Chapter 25 Desperate
She gasped, eyes wide, her breath hitching in her throat. A wave of disbelief washed over her, chased by fury and a sharp pulse of fear. Her heart thundered against her ribs as she tested the binding, the soft fibers refusing to give.
“Dante, stop. You and I—we’re not together anymore,” she hissed, her voice low and ragged.
But he didn’t stop.
His lips moved along the slope of her collarbone, lingering, scraping lightly with his teeth before soothing the sting with the wet heat of his tongue.
Then he moved lower.
His breath fanned against her chest just seconds before his mouth latched onto her breast. He sucked her nipple into his mouth with force, groaning low in his throat as if the taste of her was a relief he’d been denied too long. The sound vibrated against her skin, sending sharp pulses straight to her core.
She gasped, her bound wrists straining against the throw, her body arching despite itself.
His hand slid to her waist, fingers spread wide, anchoring her in place as she twisted, her hips shifting involuntarily beneath him. His grip only tightened, possessive and firm, his body pressing her deeper into the mattress as if trying to mold her into it. Into him.
Her breath hitched violently in her throat, chest rising and falling in uneven waves as heat surged through her. Her head fell back against the pillows, strands of hair clinging to damp skin. Her mouth opened in a silent cry, her body trembling under his touch—overwhelmed, consumed.
His mouth continued downward, trailing a path between her breasts, over the sensitive lines of her ribs, then lower, his tongue carving a wicked path over her soft skin.
“Ahh…” She writhed beneath him, her voice caught somewhere between a moan and a gasp. He moved with the hunger of a man possessed, dragging his mouth along her trembling form like he was memorizing her with his tongue.
She tried to twist away—reflexive, breathless—but he only moved faster, deeper, holding her rightly.
Then, suddenly he slowed.
The frenzied urgency in his movements vanished. His breathing was heavy, uneven, but his touch softened.
He lifted his head, his face hovering close to hers, their noses nearly brushing. The heat of his breath ghosted over her lips. His hand rose, fingertips trembling slightly as they cradled her cheek. His thumb grazed her skin in the lightest stroke.
“I was wrong,” he whispered, his voice ragged, barely more than air. “Please… forgive me.”
His eyes locked onto hers, no longer wild, no longer demanding. They were full of something else now. Desperate sincerity. Regret. A love so worn and broken, it looked fragile in his gaze.
But Anya turned her head.
“Don’t,” she said, her voice dry and distant, like a wall thrown up between them.
Dante’s fingers trembled where they held her. His jaw clenched, the muscles tightening as he swallowed hard—like choking on something bitter. His breath faltered as a deep ache clawed at his chest, too sharp to ignore.
Then, without a word, he leaned forward.
Slowly.
His movements stripped of fire, heavy with something else—defeat, maybe. Regret. He pressed his face into the curve of her neck, hiding there like a man trying to escape the wreckage he’d caused. His lips brushed her skin, trembling against her pulse. Just a whisper of warmth. Just enough to make her chest catch.
Then he moved, dragging his mouth along her throat in a shaky, broken line. It wasn’t lust. It wasn’t dominance. It was grief disguised as touch. A man trying to hold on to something slipping through his fingers.
Anya’s breath faltered.
She wanted to shove him away, scream at him, demand why he always came back just when she was learning to breathe without him. But her body betrayed her—caught in that unbearable space between resistance and memory. Between the ache of what he’d done and the ghost of what they used to be.
Her wrists strained against the makeshift tie above her head, her muscles tense.
He pulled back slowly, as if letting go of something sacred. His gaze traced every detail of her face—the curve of her lashes, the faint tremble in her lips, the distance still burning in her eyes. Then, gently, he lowered his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
When his mouth finally found hers again, there was no hunger.
Just quiet desperation.
His lips moved against hers slowly, tenderly, memorizing her warmth in case she slipped away again.
His hand cupped her face with care, the pad of his thumb brushing her cheek in trembling strokes. The other drifted down, pausing at her collarbone, then hesitating before tracing the soft curve of her chest.
Their foreheads touched, breaths mingling in the stillness between them.
His voice cracked, raw and barely held together. “I didn’t realize how much I hurt you.”
His eyes burned into hers—dark, wild, and full of torment. His fingers rubbed over her chest with growing urgency, circling her nipples until they peaked under his touch. He was shaking.
“I shouldn’t have done that to you,” he rasped, his face hovering inches from hers, voice hoarse, heavy with regret. “I won’t do it again. I swear—I won’t leave you. I won’t make you sad ever again.” His breath hitched as his lips nearly touched hers. “Won’t you give me just one chance? Just one.”
