Page 35 of Bad Girl Dilemma

For my reward.

Then he finally pulls back. Thrusts. It’s deep and devastating. Each stroke hits something primal, and the piercing sends jolts of electric pleasure right through me.

I scream. I beg beg beg. I break.

Dante brings me repeatedly to my peak. Withdraws. Edging me until I’m a sobbing, clawing mess.

“I knew you were worth the wait. Fuck.” He says that almost to himself. A smug observation as he pistons in and out. In and out. Beating my pussy like his own percussion drum. A symphony he composes to his exacting standards.

My words dry up and I fall into a trance. Circling the rim of pleasure so acute the line dissolves. I don’t know whether I’m dying or resurrecting.

“Sir… please. Let me come,” I wheeze. Because his hands relax around my throat.

Dante is owning me. Deciding when I can breathe.

Every thrust amplifies how shamefully wet I am and how I could come just from the decadent sounds alone.

“You hear that, little thief? That’s the sound of your cunt begging for me. Acknowledging its Master.” His voice is dark velvet, soaked in heat and dominance, like sin spoken into skin. “That’s the sound of a good girl being broken in exactly the way she needs.”

He tightens his grip—just a little. Enough to make the air catch in my lungs, enough to spike the dizzy euphoria spiraling through me. My body clenches around him like he’s the only anchor I have left in a world gone molten and mad.

“You think I didn’t see it?” he growls against my ear. “How wet you were just from my voice? From my command?”

I moan—no, sob—as the truth slams into me harder than any thrust could. He’s right. Icravedthis. Ihatethat he knows.

Dante’s cock drills deeper, dragging a fresh wave of slick heat from me as he rocks into my soaked, needy core. “Look atyou, Dahlia,” he pants, fucking me into delirium. “Slick. Shaking. Wrecked. And still hungry for more.”

Each word pushes me closer to the edge. He’s not just inside my body—he’s inside my mind. And I’ve never felt moreowned.

I spasm around him. He hisses. Grips my neck and pushes me down until my shoulders and breasts are plastered on the bench.

The angle intensifies… everything.

He’s deeper. Fatter. And… and… fuck, I feel the metal stroke a spot that showers my vision with fireworks. “God! Right there! Please, Sir. Right there!”

His breathing escalates. His grip, bruising. “You attempting to steal something else, little thief? To drain my balls for this tight, greedy little pussy before I’m ready?”

Yes. God, yes!“O-only if you want to g-give it to m-me, Sir,” I manage.

His rhythm catches fire. Supersonic. He shuttles words and thoughts clean out of my mind.

Then, just when I know I’m going to break his rule, Dante swells inside me, fingers digging cruel and deep into my hips.

“Fuck! Come for me,” he growls. “Now.”

And I do.

With a scream that tears through the room, through my ribs, through whatever armor I have left. It crashes like a fucking tsunami—violent, wet, and messy.

It’s not just an orgasm—it’s a detonation.

My whole world blinks white. My muscles seize. My heart stops. Then slams back into motion, faster, freer.

When the spasms fade and I collapse bonelessly beneath him, he stays there—buried deep, still pulsing, still hard.

Then he follows with a roar, pulling me tight to him as he spills inside, shaking with restraint and release.

We collapse together on the bench, breathless. Sticky. Shattered.

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