Page 51 of Dimitri
I’m not wearing a bra, so there’s no hiding how hard his aggressiveness made my nipples, but my hands are itching to slap him across the face. I’ve never felt such a conflicting array of emotions. I want to kiss and hurt him at the same time, and I’m not the only one noticing this.
Dimitri brings his lips so close to mine, I get drunk off the whiskey fumes in his breath as much as I do the knee he wedges between my legs. His closeness makes me dizzy. I’m panting, hot and on the brink of begging for him to kiss me.
I hate how weak he makes me, but it can’t be helped. He’s as brutally beautiful as I imagined in the alleyway all those months ago, and he has my head void of a single thought that doesn’t include him.
Desire pulses through me when he shoves my head to the side so he can drag his nose down the throb in my throat. It has me all types of excited until he growls in my ear, “I should have killed you in the alleyway like I did the guard. Gunned you down like you thought I was going to. Then you wouldn’t have me so fucking confused.”
When I push him away from me, too angry to let his hurtful comments slide without protest, he crowds me even closer to the wall. “It would have been awfully convenient for me if your boyfriend achieved what he set out to do, then I wouldn’t be wasting my time chasing ghosts, years too fucking late! Do you have any idea how much time I’ve wasted on you this week? How many hours you’ve added to my daughter’s captivity? Even now, instead of working on pinpointing her location, I’m here, dealing with you… again.”
“No one asked you to do that. I was perfectly fine with Rocco.”
My shouted response agitates him the most. He doesn’t speak a word, but I can see the last four ones I spoke filtering through his head on repeat. He works them over and over and over until the tension crackling between us turns dangerous.
Confusion draws my brows together when Dimitri takes a step back, unpinning me from the cool, tiled wall. For how worked up he is, I hadn’t expected him to give in so easily.
I realize I still have a lot to learn about this man when he says, “I wonder how ‘perfectly fine’ Rocco will be when I remove his scent from your skin with more than water?”
Not giving me time to decipher his cryptic message, he yanks me forward by a rough tug on my wrist, throws an arm around my thighs, then hoists me onto his shoulder.
When he moves me in the opposite direction of the washing facilities, I fight him with everything I have. I slap, kick, and bite at him, aware he has a gun in his bedside table, a big scary gun I have no clue how to use, much less defend myself against.
When I’m dumped onto the bed with the same aggression Clover used only days ago, I spring onto my feet. I make a dash for the door, but Dimitri’s grab-sweep-yank routine on my ankle sends me toppling on the mattress.
With one hand pinning me to the mattress, the other works on undoing the buckle on his well-worn belt. Instincts scream for me to protect my face when he drags the battered material out of the loops of his trousers, but its quick clatter to the floor halves my efforts, and I’m not going to mention the lowering of his zipper, or you’ll accuse me of being mental.
This sucks to admit, but I’m more petrified I’ll miss Dimitri’s unexpected strip than worried he’s going to beat me like my father did my mother any time her moans seemed too authentic for him. He was happy to humiliate and degrade her, but at no time was she to get pleasure during his quest for happiness.
Twisted emotions spiral through me when Dimitri’s painfully erect cock springs free from his trunks he yanks them down his thighs. He’s thick and angry, hard to the fact I’m worried he’s about to pass out.
How is it possible to direct so much blood to one region of the body and not get dizzy?
I suck in a quick, terrifying breath when the removal of his trousers is closely followed by him fisting my hair in a white-knuckled hold. He uses his leverage on my overbleached locks to drag my head toward his impressive cock he’s strangling like he is angry at it.
I won’t lie, I’ve dreamed about this very moment for over a year, but it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t against my will. In my dreams, I sucked the dangerous and mysterious stranger’s dick because I couldn’t wait a second longer to discover how delicious he tasted. He didn’t force me. I did it willingly.
I realize I have the situation wrong when Dimitri’s thick timbre breaks through the panicked breaths shrilling in my ears. “Look at me.”
When my eyes immediately jump to the command in his tone, the flare of his nostrils mesmerizes me in under a second. He stares straight at me while frantically working his cock in and out of his clenched fist.
A gleam in his eyes reveals the mammoth restraint he’s exuding, but for once, he’s not harnessing his desire to kill me. He’s fighting not to take what I’m unwilling to give, holding back the urge to finish what he started downstairs.
He’s doing everything in his power not to make me his, even with his actions doing precisely that.
My eyes return to the angry, red beast rocking in and out of his fist an inch from my breasts in just enough time to witness the final two pumps needed to bring him to ecstasy.
He grunts when a stream of white cum jets out of his engorged knob.
I moan.
Watching him bring himself to climax is both thrilling and excruciating. Thrilling because it doubled the erotic tingles between my legs that haven’t quit since he spanked my ass raw, but excruciating because the cruel curl of his lips tells me this is as far as our exchange will go.
This isn’t about getting me off. Even with his hand strangling his still-erect cock to ensure every drop of his cum is expelled onto my breasts, this isn’t even about Dimitri. He removed Rocco’s smell from my skin by replacing it with his as a reminder that I’m his property. His gimmick. His toy to fuck with time and time again.
I am his, despite the fact he has no plans to fully claim me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Roxanne
