Chapter Eighteen Monika #2
I feel something prod my pussy lips, and I scream around the foam gag in my mouth as Darius shoves the head of his dick inside me in one smooth motion.
He rocks against me and, within a few heartbeats, has himself fully inserted in both my holes.
He doesn’t wait. He starts to fuck me fast, riding me hard enough he’s going to leave bruises on the tops of my thighs where they’re hitting the edge of the desk.
He doesn’t fuck me anywhere near long enough for me to be able to come, as I twist between the pleasure and pain of it.
And I’m a sick, sick girl because even though I could have chosen to spit the ball out of my mouth at any point and said the safe word, I don’t.
Because more than I’d love to come right now, I love being owned like this by him.
Tears wet my lashes. Tears of the most exquisite delight.
I make a terrible spy, I think, sobbing around my gag as Darius’s shallow thrusts start to get sloppy and his hand on the back of my head tightens.
“Augh . . . fuuuuck,” he groans and that’s when I feel the telltale swelling of his cock inside my body.
Combined with the added pressure of his tail in my ass, I panic, lifting on my tiptoes, but there’s nowhere for me to go.
He keeps me pinned as he roars out a curse and then drops over my body.
I can feel the hot splash of his cum inside me and hear the lascivious squelching sound as he continues to rock against my body.
The sensations make my eyes roll back and my nostrils flare.
His cock expands around the middle, and I pray, as my hands clench, that I’m well worked out enough from the first time that I don’t tear.
He lies over my back, propped up on his elbows, his head hanging down over the top of my head.
His lips brush over my crown again and again, biting and tasting my hair and the shells of my ears.
His claws trace lines around my bandaged shoulder.
The wounds left by his teeth are still there but scabbing over quickly.
“Where I bit you will leave scars,” he says against the side of my face.
He takes my ear between his fangs threateningly but doesn’t bite down hard.
“And when they fade, I’ll bite you again to leave more scars in the same place.
Maybe I’ll leave them all over your body so that everyone who looks at you will know who you belong to. ”
I shudder as his cock twitches inside me. His tail is calm inside my ass. He’s so still the pain is gone, and I wish for a ludicrous second that we could stay locked like this for an hour.
I sniffle and he bends around me to speak against my nose. “Why did you crop out the part where I hurt Cynthia from your video?” His hand is on my neck, squeezing gently.
I feel so used, so treasured, so adored. He plucks the ball out of my mouth, spit coating my mouth and dribbling out of the corner. “I . . .” The truth is so embarrassing. It reveals too much and I can scarcely give it voice.
“Tell me.”
A light, feathery whisper slips out between my teeth. “I wanted to protect you.”
He shivers. Shivers. He doesn’t speak. His hips surge against my ass a little harder, and the prickling pain inside my body makes itself known.
But then his hand . . . his huge hand . .
. starts working its way around my body, wriggling between my soft stomach and his impossibly hard desk.
He somehow manages to squeeze beneath my weight, and two of his huge fingertips find my clit.
He starts to brush over it fast and hard. My hips buck. My eyes squeeze shut.
“Does it hurt?” he whispers.
I shake my head, then nod. “A little.” I’m wet enough, the lube and cum more than enough to make his touch rub smooth. But he’s going so fast there’s absolutely no buildup. And the pressure makes my ass clench on instinct, and that reminds me that he’s still got his tail shoved in there deep.
“Good. I wasn’t going to let you come at all. Did it occur to you that I don’t want my fucking picture taken next to that goddamn hussy? Answer me.”
I shake my head, panting, gasping, wishing I could push myself up off the uncomfortable desk, but his back is there, caging me. Also . . . hussy?
“That’s right. I didn’t. And if you take my picture next to another woman again that isn’t you, I’ll kill her.”
My eyes fly open. I can’t see his because he’s using his chest to smother me.
I’m so close I can’t bear it. His fingers squeeze my clit, pinching it hard, and that’s what does it for me.
It hurts, but it’s enough. The most deliriously magical and simultaneously horrible orgasm I’ve ever had rips through me, making my whole body clench up around his tail and dick.
The pressure is surreal and the orgasm floats through my body, leaving a tingling behind that scrapes out my insides and reorganizes them to his liking.
When I come to, he’s picked his torso up off my body, though his cock and tail are still firmly seated. “Sign this.” He slaps my ass hard enough to jolt my whole body against the concrete. He lifts my right wrist and then drops it onto the desk.
“Wh-what?” I pant, my gaze scanning over the document he shoves underneath my cheek. My eyes are unfocused until I blink.
“It’s a contract amendment, rolling back the allowance I gave you to communicate directly with my PR team and adding in that you no longer have my consent to take my photo without prior permission.”
“B-b . . . No!”
“And when you’re finished, sign this.” He holds up a document in my line of sight that can’t be mistaken for anything other than the large block letters printed at the top: Marriage License.
“What!” I scramble, trying to pick my head up off the desk, but he shoves me back down.
“Sign these. And when we’re done here, you’re going to give me your phone so I can send them the full video. They’ve already taken the other post down, but I’m going to need to make sure that it’s clear to the world exactly how I feel about Cynthia.”
“You can’t do that,” I wheeze. “You’ll look like a villain.”
“I am a villain. And only you know just how villainous I am.” His tail wiggles in my ass, and I clench my cheeks around it.
