18. Pietro #2
She exhales, and I decide it’s somewhere between frustration and exhaustion. But she doesn’t argue.
We roll up to the hotel, and I help her out of the vehicle. We go to the penthouse, and I flip my keycard to her.
“This is your key. You’re to live here until further notice. Your guard will be here in the morning. You’re not to go anywhere without him. His name is Luca, and I’ll text you the number for him and my driver, Joseph. You’re to use my driver, and you are not to go anywhere alone. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” she mumbles as she sinks into the sofa. “But I want separate rooms.”
I look at her. Is she for real?
“You’re in no position to bargain. And we both know you’ll end up in my bed, with me pumping my cum into that tight little pussy of yours, so let’s not pretend you’re a chaste virgin.”
The pout on her face is new. I’m not sure if it’s a ruse or if she’s unhappy. I can’t imagine she wants to fall into the hands of Petrovi?. She stands and promptly stomps into the bedroom.
“We’re not done,” I call after her.
The door slams shut.
Well, that went better than expected.
I’m still wearing my coat when I grab an open bottle of wine. I walk to the patio and sit, watching the city below.
Where are you, Petrovi?? And what do you want?
I need answers, and I have someone under my roof who can give them to me.
I grab the bottle. She’s maxed out my patience.
I storm inside, shrug off my coat, and my hand is on the door to open it, but it’s locked. I kick the door open.
I stride in like I own the place because, frankly, I do.
“You’re going to give me what I want.” I drop the wine onto the nightstand.
She’s sitting in my dress shirt, without panties.
“You’re mine, and you need to learn I’m not someone you want to piss off. On your knees.”
“No.” Her eyes defy me, but her chest heaves with desire.
“I won’t ask again.”
I grab her by the hair, pulling her to her feet until she’s flush against me. Her scent—warm, sugary vanilla—wraps around me, sweet and dangerous.
I crush my mouth to hers, forcing my tongue past her lips. She pushes against my chest, but I don’t let go. My hand finds the curve of her ass, squeezing hard.
She moans into my mouth—half protest, half desire.
“You want me. Admit it.”
I grab her shirt and rip it off her body—her breasts spilling into my hands. I grip one firmly, rolling her nipple beneath my thumb until it’s hard enough to cut diamonds.
And so is my cock.
“Kneel.”
She moans before she drops to her knees. I unfasten my belt and step out of my slacks. My cock is hard, and when she grabs me, I moan.
She takes me into her mouth, bobbing like a pro, her painted nails gliding over my slick, pre-cum-slicked cock. Her tongue circles the head with wicked precision, and I come undone.
She gives the best head I’ve ever had—but it’s not enough. I need to be inside her. To own her.
I pull out just before I come, every muscle straining with the effort—the need to dominate her burns through me, hot, dangerous, and far from healthy.
I lift her like she weighs nothing and toss her onto the bed. Then I crawl up her body, slow and deliberate, claiming every inch with the press of my skin.
When I settle over her, our bodies aligned, I look into her eyes—misty, soft, a storm of light blue—and I feel it: she’s already mine. And I’m too far gone to give her back.
I slip out of my shirt, my gaze locked on hers as I spread her legs, slow and deliberate. I position myself between them, not just to take her—but to feel her, to connect in the way I’ve craved from the moment I touched her.
It’s more than a need. It’s something more profound. Something dangerous. And I don’t care—I want all of her.
“Who do you belong to?” I demand as I impale her with my massive cock.
She moans, twisting beneath me, trying to look away to hide what she feels. But I won’t let her. I grab her chin, pull her face to mine, and crush her mouth with a kiss as my hand slides around her neck, holding her still.
I thrust into her—hard, fast, relentless. Her pussy clenches around me, trembling, and just as she starts to come, I pull out.
“What owns you, Princess?” I growl, my voice low and commanding.
She pushes against my shoulders, trying to turn her head, but I keep her there, exactly where I want her—mine, trembling and unable to run.
Her breath comes in ragged gasps, her body trembling beneath mine. She’s fighting it—fighting me —but her eyes betray her.
Lust. Fury. Need.
“I asked you a question,” I murmur, tightening my grip just enough to make her still. “What owns you?”
She swallows hard, lips parted, defiant to the last. But I feel the tremor in her thighs, the way her hips unconsciously rise to meet mine, desperate for the friction I’ve denied her.
“You,” she whispers, almost broken.
I lower my mouth to her ear, my voice dripping like smoke and sin.
“Say it louder.”
Her eyes flutter shut. Her resistance frays. And in that fragile, breathless moment—I know she’s mine.
Not just her body.
Her will.
Her soul .
She meets my gaze, eyes wide, shimmering.
“You. I’m yours, ” she breathes, just as a tear slips down her cheek.
I’m torn—unsure if it’s from surrender or ecstasy. Maybe both.
I ease into her, slow and deliberate, feeling every inch of her warmth wrap around me. Her muscles begin to flutter, tightening around my cock.
“Come for me,” I whisper, my voice low and commanding.
And I watch—utterly transfixed—as her body obeys.
I’m overcome with emotion as I bury myself in her and pump so hard the sheets rip under us.
We come together, and I fill her pussy with my hot cum .
“Good girl,” I murmur. She’s mine, and she had better not forget it.
Then, she settles into the crook of my arm.
The city lights cast shadows across the walls. I watch her, tracing my finger along the scar on her arm before brushing over the faint ridge of her nose. These are signs of her past that she refuses to talk about.
“What does Petrovi? want?” I asked softly. “Why aren’t you living the life of a Princess? Because it’s what you deserve.”
She swallowed, staring at the ceiling. “And what if all I want is my freedom?”
I tilt my head, considering her words. “There is no absolute freedom. There is comfort and, if you’re lucky, love. You’re lucky if you have one of those. But I can give you both.”
She lets that sink in as her fingers twist the edge of the sheet. “You can’t promise that.”
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
She exhales, a soft, shaky breath—and for just a moment, I see it. Her defenses falter. Not gone, but cracking. Just enough to let me in.
I hesitate before asking the next question, but I need to know. “Who hurt you?”
She flinches, just barely, but I catch it.
Bits and pieces trickled out like water slipping through cracks. “Not all girls are treated like Princesses,” she murmurs. “And not all mothers protect their daughters.”
My jaw clenches as fury curls in my chest. She didn’t say the words, but I didn’t need her to.
I knew.
I reach for her hand and squeeze it gently.
“You’re safe now.”
She looks at me, and in her eyes, something shatters.
“For how long?” she whispers.
I don’t have the answer she needs. Not the kind she deserves. But I know one thing—I won’t let anything touch her. Not while I’m still breathing.
Because she’s mine .
“For as long as it takes.”
She’s mine to protect. Mine to keep.
And I’m damn sure her father, and Petrovi?—know it too.