But she said nothing. Her silence was a knife, and it made him lose the last thread of control.
“Say something,” he breathed, but when she turned her face away—cold, silent—something in him snapped.
His mouth crashed against her neck, kissing her roughly, teeth grazing her skin as he dragged his tongue along the edge of her throat. His hands were everywhere, gripping her thighs, her waist, her hips, pulling her to him like she was the only thing keeping him alive.
She gasped as he bit down lightly near her collarbone, the sharp sting followed by his tongue soothing over the mark. “You can hate me,” he growled against her skin. “But you’re still mine.”
She pushed at him, her voice strained. “Let me go—”
But he was already between her thighs, dragging her legs apart with a growl that sounded half-mad. He didn’t pause. Didn’t ask again.
His mouth was on her, hot and restless, tongue flicking and pressing in desperate strokes. She cried out, hips jerking, but his hands gripped her thighs, keeping her open, locked in place.
He licked her like a man starving, like he needed her taste to breathe. Rough, fast, raw.
“Again,” he growled against her, his voice wrecked. “I want to feel you fall apart for me. Don’t hold back.”
“Oh god…” She tried to twist away, but her body betrayed her, arching into him, shuddering as heat exploded in her core, helpless to the storm he was dragging her through. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her thighs trembling as he pushed her over the edge.
He groaned against her, the sound low and guttural, vibrating through her as his mouth stayed locked on her clit. His tongue moved with ruthless precision—flicking, circling, dragging over her sensitive flesh again and again until her legs clenched around his head.
“Hahhh…” she could barely breathe.
“More,” he rasped between licks, his voice wrecked with need. “You’re not done. Not until I say you are.”
“Ahhh…” She cried out, hips jerking, body twitching beneath the relentless rhythm of his mouth. Every flick of his tongue sent lightning shooting through her veins. She clawed at the sheets, desperate for something to hold onto, anything to ground her as he dragged her back into the fire.
And still, he didn’t let up.
He shifted, angling his mouth deeper, licking her in long, fast strokes, then flicking sharply until her back arched off the bed, another orgasm crashing through her like a wave.
“A.. hhhh… hahh!” She sobbed, barely able to breathe, her body shaking uncontrollably.
But he only moaned against her, drunk on her taste, on her reactions, on the way she shattered for him. He licked her through the aftershocks, refusing to stop until she was whimpering, trembling from the overload.
Then he eased up just slightly, tongue slower now, but just enough to tease her, to keep her hovering on the edge, never letting her fall completely. His fingers dug into her thighs to hold her still, lips sealing around her clit as he sucked again. Hard, deep, possessive.
“Again,” he whispered against her heat.
His hands gripped her thighs and pulled them wider apart, anchoring her in place as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to the tender skin on the inside. Kissing, licking, then dragging his teeth across her skin in short, hungry bites that made her jolt and gasp. He bit again, just enough to sting, just enough to make her body tense with need before he soothed the spot with his tongue.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured darkly, voice thick with hunger. “You like this.”
She tried to respond, but all that came out was a strangled sound—half plea, half warning.
His mouth returned to her center, tongue flicking fast and shallow, then slow and deep, building her up all over again only to pull back just as her body begged to let go. He teased her mercilessly, holding her right at the edge, then dragging her away from it—again and again, until tears welled in her eyes from the frustration and need.
“Not yet,” he growled. “You’ll cum when I say.”
She sobbed, writhing beneath him, her thighs trembling so hard they could barely stay open. Every flick of his tongue sent a fresh jolt through her, lighting up her nerves, building her higher and higher until she was nothing but sensation and fire.
And finally—when her body was flushed, slick, and shaking—he gave her no more mercy.
He sucked her clit hard, tongue flicking fast, ruthless now, his mouth locking onto her like he was trying to brand her with pleasure. Her entire body seized, her back arching, a scream torn from her throat as the orgasm ripped through her like a wave of fire, blinding and uncontrollable.
He didn’t stop until she collapsed into the pillows, boneless and wrecked, her breath ragged, her skin damp with sweat.
His breath was ragged as he lowered his head between her thighs again, his lips latching onto her clit with urgency. He didn’t tease this time—he devoured her, tongue flicking fast and hard, like he was trying to make her feel every ounce of the need clawing inside him.
A gasp broke from her lips, her body arching, but he didn’t stop. His grip on her thighs tightened, almost bruising, grounding her in place as he licked her like a man starved—like this was the only way he knew how to speak.
Then suddenly, he pulled back, his mouth leaving her aching and wet. A whimper escaped her, but before she could speak, he pressed his thumb to her clit, rubbing in deep, desperate circles.
Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy with unshed tears. Her chest rose in shallow, ragged breaths as his fingers continued their slow, torturous circles over her clit—never breaking rhythm, never giving her room to think.
She was drowning in sensation and the weight of his words, caught in the dizzying pull between the pleasure he gave her and the pain he had caused.
His eyes locked with hers—dark, frantic, and full of something wild. Something broken. “Marry me,” he rasped, his voice raw and tight. “Just one more chance. That’s all I want—just one more chance to love you right.”
Her breath hitched. His mouth, still wet from her, trailed kisses up her trembling body. Across her stomach, her ribs, the underside of her breasts—his lips leaving behind heat, reverence, and longing in every press.
“I’m not letting you go,” he said, the words dragged from somewhere deep in his chest. “Not now. Not ever.”
Then he leaned in closer, his body visibly trembling, torn between hope and fear. One hand still moved between her legs, slow and coaxing, while the other cupped her cheek with aching tenderness.
His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth. “I'm not that bad, am I?” His voice broke slightly, husky and hoarse, like it hurt to speak. “I promise. I won’t walk away again. Never again, Anya. Just once. Just once more. You can’t be that heartless to me.”
There was something shattered in his voice—like he was begging not just for forgiveness, but for a lifeline.
She looked up at him. The man who had wrecked her. The man she had tried to hate.
And yet… even now, she ached for him. Even now, with everything, she still wanted him.
Her lips parted, her chest heaving. The words felt heavy.
“…Alright,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over her pounding heart. “I’ll be with you again.”
For a moment, everything stopped. His breath caught. His body went still. Then a sound left his throat—half-laugh, half-sob—as if he couldn’t believe she had actually said yes.
His mouth crashed into hers—desperate, hungry—devouring her like a man who had been holding his breath for years. His tongue claiming her, his hands gripping her thighs and waist so tightly it was as if he feared she'd vanish beneath him.
Her voice was soft, breathless, but it shattered him.
He immediately untied her hands from the headboard, fingers working swiftly yet possessively, then flipped her onto her chest.
Anya whimpered, a soft, startled sound escaping her lips as she instinctively tried to shift away. But Dante was faster—his powerful arm pinned her upper body firmly against the bed, holding her captive with an iron strength. His other hand grabbed one of her legs, forcing her knee up onto the bed and spreading her open, laying bare her slick, dripping core to his hungry eyes.
“You deserve a punishment for making me beg you for so long,” he growled, voice low and rough like gravel sliding over fire.
Without warning, his hand came down hard on her pretty, arched-up hip.
SMACK!
The sharp, echoing slap cracked through the room. Anya gasped sharply, breath catching in her throat, her hand flying instinctively to cover her now-throbbing flesh.
His hand slid down her heated skin, gentle now, tracing the curve of her ass, down to her knees with slow, teasing strokes that sent a shiver through her. His thick fingers whispered over her soft skin—an intoxicating contrast to the fire of his earlier strike.
Her breaths deepened, trembling into heavy pants as tingles spread through her body.
Then, out of nowhere, the hand landed—smack!—right on her ass.
“Ahh!” Anya’s eyes flew open in surprise as a sharp gasp tore from her throat. Before she could catch her breath, another smack followed, the sound cracking loudly through the air.
Not so hard at first—just a shocking sting that made her gasp and squirm—but with every strike, the blows grew heavier, more insistent. The spanks rained down mercilessly, sliding down from the top curve of her ass, trailing lower and lower along her legs to her knees.
Dante’s arm kept her small, trembling body pinned to the bed. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes now—part pain, part overwhelming pleasure.
“Ow… oh… oh…” she whimpered, voice breaking.
But despite the sting, her ass involuntarily lifted, pushing up against the air, begging silently for more.
The rhythm shifted—sharp, stingy slaps interspersed with deep, heavy thuds that landed perfectly on the sweet spot between her ass and thigh. Each heavy slap made her squeal, hot wetness slicking between her thighs and soaking the sheets beneath her.
Every so often, he paused, his fingers gliding lightly, tenderly over her soft skin. Tracing, soothing. Then without warning, the smacks came down again, harsh and ruthless.
“Ahh… ahhhh…” her moans grew louder, raw and ragged with need.
His dual nature—hard and soft, ruthless and gentle—tortured and pleased her in equal measure.
When his fingers finally slipped between her legs, exploring the wet heat he had coaxed from her, Anya bucked and writhed against him.
Her leg that he’d positioned on the couch, knee raised, gave him perfect access to her slick, swollen core. His fingers circled her most sensitive spot with tender slowness, teasing, stroking.
