19. Chapter 19
Chapter 19
Martina
“ S o you like the idea of getting fucked by me all day long,” he says.
“It’s vile,” I spit.
“You sure about that? You came hard on my cock just now.”
“That’s because I’m an mega in heat. If I were a beta or had omega blockers, there’s no way I would want any of this.”
“So you’d rather be raped as a beta than be able to enjoy it as an omega.”
Would that be better? Maybe not. But as an omega, my body is being used against me. My desires are being twisted. His cock, still hard, pulses inside of me. My body perks at the prospect of another orgasm. He senses this .
He withdraws slightly before pressing back in. “Go on. You can ask your daddy to fuck you again.”
My ears burn. I can’t imagine Vincent being a real dad to anyone. It’s a messed-up scenario, and maybe because it’s so wrong, it’s actually turning me on.
Releasing my jaw, finally, he runs his thumb over my lips. “You can tell Daddy. You want another fucking, don’t you?”
Dammit. How is he so in tune with my body?
He presses his thumb into my mouth and parts my lips. “Go on. Beg your daddy.”
My mind recoils.
His voice, thick with sex, speaks to my most primitive desires. “Daddy promises to make his little girl feel really good.”
I groan while my pussy pulses. His cock flexes in response.
I don’t want to beg this man for anything, least of all sex.
Yes you do .
There’s got to be another way .
Just do it .
His hips move, teasing me with the prospect of another amazing climax. I want it.
I surrender. “Please.”
“You need to be specific. What does my baby girl want from Daddy?”
“I want you to fuck me please.”
Withdrawing, he stands up. Did I say it wrong? Was he expecting me to beg more?
He flips me onto my stomach and pulls me onto my knees. My hands are still tied behind me so my shoulders prop up my upper body.
“Beg to be impaled on Daddy’s cock,” he commands.
Fuck you. Fuck your cock. Fuck your age play.
I bet I could say all that if I had my omega blockers. But it wouldn’t be smart of me. He’s capable of making it hurt bad. And he’d still fuck me.
Or not. Given how aroused I am right now, that would be worse.
“I want to be impaled on Daddy’s cock,” I say.
I bet the asshole’s going to make me say it ten times…but he doesn’t. Kneeling behind me, he plunges his shaft into me. It feels delicious. It’s so unfair. My body wants him bad, and he knows it.
His movements are perfect. The right angle. The right penetration. The right pace. All conspire to make me a bundle of nerves needing to burst free. Gradually he thrusts deeper, his pelvis slapping into my derrière.
“That hard enough for my baby girl?”
Lost in a tangle of bliss, I answer, “Yes, Daddy.”
“Let’s see if my baby girl can take it harder.”
His hips slam into me. It’s jarring, but I still like it.
“Keep telling Daddy what you want.”
“Fuck me, Daddy, fuck me.”
His hips piston like crazy, blasting me into my orgasm. The scream tearing from my throat turns soundless. I feel like I’m going to shake into a thousand pieces. Before I catch a breath, I feel his fingers strumming my clit, keeping me submerged in pleasure and arousal. My body is delirious with rapture and when the next orgasm washes over me, I nearly sob with joy.
Grabbing my hips, he pounds his way to his own release. My teeth chatter from the force of it. Luckily it doesn’t go on for too long before his knot swells too much, stretching me. Liquid heat fills me. He allows his cock to pulse inside of me for a while before withdrawing.
I lay on my side. That’s when the shame sets in. Tears burn the back of my eyelids.
“What is it?” Vincent asks when someone knocks.
Xander answers through the door, “Helen is here to see if she should bring up dinner?”
Vincent turns to me. “You haven’t had dinner yet?”
“Wasn’t hungry,” I mumble.
“Bring the dinner,” Vincent tells Xander before untying my wrists .
I pull the robe around me as if it can shield him from seeing my shame. It probably doesn’t matter. He’s seen it all. He’s probably gloating that I said everything he wanted me to say. But it’s not a complete victory for him. I’m at a disadvantage because I’m an omega, and he’s smart enough to recognize that.
Tired of being in a robe, I grab the underwear and dashiki. In the bathroom, I wipe myself down as best as I can. Ugh. Who knows how long it will take for his cum to dribble out of me?
The underpants fit well. Maybe they feel extra nice because I’ve been deprived of clothes, but lace usually bothers me, yet this pair feels incredibly soft. I pull the dashiki over my head. It’s beautiful with earth tones. I wouldn’t be surprised to find this item in some haute couture shop. My only displeasure is that there are no leggings or pants to go with them. Worn alone, it barely covering my ass.
Back in the main room, I see that Vincent has dressed himself. His gaze lingers on me.
Trying to ignore his presence, I look through the bags. There’s nothing else besides what I had already pulled out. I pick up the skirt. It doesn’t really pair with the dashiki fashion-wise, but I feel half naked in front of Vincent. I shouldn’t care. Like he pointed out before, he’s seen all of me. But with him, I feel I need every little piece of protection I can get.
He pulls out one of the dining chairs. “Sit down.”
“I’m going to change,” I say, holding the skirt and the blouse.
He narrows his eyes. “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing now?”
“I changed my mind.”
Before he can say anything else, I return to the bathroom and take off the dashiki. The blouse falls off my shoulders a little, but I feel less vulnerable in this outfit.
Vincent doesn’t seem like he’s leaving anytime soon, so I wonder if there is any way I can stall for time. Nothing comes to mind, so I reluctantly head to the table, where Vincent is already seated, rubbing his temples with one hand. Does he have a headache? Poor baby , I think sarcastically. I hope it feels like a hundred daggers stabbing you in the head.
I sit down opposite him.
“What else did you do besides masturbate while I was gone?” he asks.
Think of ways to escape, what happened to Brady, and how I can kill you.
“Twiddle my thumbs,” I reply.
He gives me a patronizing smile. I imagine taking a knife and carving out his lips.
“So you’re feeling better today,” he says.
Until you came in.
But if I say that, he’s just going to prolong his stay to spite me. I say nothing while I look at him. He returns my stare. Surprisingly, I win the staring contest.
He shifts in his chair.
“Dinner’s here,” Xander says through the door after a knock.
“Bring it in,” Vincent replies .
Helen wheels in a cart. Upon seeing Vincent, she asks, “Should I bring dinner for you, too, Mr. Xu?”
“No.”
Helen lays out the dinner spread, including a porcelain teapot and cup. “This is the tea with the herbs Ms. Suyin prescribed.”
After Helen pours the tea, Vincent dismisses her.
“Drink the tea first,” he tells me.
I pick up the small cup and blow on it before taking a sip. I immediately make a face at the bitter flavor.
“Finish it,” he commands.
You finish it , I want to snap back. But he’ll just cram the tea down my throat.
The flavor is so strong, I doubt holding my nose will help. I take a small sip.
“The tea will nourish you and help you regain your strength,” he explains.
“And why should I do that?” I ask. “So I can be a better whore for you?”
“I thought you wanted to kill me. You’ll need your strength for that.”
As if there will actually be such an opportunity. But maybe he’s right. If I should be so lucky, I’ll want my wits and strength.
“Unless you don’t really hate me,” he says.
“Don’t let my being in heat and susceptible to any Alpha I come across mislead you,” I assure him.
He tilts his head as he regards me. “You gave up on your intent to kill me rather quickly. Either your hate doesn’t run deep or you lack resolve, patience, and persistence.”
I can’t believe this insufferable son of a bitch is questioning my hate and determination!
I don’t want to admit that his torture tactics had actually worn me down, so I reply, “I didn’t know the pills I took could be deadly. Trust me, I hate you. I loathe you. If I could do nothing else for the rest of my life but watch maggots consume your decaying body, I would be happy. Ecstatic. ”
“Then you’re a quitter.”
I want to throw the tea into his face, but it’s not scalding enough to do enough damage.
“If you had to go through all that I did, you’d do better?” I challenge.
