scars on my back almost makes me jump. I don’t know how, as it is feather-light, flitting from one to the other. I close my eyes, willing the tears not to fall. No one has touched me with such tenderness in a while,the feeling evoking emotions of loss from my depths. It's as if I've been starved of it. Deprived. It’s wrong. This is how I should have been touched. Lightly, like a butterfly, not with steel, leather, cigars, and fists. A tear slips out, one that doesn’t get far, its progress halted by a finger. My eyes open in time to see that finger popped into a mouth and licked clean.

“Don’t cry. Tears can’t help you. We all have scars. It’s just that ours are both on the inside and out.” The word ‘us’ hangs in the air, a connection forming with its mere use. There is a tenderness in his voice that I doubt he even realizes is there.

“This,” he says, trailing a finger down a two-inch scar on my stomach, “is just flesh and bone. They can only get to what is inside if you let them. Don’t let them. Your soul, your will, can only be destroyed if you allow them. Don’t allow them.” His words shock me, the depth and conviction with which they are spoken telling me they are as personal to him as this entire moment is becoming to me. He doesn’t strike me as a man who freely divulges anything, let alone words loaded with such sentiment. The ember I feel around him sparks at this realization. The thought that I might be special not just to someone but to him, is like fuel to a fire.

Wordlessly, he takes my hand and places it on my stomach, his hand over mine as he guides it across my scars. His other hand trails a line up my arm, briefly tracing the long scar on the underside before continuing upward. The energy in the room shifts, becoming sexually charged. His finger grazes my neck, the frantic pulse there matching a similar one forming between my thighs as he firmly wraps his hand around my throat. Right where it belongs. With a little pressure, my head tilts to the side as he leans forward, his breath fanning my face, while my eyes close with desire.

“Eyes open,” he orders, and I comply, watching his gaze travel overmy body in the mirror's reflection, not with a look of disgust but one of hunger. Desire that makes me as wet as I was in the office at Mirra.

His hand guides mine down, painstakingly slowly, anticipation building with every little movement. I'm panting by the time we finally reach the band of my lacy panties, but unlike before, his hand and mine disappear into them, the path causing my lower abdomen to clench deliciously.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, his finger over mine, sliding us over my clit and through my wet folds before plunging into my wet pussy. “Inside and out.”

The fullness of our fingers is delicious, our digits caressing my inner walls as we fuck our fingers in and out of my pussy in perfect rhythm. The view is erotic, his tattooed hand firmly controlling me as it is wrapped around my neck while his other hand pumps faster into me, the tempo one that is pushing me toward an orgasm that I fear I won’t recover from. His grip tightens around my throat while his palm forces mine down under his, the friction on my clit too much as I shudder under him, my walls clamping around us as I ride out the best orgasm of my life. My eyes, which closed as pure pleasure assaulted my body moments before, fly open as he releases me. Yet again.

I stumble forward, my legs still weak, as I steady myself against the mirror.

“Don’t be embarrassed about your scars,il mio fiorellino. I want to see that same freedom you just experienced in the clothes you choose now.” With those words, he walks away, leaving me utterly confused. What just happened?

Chapter 10

Dominico

Dante hands me a rag, the blood on my hands dripping onto the dirty concrete floor as I walk toward the vehicle parked outside the warehouse. Just hours ago, my hand had been covered in wetness of a different kind. That same incident is the one I am trying to rid myself of. Unsuccessfully.

The feel of her sweet pussy wrapping around our digits has lodged itself in my brain quicker than any bad habit ever has. My hand is accustomed to wielding any manner of weapon, yet making her come with just our fingers felt more powerful than anything I have ever brandished—a shocking revelation, if ever there was one. Usually I destroy, but in that moment I created. I created that sweet look on her face. I created that slick mess in her panties. I created an orgasm that wracked her body. Me. It left me feeling like a fucking god and rooted the seed of creation when it came to Lily. What else could I produce given enough time?

---