Chapter 38
BELLA
His cock is huge in my throat.
I can’t see—the silk of his tie blocks everything, leaves me in darkness—so I experience this only through what I can feel.
The masculine taste of him on my tongue.
The grip of his hand in my hair. The summer air on my naked skin, warm and slightly damp, carrying the scent of night-blooming flowers from the chateau gardens.
He sets a ruthless pace as he fucks my face, exactly like I demanded.
Each thrust hits the back of my throat. Every time it does, I gag, recover, and breathe through my nose as my mouth does its best to accommodate him. My jaw aches. Tears are soaking the blindfold. My wrists strain against the fabric binding them to my ankles, and my body curves into helplessness.
He calls me his good girl with every thrust as he fucks me like a whore. And it’s everything I can possibly fucking want.
Everything I know I deserve.
He’s responding to the guilt I gave him but not the guilt I need to confess. But it doesn’t matter because he’s punishing me for it.
And as long as he punishes me, that’s all that matters.
Salt coats my tongue. Musk floods my throat. And he tastes exactly like how I always want him to taste.
This is what I deserve for betraying him.
The thought pulses through me like a second heartbeat, and I lean into the intensity. I embrace the total annihilation of thought. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can’t even really know if I’ll make it out of this alive.
But one thing I know is that this is the real thing.
Because no matter how hard he fucks my throat, I’m not waking up. My thighs clench together, growing slick and wet.
And above me, his words turn dirty and obscene.
“Who gets to fuck your filthy little throat?”
You do, I think, and I let him know by moving my head to match his relentless pace.
“Do you like it when I fuck you like my personal cock slut?”
Yes!
“Have you been dreaming about me fucking your throat?”
I nod and he quickens his pace.
My arousal comes on strong and surprises me with its force. My body responds to the intensity of my surrender in the most unexpected ways. Tension builds low in my belly. It’s not separate from the emotional storm of my heart but woven through it.
My body is answering the thing my mind has been asking for: to feel something without guilt.
Then his hand finds my sweat-soaked back and starts moving down.
I can’t see what he’s doing. The blindfold means I experience it only as a shifting of his body.
But then his hand is moving over the swell of my ass, down to my soaked leaking cunt, and then pushes deep inside.
And my degradation is complete.
A low sound punches from my throat and dies as his cock shoves it back down. My eyes roll into the back of my head as the sensation overwhelms me completely.
His cock in my mouth. His hand working me from behind. The summer air kissing my fevered brow. My blood burning and singing in my veins.
I’m overloaded.
Overwhelmed.
Exactly where I asked to be.
Lose control, I told him.
And that’s exactly what I’m doing for him.
The orgasm hits with a ferocity that matches his pace. It’s relentless, brutal, and inevitable. I can’t even chase it if I try, much less control it if I want. I shriek against his cock, shake my head side to side so that I can let him know how good he’s making me feel.
So I can come for him like a good girl.
But he won’t let me off the hook. He won’t stop until he gives me exactly what I begged him to give.
And then, I feel it. His cock twitches in my throat, hard as iron. Then, with a groan that rumbles through his chest, his semen surges into my mouth, salty and masculine. The first searing drop forces its way down my throat, and I tilt my head back to drain him with every fluttering release.
We come together, and our release has nothing to do with orgasms and everything to do with crossing a barrier that both of us have been approaching for weeks and months now.
All of it, pouring out.
I swallow him greedily and hungrily, like a woman starving for food and he’s offering the only nourishment that I need. He holds me by the back of my head, draws me closer, and buries my nose in the tuft of the hair over his cock until I’ve memorized his scent forever in my head.
And when he finally withdraws, I gasp long ragged breaths and lean back until my body is slack and boneless against the tree trunk.
My mind is blank. I feel scoured clean, emptied out, reset to zero.
But there’s supposed to be more.
He’s given me everything I asked for, but we’re not done yet. I told him he has permission to do everything, and my body is slick and open to him.
I wait.
He doesn’t move.
“Why are you stopping?” My voice comes out hoarse, wrecked from what he just did to my throat.
He leans close, and I turn towards the heat of his body.
His lips brush the shell of my ear, and he nibbles at it while his hand massages my breasts, pulling whimpering moans from my throat over and over again.
“You told me to treat you like an enemy,” he whispers.
I did.
“Then you should know that I never let my enemies have what they want.”
Before I can respond and process those words, his hands are busy undoing my restraints. They’re gentle as they unknot the fabric with careful precision, first my wrists and then my ankles.
I flex my hands, feel the blood rushing back into my fingers, and slowly push myself up from the grass. My muscles are stiff from the position, my skin tingles like someone hooked me up to a car battery, and even the lightest breeze threatens to send me falling on my knees.
I reach for the blindfold.
“No,” he says. “You don’t get to have your eyes back yet.”
I stop, obedient.
Whatever comes next, I’ll experience it blind.
Then his arms are around me.
He scoops me up—naked and blindfolded—and I press myself against his chest, my body seeking the contact that he has denied me.
He carries me back inside the chateau, and the sounds of the outside muffle away in the distance. His heartbeat thuds against my ear and echoes in my body.
Gravity shifts, and I have the distinct feeling he’s carrying me up the stairs. We turn, and then I find myself being lowered gingerly onto something soft.
A bed.
Once I’m settled, his hand brushes my cheek and his lips press to mine.
The kiss is nothing like what preceded it. It’s light and warm. His tongue licks across the inside of my upper lip, and I deepen the kiss to let him taste himself on my mouth. He pushes me into the bed with his mouth, swallowing the light moan as he does so.
My hand reaches forward and finds him hard again. He doesn’t stop me from touching him, but he doesn’t move his hips forward.
I never let my enemies have what they want.
That’s okay, I think, as my hand starts to move. He’s given me enough. My other hand reaches up, threads through his hair, and finds the back of his neck. I rise up to kiss him harder and stronger.
My hand around his cock moves faster and faster, and I hold him to my lips as he empties himself on my hands, my thighs, and the quivering lips of my drenched pussy.
Then, and only then, do I dare to let him go.
And as he pulls back, he kisses my cheek gently.
“Good night, Bella,” he whispers. “You can have your eyes back when you hear the door close.”
The warmth pulls back completely, and a moment later, I hear the unmistakable click of a door.
I’m alone again.
I lie there for a long moment, feeling the expensive sheets against my bare skin, my body still humming with the aftermath. Then I reach up and pull the blindfold away.
The room swims into focus. The room is dark and lit only by the starlight filtering through gauze curtains.
I get up slowly. My legs are unsteady, and I have to brace myself against the bedframe before I can stand properly. There’s a door on the far wall, and when I push it open, I find a bathroom.
I walk to the sink and look in the mirror.
Jesus.
My hair is wrecked—tangled, wild, sticking up at angles that defy gravity. My lips are swollen and red. My mascara has smeared beneath my eyes. Angry red marks line my wrists and ankles.
I asked him to use me, and he fucking did. But I don’t feel shame now.
I feel… content.
Not satisfied because that’s too simple. Not sated because that’s too physical.
Content.
The star at my throat catches the bathroom light, and the sight of it sends a single drop falling into the warmth that Slava left inside of me.
I lean my hands against the sink and let my head drop and breathe slowly.
In the morning, things will be complicated again. The guilt will return in full force. The secret I’m keeping will tick beneath everything like a clock.
But not right now.