Chapter 10 #2
I’m panting. A needy mess by the time he rises and repositions himself behind me. Taps the base of the plug. Electricity zaps through me.
“I’m taking this out now. I’m too big to leave it in for our first time.”
I clench my jaw against telling him to leave it. To give me the pain with the pleasure. But even I know that’s foolish. Risky. Recklessness might get me fuck all. Or fucked not. I signed a paper that said I would obey.
Surrender .
So I nod. “Yes, Sir.”
Did he just tremble? I?—
He taps the base again.
“God, please…”
“Tell me how you feel, Little Dahlia,” he croons.
We’re in double digits now with the little now. I’m getting an idea of how I can pay him back. I just need to bide my time. “Electric. Fireworks. Everywhere.”
“Surely you can do better than that, Specter?”
“God, just… just fuck me.”
Tap tap tap tap tap tap.
One finger hooks through my collar as he taps out a rhythm. A reminder of who’s in charge. Who controls my pleasure. Action and consequence. Obedience and reward.
I grit my teeth and pleasure and discomfort detonate through my bloodstream.
“Beg for it.”
I remember what he said to me the first night. The threat and promise. “Please!”
“More.”
“Please. Please, Sir. Fuck me.”
Another long minute. Tap tap tap . Then I feel him grip the base.
“Breathe out, baby. Long and slow.”
I let out every ounce of air trapped in my lungs. Shudder when he pulls the plug out.
Then Dante’s hand closes over the collar. Over my neck. Fingers splayed against my carotid.
The kiss of his crown against my pussy makes me both tense and eager. The touch of the barbell against my wetness makes my mouth water.
His fingers tighten, holding me in place.
I catch the faintest indrawn breath.
And then he’s inside me—inch by inch, that hard, metal-studded cock stretching me open. It’s too much. It’s not enough. I whimper as he sinks deep, and the sensation—the pressure, the fullness, the faint tug of the piercing—makes my eyes roll back.
He groans. “Fuck, you feel like heaven. Small, fragile. Like you’re breakable. But you’re not, are you?” he grates.
I grip the bench. Roll around in the guttural sound of his second groan. Whimper when his fingers dig into my neck and my hips. He’s too fucking big. It fucking hurts. And I love every inch of him I can take and the many I can’t.
What I don’t love? He’s stilled.
I feel his cock beating like a heartbeat inside me. I can’t turn my head or move my body. I’m fully under Dante O’Driscoll’s control. Can barely breathe. And it’s heaven and hell.
“God—please—Sir!”
But he doesn’t move.
He just stays there, buried deep, one hand at my throat, the other slipping between my thighs, pressing just above my clit until I’m writhing.
“Come when I say,” he growls. “Not before.”
My body betrays me. Muscles tighten, everything coils.
But I hold on.
For him.
For me.
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. I craved this. I hate that 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 at you, 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 more owned .
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.
“Mine, little thief. Mine,” he insists, kissing the corner of my mouth with terrifying gentleness.
And I don’t say no.
Afterward, he doesn’t speak.
But he doesn’t leave either.
And if I wasn’t so unhinged with pleasure, that would’ve terrified me.