Chapter 41
TERINA
Present
I’m not sure what just happened. D was suddenly everywhere at once—in my lungs and on my tongue, filling my vision and wrapping himself tightly around my heart. He’s weaving his way into the fabric of my soul, and I’m powerless to stop him because that’s exactly where I want him.
The problem is, I’m more broken than he knows. What he thinks he wants isn’t real. Yet I said yes because I want to give him what he wants. I desperately want to trust him.
I want to know what it’s like to be his.
That’s the only thing I know for sure in all of this.
I need to know what it feels like to have this warrior of a man devote himself to me, even if it means catastrophic heartbreak at the end of the day.
Because that’s what might happen when he learns the truth—that I’m not the fighter he thinks I am.
I never meant to mislead him. I made every attempt to keep up my boundaries, but that battle has failed miserably. This incessant pull between us has only intensified.
There will be a reckoning.
I can’t hide my scars forever, but I can try to savor what time we have together. If I’m going to be heartbroken regardless, I should earn that pain with as much joy as I can muster.
So that’s what I do.
I surrender and allow my fate to carry me where it will.
D kisses me for endless seconds. His claim brands me on the inside, etching his initials into my soul with every masterful sweep of his tongue.
When he pulls away, we’re both breathless.
“Take off your panties and give them to me.” His gravelly words shock and arouse me to the point of freezing.
“What?” I glance up over his shoulder at the security camera.
He brings his cheek to mine so that his lips are close to my ear. “Trust me, firefly. I won’t ever expose you or harm you. But I will give you instructions, and I expect you to follow them without question. Is that understood?” Each word oozes with reassuring authority.
Desire pulses like a bass drum in my core.
I reach under my dress and slide off my black satin panties, then hand them to him. “I knew you’d be perfect,” he murmurs. To my amazement, he brings the scrap of fabric to his nose and takes a long, languorous sniff of my panties, his nostrils flaring.
My heart trips and stumbles.
“What happens next is,” he continues, “I’m going to feed you lunch, then have you for dessert. And you’re going to be my perfect angel and do exactly as I say. Are you ready?”
I nod because I’m incapable of speech.
I knew D liked control when it came to sex.
That was easy enough to tell when he had me on my knees the first time we were intimate.
This side of him feels like more than that.
I’ve read about Dominants. I’m not sure that’s what this is, but it feels like something along those lines.
It’s not at all what I expected, yet I’m starving for more.
A predatory smile teases his lips as he restarts the elevator, his arm reaching out at the last second, pulling me into his side to steady me from the sudden movement.
Having my body pressed against his has me famished for something, and it’s not food.
Regardless, he’s true to his word and takes us right to the kitchen once we’re home.
He washes his hands, piles a single plate full of leftovers, then leads me to the dining table.
“Wait.” His command stops me as I begin to pull out a chair for myself. “You’re sitting here.” He sits in his chair and pats his lap.
A rose gold sunset of color heats my cheeks.
He wants me to sit on his lap while we eat … without any panties?
Holy freaking hotness, yes.
I scoot myself into place across his legs. His hand rests on my thigh, inching ever so slightly up beneath the edge of my dress. The touch feels taboo and naughty in the very best way. D has me feeling like a college student being seduced by her professor.
I wonder at first if this is some sort of fantasy play, but I get the sense this is the real D. He’s not pretending to be in control. He is the embodiment of authority. This is who he is behind closed doors when he’s most comfortable.
I’m utterly spellbound.
His absolute confidence puts me at ease in ways I’ve not experienced.
So long as I am his, I am safe.
“Pasta or fruit?” he asks, his voice a mesmerizing rumble of distant thunder.
“The grapes, please.”
He holds a single grape between his fingers. I wrap my lips around his offering, slowly pulling the green globe into my mouth.
“Jesus, you do things to me that shouldn’t be possible.” He adjusts in his seat, accentuating the ridge of his thick cock as it presses against my hip.
“I think I know how you feel,” I reply in a husky voice.
A primal growl rumbles deep in his chest.
“Eat first.”
The stilted words amuse me. His control is frayed to the nubs, all because of me. Knowing that makes me feel like a queen. Powerful and ethereal. DiAngelo has a way of making me feel regal, even when I think I don’t deserve it.
He feeds himself a bite, then scoops up pasta sauce on his finger to bring to my lips. I eagerly suck his finger into my welcoming mouth.