When his fingers finally reached her clit, Anya bucked and squirmed under him, breath catching as heat pooled deep inside her. Her leg, bent with knee resting on the bed, gave him a perfect, open invitation to explore her slick, dripping core.
She heard the sharp intake of his breath—low, rough, caught somewhere between hunger and surprise—when his fingers lightly grazed her most sensitive place. It hit her suddenly: he was just as affected by this as she was.
Her wetness soaked the bed beneath them, warm and slick. She could feel the rigid hardness of his throbbing length pressed sharply against her hip. It was huge, powerful.
His eyes were locked on his own fingers as they explored her wet channel, nails barely grazing the delicate pink skin with a tender, teasing touch. His lips parted slightly as he licked them, dry with hunger.
“I just want to keep licking you,” he whispered, voice rough and low, barely audible, eyes fixated on the way his fingers toyed with her most sensitive spots.
His fingers teased and pinched her clit, expertly hitting the spots he knew made her shiver and gasp.
“D-don’t do that,” she whimpered, voice trembling as a delicious shudder rolled through her. Afraid she might convulse uncontrollably under his teasing, she begged, “Ohh… ahhh…!”
He smirked at her desperate words, then pulled his fingers away from her slick core, leaving her aching and wanting.
But as soon as he withdrew, her body instinctively tried to follow his touch, twitching and pressing back to where his fingers had been, craving more.
“Now you’re begging for more,” he murmured.
Without warning, instead of returning to her core, he slid his fingers gently but firmly into her asshole.
“Good girl,” he growled, voice thick with desire, “Take it nicely in your sweet holes.”
Anya gasped sharply, eyes wide, her whole body trembling from the bold, delicious intrusion.
She could only groan, low and needy, as his fingers slid inside her, moving in and out with exquisite slowness—each stroke driving her crazier with want. Her breaths hitched, throat tightening as a desperate moan escaped her lips, and she instinctively tried to grind her clit against the bed for a moment of relief.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
His palm landed hard across the curve of her ass, sharp and stinging.
“Stay where you are!” Dante snapped, irritation flaring in his voice as she tried to find her own pleasure instead of letting him dominate every inch of her.
His hand spanked her fast and hard now, smacks echoing with every stroke, driving a mix of pain and overwhelming heat through her. Her cries broke free—tears stinging her eyes as frustration and aching mingled deep inside her.
“Only I get to pleasure your body,” he said coldly, voice dark and possessive. “You’re my wife, aren’t you? Let your husband please you. Don’t rub yourself against the bed.”
His grip on her back tightened like iron, fingers digging in as he wrapped an arm around her to pin her down, stopping every desperate wiggle and escape attempt.
He leaned close, breath hot against her ear as his teeth grazed her earlobe lightly.
“My cock is so fucking hard right now,” he murmured, voice rough, “I just want to ram you against every hard thing in this room and fuck your pussy raw.”
Anya’s mind swirled with that hungry promise, his dirty words, pain and pleasure blurring together.
He gave her no time to wonder. His hand slid back to her clit, fingers expertly teasing and stroking the delicate, swollen bud with slow, torturous patience.
“Your pussy is doing a very good job,” he muttered with satisfaction, eyes dark as he watched her juices drip down from her trembling hole, tracing the tip of her clit and soaking the sheets beneath her.
Anya whimpered, gasping and panting uncontrollably. Her ass cheeks burned fiercely from his spanking, every sting mixing with the sweet, constant pleasure of his gentle finger strokes.
“Ahhh… oh God… h-ahh… Dante…” she moaned, body trembling as the sensations crashed over her, fierce and consuming.
“Do you need to cum?” Dante growled, his voice low and beastly, filled with raw hunger that made Anya shiver.
“Y-yes,” she whimpered loudly, her breath shaky, eyes glazed with need.
“Ask me nicely,” he snapped, voice rough like a growl deep in his throat.
“P-please, Dante?” Anya begged through the thick fog of pain and pleasure swirling inside her. “Can you please make me cum now?”
Without a word, Dante lowered his head and ruthlessly bit down on the soft side of her neck, teeth sinking in just enough to send a sharp jolt through her.
“No,” he hissed, voice cold and merciless.
Anya’s body trembled uncontrollably, breath ragged and shallow. She was a wreck. Her ass burned fiercely from his relentless spanking, each smack still echoing on her skin. Her core throbbed desperately, swollen and slick, the thick fingers teasing, stroking, and curling inside her clit in an expert rhythm that made her head spin.
