Octavia
“Stay still,” he says.
I roll my eyes.
“Stay still,” he repeats, grinning.
I do as I’m told, though being someone’s muse is way more exhausting than it looks.
I’m sprawled naked in the armchair, posing for my fiancé.
He proposed, a few weeks ago, the moment we were discharged from hospital, on our estate in Italy, not far from the land where I grew up.
I had no idea he had already begun building our future house only weeks into knowing me.
I can’t even pretend to be angry about it.
When we left the hospital, we flew straight to Florence, and as soon as we arrived he drove me to see it.
The house is beautiful, a white Victorian villa with a large green garden, a pool, a fountain, and a terrace where we can spend our summer nights with family and friends.
The next thing I knew, he was on one knee in the garden, surrounded by roses in every colour.
And when we stepped inside, I realised he had filled the whole house with pieces of me.
Portraits.
My eyes, my hands, my face. Some of the paintings in our bedroom are intimate, though never improper. The staff come and go to clean, so they can’t be too revealing. Or perhaps that is simply his jealousy speaking.
Psycho.
My own paintings hang beside his. I have no idea how he got hold of them, but I don’t really care. He chose the calmer pieces, not the ones I painted when my head was in a darker place.
“People would think you’re obsessed with me,” I say.
He pauses in the middle of a brushstroke and looks up from the canvas.
“I am obsessed with you.”
I laugh and shake my head.
Our wedding is in less than a week. He refuses to wait, and I can’t say I object.
He wants the world to know me as his wife.
I suspect Arlo and Ophelia have something to do with the haste, their wedding is set for August, and Milo will not be surpassed.
He still complains about Arlo daring to propose before he did.
He is painting me wearing nothing but his boxers, his cock hard while he studies my naked body, the brush moving in slow strokes.
His eyes keep drifting, and I know perfectly well which part of me he is painting now.
I smirk at him as an idea forms, I stand abruptly and run.
My bare feet slap over the tiles as I laugh, racing through the house, glad he gave the staff the day off.
I hear him swear behind me.
“You’re going to pay for that.”
I know.
I take the stairs two at a time, laughing when he almost catches me. I reach the bedroom and try to slam the door, but it bursts open as he crashes through it.
He lifts me by the waist, my legs lock around him. His mouth finds mine and bites hard. His hand grips my arse as his tongue claims my mouth, and I tangle my fingers in his hair.
He throws me onto the bed.
I look at him through my lashes and slowly pull my tights apart, letting him see my glistering pussy.
His eyes darken, hunger flaring in them.
I am not done with him yet. I want to make him beg a little first.
I tilt my head and soften my voice. “May I tie you to the bed?”
He arches a brow. “Is this a power fantasy now?”
I laugh. “I want to try something. Explore…”
He studies me for a moment, then nods. He disappears into the wardrobe and returns with cuffs.
My brow lifts. “Where did you get those?”
He only smirks.
He lies back and offers me his wrists. I rise onto my knees, take them gently, and fasten the cuffs, securing him to the frame. He watches me the entire time.
I peel his boxers down slowly. His cock springs free, heavy and veined.
I drop the fabric to the floor and meet his eyes.
I straddle him, my pussy pressed over his cock, and he groans.
I lean down, my mouth brushing his ear.
“I’ve been a bad girl, haven’t I?” I murmur.
He growls, “Yes.”
“And yet,” I add softly, my pussy sliding over his cock as I rub against him, “you still let me do whatever I want to you.”
“Can’t ever say no to the love of my life,” he grits out.
He lifts his head and bites my ear. “I’ll let you do anything to me.”
I smirk and kiss the column of his neck, then trail my mouth down his chest, and stop.
My heart stutters.
Tattooed over his heart is Octavia. I run my fingers over the ink, and look up at him. He smirks, proud as anything.
“You’re crazy,” I say.
“Crazy for you,” he answers without a beat.
I kiss the tattoo over his heart, then run my tongue down to his stomach, over his abs. I feel him try to reach for me, his body goes tight, but the cuffs stop him.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “Why did I agree to this?”
I look up at him, pleased, then lower myself until my tongue touches the tip of his cock. He jerks his hips, tries to reach my mouth, but I pull back.