“Fucking Christ, knew I shouldn’t have done that.” His other hand lowers the zipper at the back of my dress before he eases the garment down over my shoulders, exposing my bare chest.
A sliver of worry trickles down my spine.
I don’t care if he sees my top, but I’m not ready for him to see my belly. I want to enjoy whatever this is between us without marring the moment.
Please, God. Let me have just this once with him.
“My turn.” He scoops up another finger full of sauce, then paints my nipples with it. When his mouth latches onto me, my eyes roll back into my head.
“Oh … D … that’s so good.”
He pulls himself free of my flesh with a pop. “Fuck eating. It can wait.”
The next thing I know, he’s pushed the plate aside and set me on the wood table, laying me back with my feet on the edge, my knees bent in the air. My black dress is pooled around my waist. I discreetly place my hand on the wadded fabric below my belly button to make sure it stays in place.
Towering over me, he is a vision of masculine rapture.
While his golden-green eyes devour the sight of me, his hand cups his straining erection through his pants. He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip as he lays his palms flat on the table.
“Keep those knees wide for me. I want to see you open and weeping for me.”
He slowly lowers himself, kissing and nipping a trail down my inner thigh toward my center. The anticipation sucks the air from my lungs. And when his strong hands take hold of my thighs, and his mouth closes over my core, my entire body spasms with the intensity of the sensation.
I let out a moan worthy of Aphrodite herself.
DiAngelo’s devilishly talented tongue teleports me to another dimensional plane. Nothing exists but him and the crescendoing orchestra of pleasure singing in my veins. He works me until I’m so close that my legs quiver and shake. My back arches, and my heart beats without rhythm.
Until suddenly, he’s gone. Everything stops.
“Wha—” I start groggily.
“Little firefly, I want to know why you feel responsible for your husband’s death.”
His words fight to penetrate the blissful haze fogging my mind. “You what?”
“I want to know…” He slowly licks from my entrance to my clit, making my body jerk alive. “Why do you feel responsible for Craig’s death?”
I don’t know why he’s doing this. And why now?
“Please, D. Please don’t stop,” I beg him.
He gives one more languid lick. “Answer the question, and I’ll let you come. The truth, remember?”
“I … I know Renzo lied to me. I know it wasn’t just a mugging.” There. I said it. I didn’t think I’d ever admit to that because there was no point, but this is just another example of the many ways DiAngelo is changing me. I hardly recognize myself, and I’m not sure if it’s for better or worse.
Another lick.
Another wanton moan.
“His bad choices aren’t your fault, Rina. I want to hear you say it.”
I can see where he’s coming from, but at the same time, I don’t fully believe it. Craig would probably still be alive if he’d never met me. That’s just a fact.
“It’s not my fault,” I say, aware of the dull ache that pulses in my chest.
“That’s my girl. One more time.” He licks again, then slowly circles my clit.
“It’s not my fault.” The words are sinfully guttural.
DiAngelo rumbles his approval against my heated flesh, ravishing me until my orgasm splinters my body into thousands of tiny light fractals. I scream through the ecstatic torrent of pleasure.
“So fucking responsive. So fucking perfect.” He drops tender kisses along my inner thighs as he stands. “We’re going to finish what we started last time. I want to see my cum dotting your perfect tits.”
The clink of his belt buckle coaxes my eyes to open. This is a show I don’t want to miss.
His shirt is already off. I have no idea when that happened.
The sight is mesmerizing—muscular pecks lightly feathered with dark hair.
Rippling abs leading down to a sharp Adonis-V.
He’s so perfectly sculpted that he doesn’t seem real.
Like he’s a Roman gladiator who’s lost his way from some faraway field of gold.
Except he is real. Every delicious inch of honeyed skin and protective strength.
Real and mine.
This will absolutely crush me when it’s over, but I can’t seem to care. I want him too much to resist.
D has me sit, then helps me to a chair, having me sit crossways so the chair back is to my side.
“Hands behind your back,” he commands quietly, freeing his monster cock from his boxer briefs.
My mouth waters while I do as he says. He then uses his belt to secure them together before rounding the chair to face me again.
I stick my chest out even farther than needed for my shoulders to be comfortable. I do it for him. I desperately want him to want me. To be as maddeningly addicted to me as I am to him.
