Chapter Thirty-eight #2
“Do you trust me?” he asks, his voice low and controlled as he guides me back onto the bed. He pulls his tie loose with one hand, the other still firm at my waist. He is wearing a smoking jacket, crisp shirt open just enough to show skin, and the sight alone makes heat coil deep in my stomach.
I want to say yes loudly, with my whole chest, but my voice comes out shaky, breathless. “Yes,” I whisper.
His eyes darken. “Good girl.”
Fuck. Just those two words and I feel it between my legs.
He climbs over me slowly, deliberately, letting me see him.
The first two buttons of his shirt are undone, exposing hard muscle and warm skin, and my mouth actually waters.
I feel small under him, delicate in my lace dress, and I love it.
I started wearing things like this for him, soft and feminine and sinful, and the way he looks at me now makes every choice worth it.
He slides the tie over my eyes, and darkness drops like a curtain.
My breath catches.
Without sight, everything sharpens. The brush of fabric. The heat of his body. The sound of his breathing.
His fingers trail down my waist, over my hips, following the line of lace hugging my thighs. Slow. Possessive. I shiver under his touch.
“Fuck,” he growls softly, and then his hand cups me.
I gasp as his palm presses against my pussy through the lace, already soaked. He rubs slowly, deliberately, feeling how wet I am, and a broken moan slips out of me.
“Always ready for me, aren’t you, beautiful?” he murmurs.
“Yes,” I breathe, hips moving helplessly against his hand.
“Arms up.”
I obey instantly. My heart is racing but there is no fear, only need. Leather slides over my wrists, firm and cool, and he secures my hands above my head to the bedframe. The restraint sends a rush of heat straight through me.
“Lorenzo,” I whisper, just to say his name, just to feel him answer.
“Yeah?” His voice is rougher now, closer, right by my ear.
“Please.”
I am already trembling. I need him so bad it almost hurts.
He takes his time anyway. His fingers hook into the lace of my panties and rip them away in one sharp movement. Cool air hits my soaked skin and I arch up, desperate for contact.
“Open.”
I part my lips instantly. His fingers slide into my mouth, warm and commanding, and I suck them in, tongue circling, tasting him. At the same time his other hand finds my pussy again, spreading me, rubbing slow, wet circles that make my thighs shake.
I moan around his fingers as he pushes them deeper, and when I gag he strokes me harder between my legs, rewarding the sound. My breathing turns ragged, but I remember what he taught me and pull air in through my nose.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Such a good fucking girl.”
His fingers leave my mouth and I suck in a desperate breath, chest rising fast. A second later I feel the thick heat of him at my entrance, and then he pushes inside in one deep, powerful thrust.
“Oh fuck, Lorenzo,” I gasp, my back arching hard off the mattress.
The stretch, the fullness, the way I cannot see him, cannot move my hands, cannot do anything except feel him. It hits all at once.
“Yeah, love?” he whispers, already moving, pulling back and thrusting deep again.
Every movement is harder than before. Hungrier. He is not holding back now. Not careful, not restrained. His hands grip my hips and he fucks into me with a force that makes the headboard knock softly against the wall.
I cry out as he bites my nipple through the lace of my dress, sharp and electric, sending pleasure shooting straight down my spine. My body feels overheated, slick, oversensitive everywhere.
He thrusts again, deeper, faster, hitting that spot that makes my vision explode behind the blindfold.
“Talk to me, love,” he breathes against my skin.
“I’m close,” I cry, voice shaking. “Fuck, don’t stop, please don’t stop.”
He doesn’t.
He fucks me like he has been starving for it, like he has been holding this back for months, like I am the only thing in this world that keeps him sane. Every deep thrust feels like it lands somewhere inside my soul, and all I can do is take it, moan for him, and fall apart under the man I chose.
And fucking hell, he keeps moving through my orgasm, not slowing, not softening, and I shatter all over again. My body trembles under him, helpless, overstimulated, every nerve lit on fire.
