Page 118 of Executing Malice
I’m asleep, oblivious to the figure in the doorway.
I don’t take my eyes off the man with the bare chest and sweats as I kick out of my underwear and straddle the same man currently in my bed.
On the TV, Dante brushes aside my blankets and leans down to roll up my T-shirt all the way up over my breasts.
I no longer try to tell myself I should be furious that he’s climbing between my legs. I don’t pretend to be outraged when he presses his face into the apex of my thighs. If I’ve learned anything about myself, it’s that I love this. I love being used byhim. I love the depravity of him taking advantage of me when I’m too helpless to stop him.
Sleep-me loves the flick of his tongue. I’m writhing and whimpering, and he’s got his fingers pumping inside me.
Core throbbing, I reach for the cock between my legs and give it a stroke. I let my palm glide up along each bar to the very tip where I tug. Give just enough pressure to make Dante squirm. But he doesn’t stop me. He says nothing as I position him to my opening.
And sink.
Every other time, he’s taken control. I’ve never tried to take him on my own and the difference is momentarily intimidating.
“Just sit, baby,” he encourages.
I wiggle to brace myself before trying again.
I get the first bar across the top. Then the second. The immediate sense of weight, the pressure has me catching my breath.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t try to help. He lies there, eyes fixed on my face, as I ride him. As I sink to the hilt, taking every piercing up to the bottom until I can’t move without pain.
He feels so good. So perfect. His dick was made for me and I’m counting every blessing while sparks fly behind myclosed eyelids.
“Fuck, Dante,” I moan, thighs quivering as I stay there, grazing that spot that makes my pussy seize and flutter.
I already have him so deep but plant my palms to his chest and grind deeper. I force my body to the breaking point. The point where I’m shuddering.
My head falls back and my spine arches. I tear into my bottom lip until I can hold the sounds in no longer.
His name. Only his name in a flood of pleading as I take what’s mine. As I ride his cock like it’s the only thing keeping me alive.
I’m only vaguely aware of the canyons I’m clawing into his flesh as I race to the cliff.
My eyes snap open with the first choked sob on the screen, but my gaze is captured by the mirror. I’d forgotten about that, but I’m momentarily captivated by the sight of my thighs hugging his hips. It’s just next to the mounted phone blinking red.
“Are you filming this?” I pant, never slowing.
“Yes.”
I drop my attention to the man watching me like I’m responsible for creating the world and capture his hands off my hips. I drag them up to my breasts and hold them there while I fuck him.
Use him to get off.
Only when I scream his name and fall forward into his arms does he move. I’m pulled off. His cock dislodges, still rock hard but now smeared in my release as he rolls me onto my stomach with him across my back.
He slams home.
My tender channel convulses with pain and pleasure but is never given a chance to pick one when he’s railing me with vicious, angry force. The position has fire blooming through my belly in a surge of raw agony that has me screaming and thrashing. My toes dig into the mattress as I leverage my hips up to take more of him.
But he suddenly stops.
It’s so sudden and unexpected that I’m not prepared when he flips me onto my back.
“What?” I pant, peering up into his face. “What’s wrong?”
Face, still a mask of hunger, is clouded with fear. “What if we hurt the baby?”