His hand trails a finger along my jaw. “Who do you belong to, firefly?”
“You, D.”
“Mmm…” The sound is pure satisfaction.
He fists himself, bringing his cock to my lips. “Show me, Rina. Let me fuck your face and feel my dick bob all the way to the back of that delicate throat of yours. Show me…” The last words are spoken on a hissed breath as I do exactly as I’m told.
I sway back and forth as I lavish his thick sex with attention, my breasts bouncing as I do. The movement tugs at my sensitive flesh, stirring even more need within me.
I moan and swallow with him deep in my mouth.
DiAngelo’s abs flex and strain. He grunts and works his hips, holding the back of my head cupped in his hand.
“Jesus, you’re going to suck the cum from me.” He gently tugs on my hair to separate us. “Spread your legs for me.”
I don’t know what he’s planning, but I do it anyway. He brings his hand to my entrance and slowly inserts a long, thick finger. My head rolls back on a groan.
“You’re so damn tight. We’ll have to be careful when I finally fuck you.” Carefully, he eases a second finger in with the first and gives them a couple of easy pumps inside me.
I arch from the stretch.
“Gooood girl.” He slips out, holding out the fingers now drenched in my arousal. “Beautiful,” he muses. “Now, spit.” He motions to his cock in his other hand.
I spit and watch as he strokes himself, using my cum and saliva as lubrication. It’s so fucking erotic, I have to squirm in my seat.
“None of that,” he warns in a strained voice. “You sit still for me like a good girl and show me where you want this cum.”
I preen, pressing my chest outward.
God, what I wouldn’t give for just a little nipple pinch or a bit of friction. How could I be so damn aroused after having one of the most devastating orgasms of my life only minutes ago?
The answer is DiAngelo.
The sight and smell and feel of him chemically alter my DNA.
When he’s close, I’m no longer Terina.
I’m his.
“Fuck, yesss.” His knuckles whiten with an iron grip as he relentlessly flogs himself.
My legs part of their own accord, wanting to give him all of me.
“Please, D. Collar me with your cum. Make me yours.” I don’t know where the words come from, only that they are spoken from somewhere deep within me. Somewhere raw and real.
DiAngelo roars as his release seizes him. Jets of hot cum shoot onto my chest, claiming me. Marking me in a way eyes can never see, but I will always know is there.
He inches forward, chest heaving, and begins to drag his heavy cock through the sticky globs on my chest, painting me his.
It’s done.
This thing between us is now an unspoken pact that can never be unwritten. Whether he knows it or not, I have handed over a piece of my mottled and scarred heart. What if he examines my offering and changes his mind after seeing the extent of the damage?
The possibility hits me like a wrecking ball.
Not just a possibility—he will see what a mess I am. How could he ever feel the same about me after that?
My lungs collapse in on themselves.
I need to escape so he doesn’t see me fall apart, yet if I do, he’ll know something’s wrong.
Tell him. Tell him now and get it over with.
My lips remain sealed. I can’t do it. I can’t force out the words that will destroy the way he sees me.
D releases my hands, then leans in and places a reverent kiss on my lips. “Stay there.”
I watch him cross to the kitchen and wet some paper towels before returning to gently clean off my chest. Only after he’s wiped away all physical traces of himself from my body does he tend to himself.
After he’s done, my skin is heated and raw from the scrape of the paper towel.
I cling to the feeling so that when the red irritation fades, the memory of his touch will remain.
This won’t end well. You need to go. Go now.
I can’t. If I can just hold on a little longer…
D has me stand and helps right my dress, zipping me in. “As much as I’d prefer to keep you naked at all times, we both need to eat, and that will never happen with such a distracting temptation.”
He has me sit in my own chair this time, though he ensures we’re no more than an inch apart. We eat from the same plate. He feeds us both. I desperately try to keep it down.
The room slowly shrinks around me, pressurizing the air. I don’t have the capacity to wonder if he feels it, too. Every ounce of my focus is concentrated on acting normal. Buying time.
The moment I feel an escape is viable without drawing suspicion, I seize the opportunity.
“I think I’m gonna go rinse off,” I say lightly.
“You okay?”
I plaster the happy mask I’ve worn so many times before on my face and smile. “Yeah, just still feel a little sticky.”
He studies me for a second, then nods. “I’ll get this cleaned up. You go.”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice.