Chapter 13 #2
“And they will never forget the shape of my cock.” One more inch. “Look at you, this sweet ass taking the whole handle. Such a magnificent sight with your tiny ass stretched so wide.”
“I’ve never done this. It has to be the first time.”
“Hmm…and if it is, my wife?” He lifts his gaze to me, and I take a deep breath as he thrusts the handle in and out, fucking my ass with it. “It would not mean anything but that you are mine. And now, I will prove it.”
He removes the handle and drops the whip.
Tremors erupt through me as he dims the lanterns in the dungeon.
But I can still see him. The outline of him.
The way he moves, circling me. Like a beast off its leash.
No mask of control. No whispered promises of patience.
He is power made flesh, beautiful and monstrous. A god carved from war and hunger.
He reaches for his shirt. One button undone, then another. His gaze never leaves me. The crisp white fabric slides off his shoulders and falls to the stone floor. He unhooks his pants and shoves them down his thighs.
And then, he’s free.
His cock—thick, hard, throbbing with need—stands like a vow between us. Longer, heavier than it seemed before. My eyes widen, helpless to hide it. My breath catches. My pulse stutters.
He is all muscle and shadow, a brutal masterpiece, his chest heaving with his breath. Scars kiss his skin. Veins snake down his forearms. And his eyes, like dark, bottomless green pools, burn with something unholy.
My body tightens in response. My thighs twitch. Heat rushes through me like a wildfire. I know what’s coming. He’s going to fuck me now.
And there is nothing gentle, nothing soft in the way his jaw sets, his hunger sharpened into pure intent.
I’m going to die now. Just like he said.
Roman adjusts the ropes slightly, with care and attention, until I am in the best position. He doesn’t remove the spreader. My opening clenches, inner muscles opening and closing, preparing for him.
First, he cocks his head, closes the distance between us, and crushes his mouth to mine. I moan into his mouth. My tongue dances across his.
When he grinds his cock against my spread folds, I arch my neck, surrendering to him. His deep groan rumbles from his chest and resonates in my throat. It kindles my blood more.
“One more little development,” he breathes hot across my face. He smells like sin and leather, sweat and masculine musk. Dominance incarnate.
A second later, he drops to his knees, stroking up my thighs, and then…
“Oh, fuck!” I scream from his tongue torturing my pussy. “Oh, damn you, you sonofa—”
He doesn’t just lick. He devours. He eats me, unhindered by the pussy spreader. It only gives him more access to everything. My hips rock when he closes his lips around my clit, tongue circling, flicking, and stabbing at the hypersensitive flesh.
I can’t hold back.
As if he knows exactly when I’m about to come, he bites down on my clit, tearing the orgasm away from me.
“Roman, you fucking asshole, let me have it. Give it to me!” I screech.
“Who are you?” he growls, rising and coiling a strong hand around my throat.
Somehow, I manage to gasp, “Your wife. Yours!”
“And now, Maya Valya, you will come. From one goddamn thrust!”
He notches his crown to my slit and slams inside, spearing me to the hilt, impaling me on his cock.
My scream is so strident, it must crack the stones.
“Fuckfuckfuck, Valentina, yes!” he says, words overlapping my scream as he pants, muscles bulging. “Fucking owned!”
“Roman Makarova!” My pussy erupts, convulsing all around him, gushing as I come, soaring through showers of liquid stars. He captures my mouth, swallowing my back-to-back screams as the orgasm rips through me. Tingles saturate my skin, and I’m soon shaking, gasping in the aftermath.
“Good girl. And now, your reward.”
He places something against my clit. I sob from the sudden licking and pulsating sensation.
“A rose sucker and vibrator in one,” he murmurs in my ear, and I’m undone.
The vibrating sucker stimulates my clit, surging more blood there, turning it fat and swollen, beyond hypersensitive. I go over the edge one more time, clenching and spasming all around Roman’s cock.
How can it be so painful, so tight, if we’ve done this a thousand times over the past two years?
He’s stretching me to the breaking point, filling every inch of me. He kisses me with unrivaled hunger. I shift, trying to adjust to his cock burning and swelling every part of me.
I swear I feel a stream of fluids release, wetting his member.
Jaw locked, he holds my gaze, green eyes blazing with intensity.
I buck, writhe, and roll my hips. The rose sucker resonates in my pussy and licks at my clit, threatening to send me over the edge again.
Beneath its hum, I hear the faint sound of my cunt sucking, squelching from how soaked it is. And inflamed.
But I focus on him. My husband.
“So fucking exquisite,” he says, suspended between worlds, not moving, not thrusting. Yet. “And all mine. My wife.” His warm palm grips my throat, firm but not tight.
The pressure of his hand increases. Slight. Measured. Intimate. Head tilted, he holds my gaze.
It’s pure torture. But I don’t know what’s worse. The breath play. Or his un-moving cock.
My lungs strain, a heated ache filling my chest as the oxygen thins. Every nerve sharpens. Every sound dulls. The world narrows to his grip, his body, his control. My pulse thrums wildly beneath his fingers, and I know he can feel it—feels me.
It’s not just pain. It’s not just pleasure.
It’s the surrender. The trust. The beautiful madness of his cruelty.
And then—I let go.
My body tips over the edge, and release floods through me so hard, it’s holy. My orgasm tears up from my soul, shaking me apart. I moan against the cage of his fingers, and he watches me like I’m a vision—something sacred crumbling in his hands.
When he loosens his grip, the air rushes back in, searing and sweet. Oh, god! I’m unraveled.
And with the delicious burn inside me from his cock, all I want him to do is move.