Every nerve screamed for release, every cell burning for permission to shatter into pleasure—but he held her tight, merciless and in control.
“Please, Dante,” she begged again, voice raw, soaked with desperation, eyes pleading for mercy.
She could feel the tension coiling higher inside her, a wild storm building. Just when the urge to convulse overwhelmed her, Dante suddenly pulled out, leaving her aching and gasping.
Without pause, he flipped her around, pressing her onto her back on the bed. Before she could catch her breath, he was on her again, his hard girth sliding deep inside her trembling heat with a powerful thrust.
At the same time, his mouth found her swollen, sensitive breasts, latching on with hungry lips and teeth that nipped and sucked fiercely.
His hand didn’t stop its cruel worship, returning to the slick red bud that was begging for attention. Fingers teased, circled, stroked—while his rod thrust relentlessly, pounding into her with a rough rhythm that stole her breath away.
Anya’s control shattered completely. Her foggy mind consumed by lust and desperate need. Her voice came out as a ragged plea, soaked with want and trembling desire.
“Suck them harder,” she begged, voice breaking in need, her body arching into his mouth, craving every rough, demanding touch.
“Yes, Anya,” Dante growled, his voice thick with possessive hunger. “Let me suck your nipples. I’ll make them so sore you won’t be able to wear anything for days.”
He took her nipples into his mouth, sucking hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive peaks just enough to send jolts of delicious pain through her body.
“Yes!” Anya gasped shamelessly, the fire inside her growing with every stroke of his tongue, every brutal thrust of his shaft. It was like a drug, each touch only deepened her craving.
Dante’s rod slammed mercilessly into her dripping heat. “Cum for me, Anya,” he commanded, his voice rough with need.
“Don’t stop… oh God…” she moaned, desperation thick in her voice.
He rubbed her clit harder with his thumb, driving her closer and closer to the edge. “I want you to scream my name when you cum.”
Her body tensed, trembling with the overload of sensation as his girth pistoned deep and hard inside her. The raw heat, the aching pleasure, the sheer force of his touch ripped through her until she shattered into orgasm, screaming his name into the night.
“Dante! Oh God…!”
He followed, groaning her name as his release flooded through him, gripping her tight as their bodies shuddered in perfect, raw sync.
Dante didn’t give her a second to recover. His eyes darkened with a ruthless hunger as he grabbed her hips, pulling her flush against him. His cock slammed into her again and again, each thrust harder and rougher than the last.
Anya’s breath hitched, a desperate moan escaping her lips as he fucked her with no mercy, pounding her until she felt like she might break apart. Her body trembled, muscles tightening around him, ready to shatter—but just before she could fall over the edge, Dante suddenly slid down her body.
His tongue flicked out, hot and insistent, tracing slow, teasing circles over her slick folds. Anya’s hips bucked involuntarily, trembling with overwhelming need as his mouth worshiped her, licking and sucking her clit, his rough tongue driving her closer to the edge once again.
She gasped, “Ahhh…” her hands clawing at the sheets beneath her as pleasure built like a storm inside her.
Just when she thought she couldn’t hold on any longer, Dante’s grip was suddenly under her knees. With a powerful lift, he hoisted her entire body off the bed, her legs over his shoulders, leaving her open and vulnerable.
Before she could catch her breath, he thrust upward into her with a force that stole it away entirely.
“Fuck, Anya,” he growled, his voice like gravel, rumbling from deep in his chest as he slammed into her over and over again. “You’re mine.”
Her moans turned desperate, raw, torn between pain and pleasure. “Hahhh… Ahhh… Dante… please—”
But there was no mercy. He held her tight, controlling every movement as he drove her wild, deeper, harder—until finally, with a shattering cry, she broke free into a screaming orgasm, her body trembling in his arms.
Dante followed seconds later, his release spilling deep inside her as he held her close, stilling her frantic movements with possessive strength.
Dante didn’t give her a moment to recover. He placed her down on the edge of the table. The cold surface met her heated skin, making her shiver. Her legs instinctively parted for him, thighs trembling in anticipation.
Without a word, he knelt slightly and drove his fingers deep inside her, hard and fast.
Anya gasped, her back arching as the sudden, relentless rhythm took over her senses. “Dante—ahh…!”
His eyes never left her face, watching her unravel for him. The table creaked beneath them as his fingers worked her expertly, deep and fast, stroking her just right. Her walls clenched around him, her breath quickening, moans rising in pitch with every thrust.
“You’re close again,” he murmured darkly.
She could only nod, her voice caught in her throat, body already shaking on the brink.
But just as she was about to shatter, he withdrew his fingers.