His gaze hardens. “If I wanted to kill the people who took my loved ones, I’d go through anything to accomplish it.”
He speaks with such conviction, I believe him.
“Who do you want to kill?” I ask.
My question startles him. “Drink your tea.”
Deciding to get it over with, I throw back the rest. My face falls when he refills my cup.
“You didn’t answer the question,” I say.
“It’s none of your business.”
In his line of business, there could be many people Vincent wants to kill, but what he said suggests the potential motivation is personal. All the intel Brady and I have gathered on Vincent is that he’s cold-blooded. He has no attachments. But he said took my loved ones. What loved ones? He seems to hate his father. The uncle who raised him is still alive. His mother died when he was just a little kid.
“Drink.”
“I’d like to eat something first,” I say. Maybe he’ll forget about the tea later.
He takes the covers off to reveal a colorful plate of sushi: salmon nigiri, tuna nigiri, a hand-rolled lobster roll, and makis adorned with roe and caviar. A bowl of miso soup and a plate of seaweed salad serve as appetizers.
And for dessert, zabaglione with mango, pineapple and kiwi. I’ve never had a tropical version before. Is it a coincidence that I’m having zabaglione after I mentioned it to Helen?
The set of flimsy wooden chopsticks don’t go at all with the fancy plateware, but I suspect that’s on purpose. I pour out some soy sauce into a tiny dish and mix in some wasabi.
My mouth salivates, and I start with a California roll. It’s not the fanciest item, but it was my favorite as a kid, so it’ s almost like comfort food.
Mio Dio . How can a California roll be so divine? The crab is amazing, the avocado the perfect ripeness, the rice glossy and plump. I have to force myself to eat it slowly so I can savor it fully. I want another roll, but that’s the cheapest item on the dish.
Picking up a piece of salmon nigiri, I dip it in the soy-wasabi mixture and take a bite.
Such buttery heavenliness!
I finish the nigiri. “I think the best sushi in these parts might come from Jamaica.”
Vincent, who has been watching me eat this whole time, doesn’t seem surprised. “The sushi is from Hanami Garden in New York. The owner, from Osaka, owns several Michelin-starred restaurants.”
He had the sushi flown in from NYC?! That can’t be. Why would he do such a thing? Unless he happened to want sushi.
“Is that your favorite sushi restaurant?” I ask. It feels strange to be asking such a benign question to the man who tortured and assaulted me, but my curiosity has been raised.
“I don’t have a favorite. I prefer my fish cooked.”
Wait. Does that mean this sushi was acquired specifically for me?
“This is the best sushi I’ve ever had. You should try some,” I urge.
“I don’t eat sushi.”
His tone indicates I should put an end to the conversation.
“So, is this like a last meal for me?” I ask. “Am I getting sold to your pimp tomorrow?”
“Is that what you would prefer?”
I can’t decide. I think my chances of survival are better with someone other than Vincent, but…if I get to stay in this suite and eat like this…and find out what happened to Brady…maybe even get a second chance at Vincent…
I lift my chin. “If I tell you what I prefer, you’ll do the opposite.”
“So lie.”
“Well, now that you told me to lie, you might do the opposite of the opposite. ”
“I won’t know if you’re lying or not.”
True. But can I get one over on him? I can’t trust myself with this guy. He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met.
“Finish the tea,” he reminds me.
“I will,” I stall. “I’m just going to try the soup first.”
I reach for the bowl, but in my haste, I knock over the soy sauce dispenser. It falls over and spills onto my lap. Vincent grabs it and rights it, but the damage is done. Of course the soy sauce lands on the white part of my skirt. Some of it has even splashed onto the blouse. In dismay, I stand up and rush to the bathroom. Pulling at the blouse, I try to fit it under the water, but I also glance to see the soy sauce is dripping down my skirt.
Vincent, who followed me into the bathroom, turns on the rainfall shower. “It’ll be faster this way.”
The next thing I know, he grabs me and shoves me under the water. In short order, my entire outfit is wet .
“What if this is dry-clean only?” I gasp.
In response, he steps into the shower with me.