He shifts, strong hands gripping my thighs, and then my legs are over his shoulders, folding me deeper, opening me wider. The new angle makes me gasp, the stretch even more intense as he drives into me again and again, each thrust heavy and deliberate.
“I wish you could see yourself, love,” he says, voice thick, strained with pleasure as he moves. My breath won’t steady, my chest rising and falling too fast. “Your greedy pussy is sucking me in like she can’t get enough.”
My head falls back, a broken moan tearing from my throat as my body clenches around him.
“But fuck, love,” he groans, thrusting hard enough to make the bed creak beneath us, “I can’t get enough of this pussy.”
I feel completely unraveled, blindfolded, tied, open, nothing but sensation and him. His teeth sink into the soft flesh of my leg and the sharp bite sends another violent jolt of pleasure through me.
“But this isn’t about seeing,” he growls against my skin. “This is about feeling it.”
He thrusts deep again and I scream, the second orgasm already building fast, too fast, my body unable to keep up with the intensity.
“How does my cock feel stretching your tight pussy, Serena?” he asks, voice low and rough, each word punched out between thrusts.
“Fuck,” I cry, my voice breaking. “It feels so good. Please, don’t stop.”
He slows for just a second, dragging it out, making me whimper from the loss, and then he slams back into me hard, stealing the air from my lungs all over again.
And then I come again. My whole body gives out, like I might actually pass out from it. I feel wrung dry, satisfied and sore, like he fucked every last bit of strength out of me.
“How many times are you going to milk my cock, Serena?” he asks, almost amused, as he thrusts one more time. The mix of pleasure and sting makes me cry out, my body twitching under him.
Then he spills inside me, and the warmth of it makes me gasp, my thighs trembling as I try to catch my breath.
He removes the tie from my eyes, and the first thing I see is him.
And fuck. Just looking at him makes heat spark low in my belly all over again.
He’s flushed, breathing hard, hair messy, shirt still half on, his expression dark and satisfied.
Slowly, he unbuckles the belt from my wrists, rubbing the skin gently where it pressed.
Then he pulls me into his arms, holding me close for a moment before guiding me toward the bathroom connected to the bedroom.
He leaves me standing in front of him. I’m completely naked, my legs still shaky. He’s still partly dressed, shirt hanging open, his cock resting heavy and semi hard against my lower back.
We both look at our reflection in the mirror, breathless, skin flushed, bodies marked from each other.
His hands slide over me again, slow and possessive, smearing the evidence of what we just did across my stomach and thighs.
His grip moves up to my breasts, kneading them, and I lean back into him, my head falling slightly to the side.
“Lorenzo,” I whisper, my voice soft and wrecked. “I’m sore.”
I see his smirk in the mirror, dark and pleased, and my body reacts anyway, my pussy pulsing under his touch despite the ache.
His hair falls messily over his forehead, his face sharp and masculine, eyes still heavy with lust. His muscles flex as he holds me, big hands covering so much of me at once. The size difference between us only makes it worse, the way he towers behind me, solid and powerful.
I’ve always liked bigger men.
But Lorenzo is something else entirely.
Every woman’s wet dream.
“Fuck, baby, let me take care of you,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, but softer now, wrapped in something protective. “Let me show your pussy how good my aftercare feels.”
The heat in his eyes hasn’t disappeared, but it’s gentler, steadier. Focused on me, not the need that ruled him minutes ago.
He keeps one arm around me as he guides me toward the shower, moving slowly, like he knows my legs are still weak. Every step feels heavy, my body loose and sensitive, but safe with his hand firm at my waist.
The bathroom light is softer, warmer. Steam starts to fill the air as he turns the water on, testing the temperature with his hand before bringing me under with him.
He doesn’t rush.
Steam curls around us, thick and suffocating, the shower glass fogging as my back presses against the warm tile. Water slides over my skin in slow rivulets, and when he reaches for the body oil, the temperature shifts, heat layered over heat.
