11. Raiden
Chapter 11
Raiden
W omen were made to be worshipped. Their bodies, though perilously close in design to the male body, are perfect. I adore their curves and edges, from the gentle slope of shoulders to the swell of hips; I take delight in their scents and tastes, each one unique as a fingerprint, as intoxicating as rare wine. They are poetry-made flesh, strength wrapped in silk, and I am forever humbled before their grace.
Yet even in my reverence, I find a delicious thrill in the gasps and whispered cries that escape Lucrezia’s lips as I explore her folds. Each breathy sound of pleasure tinged with pain is a symphony to my ears, and I am the maestro, orchestrating her responses with every flick and drag of my tongue. The taste of her arousal is a heady elixir, and I consume it greedily, savoring the unique flavor that is hers alone.
Sweat pools in her belly button and trickles down her sides, her fingers becoming one with the sheets, twisting and gripping the fabric until her knuckles whiten as she arches off the bed once more, offering herself up to me like a sacrifice to the gods. Her breath comes in ragged strips, punctuated by desperate whimpers that echo through the room as I wrench another orgasm from her body.
Lucrezia’s skin is a beautiful shade of brown, darkened by the Italian sun, but it flushes red beneath my ministrations. “Fuck,” she swears, the word swallowed up by her pleasure. It’s her fourth orgasm since we began, and her thighs tremble restlessly, quivering with each pulse of her climax as her body begs for release from the exquisite torture. She’s on the cusp of everything I promised, and she fights it with every flick of my tongue.
I have an oral fixation—a discovery that came unexpectedly during my first time going down on a woman. I was nineteen, still green and uncertain, while she was thirty-seven, worldly and experienced. I saw her as something of a maternal figure, though there was nothing motherly about the way she carried herself. She was a regular fixture at the Destroyers clubhouse, always dressed in tops that plunged dangerously low, lavishing attention on anyone willing to return her sultry gazes. Before her, I’d fumbled through encounters with a handful of girls my own age—awkward, inexperienced affairs where we were all equally clueless about what we were doing. But Cheryl, she was different. Under her guidance, I received what amounted to a master class in the art of pleasure, learning lessons that would shape my entire approach to intimacy.
This is why I make it clear from the beginning that whatever this is, it isn’t a thing . When you make a woman come so many times that her eyes roll back in her head and she can’t speak, they want to lock you down. When her body aches the next day from pleasure, she’s ready to marry you. It doesn’t matter if you can cook or clean; if you can do for her what no man has ever done before, she’ll give up the safe accountant who’s never made her feel a lick of danger for a man who’ll make her feel as good as I do. I’ve seen it happen too many times—watched women throw away perfectly stable relationships for the hope of a lifetime of great sex and multiple orgasms, only to end up disappointed when reality sets in. That’s not the kind of weight I want on my conscience. Better to be honest upfront about what I can and can’t offer, even if it means some nights end before they begin.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Lucrezia drags her forearm across her forehead, wiping away a layer of sweat, her chest still heaving from exertion. Her dark hair is plastered to her neck, and the bedding is damp from her pleasure. “You weren’t kidding.” Her words come out in throaty acceptance, hardly more than a whisper in the heated space between us.
“I don’t joke about what this tongue is capable of, gorgeous.” I murmur against her inner thigh, savoring the lingering taste on my lips. She tastes like honey and springtime with a dash of spice, a delicious combination that makes me want to dive right back in for another round. My fingers trace idle patterns on her skin, feeling the slight tremors still running through her body.
Lucrezia snorts in derision, using her elbows to prop herself up so she can see me better. Her dark hair falls in a disheveled curtain around her flushed face as she fixes me with her dilated gaze. “Men always talk a big game. I’ve found that most don’t know how to deliver. They make all these grand promises but can barely find their way around a woman’s body, let alone make her come.”
“I’m not most men, princess. I’m the God damn pussy whisperer.”
She attempts to withdraw her leg from my shoulder. It’s slick with sweat, but I grab her by the ankle anyway, my fingers closing around it like a vice. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m done,” Lucrezia decides, her voice laced with a hint of defiance as she tries to shake off my grasp. “I’m not into begging, so I’m going to stop here.”
I haven’t even gotten my dick wet yet. Not that that’s an indicator of good sex, but I was looking forward to feeling her pussy strangle the shit out of my cock. There’s no way a girl goes away to a convent for five years and doesn’t have a tight fucking snatch. The thought of it has been teasing me all night, and I’m not about to let her walk out on me now.
I secure my grip on Lucrezia’s ankle, ensuring that she can’t pull away. My eyes lock onto hers, a challenge sparking between us. “That’s not what we agreed on,” I remind her, my voice low and even.
I should have known she was the kind of girl that got turned on by fighting. It’s written all over her—from that defiant glint in her eyes to the way she carries herself. She’s a brat if I’ve ever met one, and I’ve met plenty over the years.
Lucrezia doesn’t attempt to yank her leg out of my grip so much as she nearly kicks me in the face when she flips onto her stomach to crawl away from me. The move is quick and deliberate, almost like she’s practiced it. It’s a volatile mix of arousal and anger that forces me to my feet, pulling her back to the edge of the bed with enough force to make the mattress creak in protest. I swear a giggle escapes her lips - a playful, taunting sound - when I wrap my free hand around her throat and haul her to her feet.