He slaps them one, two, three, four times in quick succession.
It’s so rough that I cry out, horribly tortured by the sting.
It makes me want to do terrible things. Sign whatever he wants and beg him to do more to me.
No! No thinking with the coochie! My eyes water and I heave, “I can’t sign that, Darius. I can’t take your picture in battles if you want my permission first. That just . . . doesn’t even make sense.”
“Good thing that after you sign this,” he says, fluttering the pink marriage certificate in front of my face, “you won’t be going into battle anymore. You’ll be tied to my bed, and that’s where you’ll stay.”
“Are you serious?”
“Do I sound like I’m joking?”
“You aren’t my only contract.”
“I will be once I kill Mr. Singkham and take over the COE.”
I freeze. “What?”
He bends back over me. “I am tired of being controlled . . .”
“But that’s exactly what you want to do to me!
” I rasp, squeezing my inner muscles around him, causing him to jerk.
He doesn’t answer. “You can’t own me. That’s not how this works.
” He still doesn’t answer. He knows I’m right.
He knows that the balance of this relationship relies entirely on my consent, on my limits and my wants.
“And as for that other contract amendment, no.”
“Yes,” he counters, wrapping my hair up in his fist and lifting my head from the desk high enough that he can bend around me and meet my gaze with those burning purple irises.
“It’s not realistic. You want my sign-off, fine, but I can’t get preapproval in the middle of a battle, and I’m not going to sit on the sidelines.
That’s where I was with the Wyvern and why I took your contract in the first place.
Also—I can’t believe I even have to say this—you can’t kill Mr. Singkham and take over the COE. ”
“Why not?” His horns crackle, and behind him, I see the metal pieces on his shelf also flaring with violent color. He doesn’t seem to notice. And the very conversation we’re having now is why I don’t say anything about it.
“Because there are other ways to get out of a contract,” I tell him, voice laden with implication.
“Like what?” he seethes, nostrils flaring.
“You can just leave. Like I’m going to leave.” Once I get un-impaled from his hard appendages. “I’m not signing anything.”
“You really think you can try to intimidate me?”
I scoff. “Of course not. You’ve got me pinned to your desk with your tail and your cock.
I like you, Darius,” I groan as I try to push myself up on shaking arms. He surprises me this time by letting me up, but then wraps his arms around me and falls back into his chair, his cock and tail still firmly wedged.
“Oof,” I whimper even louder, head rolling back and hitting his chest, which heaves with rage and aggression and need—at least, those are all the things I’m feeling.
“I like you. You have to know that. I admired Taranis as a hero, but I actually like you, Darius. You can’t put me in a cage unless it’s in your bedroom and we’re still using safe words.
” His hands come around my stomach, one of them palming my right breast. I can tell his dick has softened enough to pull out of me, but he makes no move to do that.
“And if you don’t like your cage, just leave it.
There’s nothing binding you there. You don’t have to kill anyone.
You have more money than God. If you signed a lousy contract when you became a hero, just fix it.
“I might not be able to fix mine, because you have me outmanned and outmuscled,” I grunt, trying to free one of my arms so I can reach back and touch Darius’s face.
I stroke his cheek. He moves where I want, coming closer to me until our cheeks are pressed together.
“But you can’t stop me from taking other contracts if you stop putting me on the good missions. ”
He cracks his fist on the edge of the desk, and the sound of thunder clacks through the room. “Do you have any idea who you’re talking to? I won’t let them put you on other contracts.” He snatches the papers off the desk and holds them up. “Sign them.”
“I won’t.”
“Sign them, or I’ll break your arm so you can’t hold up a camera.”
“I’d rather get eaten by rats.”
With no warning, Darius shoves me off him so that I lie splayed over his desk, his cock and tail ripping out of me in a way that makes me cry out in pain.
He storms out of his office, slamming the door so hard at his back that a few books and bobbles fall off the shelves behind me, and so do the weapons that were on the lowest shelf.
Wincing, I stand upright and turn around. I glance at the weapons on the ground, feeling proud of myself for standing tough despite feeling like I just had my insides scooped out. My pussy is gaping, and so is my ass. Both are clenching and winking, desperate for more of what Darius had.
I bend down and stroke my finger along one of the weapons. Lightning flares beneath my touch, but doesn’t hurt me. I place them back on the shelves carefully, hoping that he figures his shit out but also understanding that this is shit only he can figure out.
I learned a long time ago that I was no one’s therapist. I get to choose how I let folks treat me, and even if I want to be put in a cage by him, I don’t want to be caged by him.
If that’s a line in the sand we can’t erase together, then I’m going to leave and let our lawyers and our good friends at the COE settle the fallout.
He has to understand that I’m a photographer. I’m an artist. For better or worse, trying to disentangle me from my life’s work would be like trying to use chopsticks to pick all the salt out of the ocean.
The hero always saves the damsel at the end of the story, and if this was going to be the end of ours, then hell—nobody said I couldn’t play both parts. After all, as he’s said himself, he’s the villain.
And once he finds out that I’ve been spying on him, he’s going to do worse than break my legs or throw me off the top of our building.
The bullshit contract amendment and the little pink paper I’ve folded up in my pocket won’t mean anything.
Because after my confrontation with the Marduk, and after hearing from his own mouth that he plans to kill Mr. Singkham, I’ve got to start taking my spy duties seriously.