His hands glide over me, unhurried. Too unhurried.
Oil coats his palms as he smooths it over my shoulders, down my stomach, lingering at my breasts.
His touch is deliberate, possessive, spreading the slick warmth over my nipples until they tighten under his fingers.
My breath stutters. He watches my face as he works lower, oil-slick fingers sliding between my thighs.
“Feels good, baby?” he murmurs, voice low, roughened with need.
I arch into his hand, my back dragging against the tile. “Yes,” I breathe against his mouth.
He kisses me slow at first, deep, consuming, his tongue claiming mine as his hand moves with more purpose between my legs.
The kiss turns messy, desperate. His fingers tighten in my hair, pulling my head back just enough to control the angle of my mouth under his.
Every movement of his hand makes my hips jerk forward, chasing friction.
When his mouth leaves mine, I gasp for air, only for him to drag his lips down my throat. He sucks marks into my neck, teeth grazing, then biting. My hands clutch at his shoulders as his mouth closes around my nipple, sucking hard before his teeth sink in just enough to make me cry out.
“Fuck me,” I gasp, the plea ripped from my chest.
He smirks against my skin. “I knew I’d have you begging again.” His teeth tug once more before he pulls back to look at me, eyes dark, hungry. “How many times do I have to fuck you before you get enough of my cock, Serena?”
My knees tremble. “Just one more. Please.” My voice is wrecked, needy, my body already beyond reason.
His hands cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples as he studies my face. “Thought your pussy was sore, baby,” he teases.
“If you don’t fuck me right now,” I pant, “I swear I’ll do it myself.”
His smile turns cruel.
Without warning, he turns me, pressing my front to the glass. My cheek meets the cool surface, a sharp contrast to the heat behind me. One hand fists in my hair, forcing my head to the side. The other guides himself inside me in one hard thrust.
I cry out, the sound echoing off tile and glass.
My hands splay against the wall as he sets a brutal pace, hips snapping forward, each thrust driving me harder into the glass. The slick oil, the steam, the sting of his grip in my hair, it’s overwhelming.
“Tell me,” he growls near my ear, thrusting deep, “how much of a whore you are for me.”
I roll my eyes, breathless, but he slaps my ass hard enough to make me jolt.
“I said tell me,” he snaps, another sharp slap landing, heat blooming across my skin. “Tell me how much you love being used by me.”
“Fuck!” I cry, pain and pleasure tangling until I can’t tell them apart. “Harder, Lorenzo, fuck me harder!”
He gives me exactly that. His hand tightens in my hair, forcing me to meet his eyes in the fogged glass reflection as he drives into me with ruthless force.
“Like this, baby girl?”
“Yes!” I shout, lost, drowning in sensation. “Just like that, deeper!”
His pace turns punishing, every thrust dragging broken sounds from my throat. Another slap, another surge of pleasure, and my body tightens without warning.
I shatter around him.
He doesn’t slow, fucking me through it, voice rough in my ear. “That’s it, come on my cock. Such a good girl.” Another slap, another thrust, and I’m trembling, overstimulated, barely able to stand.
When he finishes, he pulls out and turns me to face him, his release spilling hot across my stomach and breasts. It’s messy, degrading, and I feel dizzy with how much I love it.
“On your knees,” he orders.
I drop instantly, looking up at him through wet lashes.
“Now suck me clean.”
I do, obedient, hollowed out and satisfied, my body still shaking from aftershocks. When I’m done, he grips my chin, tilting my face up.
“You’re a masterpiece,” he says softly, the praise hitting just as deep as everything else.
My limbs feel heavy, my skin hypersensitive, my mind floating somewhere far away. The steam, the exhaustion, the intensity, it all crashes over me at once. He lifts me easily into his arms, holding me against his chest.
“You did well, baby,” he murmurs.
And I let the darkness take me.