A rough groan breaks from him.
I straddle him again and rock my hips, let my arousal coat him, then lean forward so my breasts remain just beyond his reach as I press my clit along his length. He lifts his head, desperate to take my nipple between his lips, but I move away at the last second.
He tries again, jerking hard at the cuffs.
“You’re going to kill me,” he growls. “If you meant to torture me, you’ve succeeded. I feel like I’m dying, not able to touch you.”
I only smile.
I lean down, my lips close to his, he opens his mouth to kiss me, then I pull away and watch him lose control.
This is payback. He knows it, I see it in his eyes. Last night he made me beg for release, held me there until I thought I would lose my mind. He wouldn’t let me come. And it feels wickedly good, to see him want me so badly, to see him desperate for me.
“You’re going to pay for this,” he says.
“So you keep saying.”
I lift myself off him, turn so my pussy faces him, bend forward, and take him into my mouth.
“Fuck. Yes.”
I take him deep into my mouth and hear the cuffs rattle as he tries to reach for me again.
“Stop trying to touch me,” I warn softly. “Or I won’t touch you again.”
He freezes.
Satisfied, I take him back into my mouth and set my own pace. Desire burns between my thighs, and I slide one hand between my legs and circle my clit.
He growls, frustrated. “Let me fucking touch you,” he demands.
I hum around him as I circle my clit with one hand while my mouth works him faster.
After a long minute, I pull my hand away and lower myself onto his face.
He reacts immediately, his tongue licks and sucks me like he has starved for it.
I moan around him, my pussy clenches as he devours me.
I feel him tense as I push him deeper and gag, I break at the same moment.
I come hard, breathless, my body shakes as he empties himself at the back of my throat.
I swallow, then pull back, but he doesn’t stop, his mouth stays on me and coaxes every last tremor from my body.
When I finally lift myself away, he strains against the cuffs again.
“Get back here,” he growls. “Sit on my face. I’m not fucking finished with you.”
I smirk, but I don’t give him what he wants. Another growl rips from his chest, and it only excites me more.
I shift and turn myself around, then settle back onto his lap. I lean down and kiss him slowly. His tongue slips into my mouth.
“Bloody please,” he grits out.
I break the kiss and study him. “Please what?”
“Please let me fuck you already,” he growls.
I lower myself just a little, my entrance brushing his cock.
“Octavia,” he warns.
I keep moving over him, never letting him inside, only the tip. I bend down to kiss the column of his neck, nip and lick at his skin.
I am too wound up myself to keep it up for long.
Slowly… agonisingly, I take him in.
“Fuck, yes,” he groans, the cuffs shake as he tries to move. “Never,” he says tightly. “Never again. Not being able to touch you is worse than death.”
I laugh at his dramatics, but the sound turns into a moan as I take him fully inside me.
I stay there for a second, perfectly still.
When he lifts his hips off the bed to move, I pull back to stop him, and an annoyed growl leaves him.
I give him a wicked smile.
This is my game.
I start slow. Then I increase the pace. My rhythm builds, and I kiss him as I moan, on the verge of another orgasm already. I feel him tense beneath me as I go faster and bite his neck at the same moment.
We come together, our moans lost in each other as I lift my head and kiss him.
I stay there, breathless, then collapse against his chest. He lies utterly still beneath me, his chest barely rises.
When I look down, his eyes are dark.
“Get up,” he says.
A rush of excitement shoots through me.
I obey, but very slowly, I lift myself off him, his cock slips free. I bend over him instead, my breasts close to his mouth but just out of reach. He tries to take one again but can’t.
I reach for the keys on the bedside table.
I unlock one cuff, painfully slow. He frees his wrist instantly, then the other, and I drop the key just as he surges forward.
A second later, he’s on top of me.
His hand knots in my hair and pulls my head back, his mouth claims mine. I moan as he kisses me hard, everywhere, his other hand closed on my breast.
He pulls away a little and meets my eyes.
“You had your fun, gorgeous,” he growls.
Then his mouth curves. “Now it’s my turn to fuck you senseless.”
He kisses me again.