“Now, Lux,” I purr in her ear, trying to maintain my self-control, “you wouldn’t want me to think you’re the kind of girl who breaks her promises, now would you?”
She stands on her tiptoes, but it only raises her a couple of inches against me, her calves flexing with the effort. Her naked body rubs up against mine, skin sliding against skin with delicious friction, making my dick harder than freshly cured concrete. “Since I’ve never made you any promises, I can’t break any, either.”
Tricky little minx, this one. The way she plays with words makes me want to shove something into that smart mouth of hers. “Alright, fair enough.” But I won’t let her go until I get my pound of flesh. “Let me make you a promise then: I’m going to shove your face into the mattress and fuck you until you scream.”
Lucrezia giggles again, the sound vibrating against my palm. She’s a menace, I swear to God. She presses closer instead of pulling away. “Now that’s the kind of promise I can get behind.”
Not one to break promises, I do exactly as I said I would. She bends at the waist as I force her over the side of the bed, her body folding like a rag doll under my grip. Lucrezia’s sounds of pleasure are muffled by the bed sheets as I palm my dick and press my head against her opening, feeling her wet heat beckoning me in.
A good girl might get all eight inches of me slow and steady, but Lucrezia has been nothing but bad, and she deserves to be punished for her sass. I slam into her whether she’s ready or not, the taste of victory coating my cock as I sink balls deep inside her pussy. The mattress creaks in protest as I drive into her, again and again, each thrust a declaration of dominance.
Lucrezia is not deterred. She shoves her hips back to meet mine with savage intensity, taking every forceful thrust with a stifled moan that vibrates through her whole body. I’m forced to let go of her head so I can hold on to her waist, my fingers digging into her soft flesh for better leverage. She rides my dick like she’s the one in charge, her movements wild and unrestrained, not afraid to take her pleasure when and where she can. Each roll of her hips threatens to undo my control. I slap her ass, the sharp crack echoing through the room, and she only moans louder, indulging in the pain as she growls through clenched teeth, “Again. Harder.”
Her defiance sparks a fire within me, igniting a primal desire that demands to be sated. I oblige her request, my palm cracking against her skin once more in a sharp, stinging impact. The sound echoes through the room, mingling with her cries of pleasure that reverberate off the walls as she bucks against me, her pussy clenching around my cock like a vice. I grit my teeth, fighting to maintain control as the sensations threaten to overwhelm me. She writhes beneath me, her body a blur of motion as she takes every punishing thrust I deliver.
Her fingers dig into the sheets, her nails scraping against the fabric as she arches her back, offering herself to me completely. I take it, plunging deeper, my balls slapping against her skin in a rhythmic cadence that drives us both closer to the edge.
I can feel the sweat dripping down my forehead as I continue my relentless assault, my heart pounding in my chest from the exertion. This is what I’ve been waiting for—the chance to claim Lucrezia completely, to make her submit to my every whim and desire. But somehow, in the throes of our animalistic fucking, it feels as if I’m the one being dominated by her uninhibited responsiveness. Her body moves with a primal grace, spurring me on to drive deeper and harder, until we both teeter on the edge of oblivion.
As I slam into her one final time, coming undone as Lucrezia’s walls clench around my throbbing member, milking me as I spill my seed in hot, pulsing bursts deep inside her welcoming heat.
“Fuck,” Lucrezia swears again, but it isn’t the reverent whisper of someone who just had the best sex of their life. There’s real concern in her voice, an edge of panic that cuts through our post-coital haze like a knife.
“What?” My prick is so sensitive that it hurts, and it makes pulling out of her painful, sending little jolts of overstimulated discomfort through my groin.
“I’m not on birth control. And no offense, but our baby would be a fucking nightmare.” Lucrezia stands up, stretching her arms over her head and popping her back. Her naked body gleams with a light sheen of sweat in the dim light, but the gravity of her words has killed any lingering arousal.
“No, you’re right.” I rub a hand across my face, torn between pure exhaustion and societal norms. The responsibility of the situation sobers me quickly. “You, uh, you can stay in my bed while I go get Plan B. It’s probably better to handle this sooner rather than later.”
Lucrezia wrinkles her nose at the wet sheets covered in sweat and cum, her expression a mixture of disgust and amusement. “How about you stay in bed while I go get Plan B? You look like you’re about to pass out anyway.”
“Jesus Christ,” I swear, pulled from the moment like someone doused me in a bucket of ice water. “Go to your own fucking bedroom then. But I’m a God damn gentleman. I’ll pay for the Plan B. It’s the least I can do.”
“Gentlemen don’t usually have to refer to themselves as gentlemen,” she says with a sardonic smirk, gathering her clothes from where they’re scattered across the floor.
This is karma for fucking a woman who has trauma instead of giving her space like I thought I should. “I’m going to get two Plan B’s so we can make absolutely fucking sure you aren’t pregnant. Because I swear to God, if I have to be tied to you for the rest of my life, I’ll kill myself.”
Lucrezia rolls her eyes and walks away. “Not if I kill you first, Drake.” The threat comes out almost playful, but there’s an edge to her voice that makes me wonder if she means it.
That’s when I notice her scars—a roadmap of thin, silvery lines across her back that I’d been too distracted to see before.