Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty Four
Nico
The moment I felt the shift in her, the surrender, the wave of frustration that crashed over her as her body refused to cooperate with her mind, a primal surge of triumph unlike anything I've ever felt coursed through me.
That’s when I knew it was over. She was done for.
And when the word "Sir" slipped from her lips, so soft, so broken, so perfectly, exquisitely submissive, I knew I had her.
She is mine.
She is broken.
Not in the way she was earlier, in a way that made my chest ache with a protective instinct I hadn't anticipated.
This is different.
This is the beautiful, exquisite fracture of her will as she gives herself over to her most basic, primal needs.
This is the moment of her true submission.
My control, a frayed rope stretched to its breaking point, finally snaps.
The patience, the careful restraint, the goddamn self-sacrifice—it all evaporates, burned away by the white-hot heat of my desire.
I'm no longer a gentleman.
I'm no longer a man trying to prove a point.
I'm a beast who's been caged for too long. A predator who will take what he wants.
And the gates are open. I’m taking my prize.
I kiss her, a deep, bruising kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, a desperate, hungry clash of mouths that’s as much about possession as it is about pleasure.
She kisses me back with equal fervor, her hands tangling in my hair, pulling me closer, a silent, desperate plea for more.
I give it to her.
My hips pull back, leaving her empty.
A soft, desperate whimper escapes her lips.
And I want to prolong her agony. Make her beg. But there will be plenty of time for that later.
Now, I need to claim her.
To remind her body who owns it. I shove her knees back for a new angle and line my cock up at her dripping entrance. Then I drive into her in one hard, deep thrust that steals the air from my lungs, a hoarse groan tearing from my throat. She's so fucking tight.
Her back arches, her hands fisting in the sheets, as I split her open. Her walls clench around me, a desperate, hungry grip that pulls me deeper.
And it’s not enough.
It’s not even close to enough.
I set a punishing rhythm, a hard, fast, deep fuck that's designed to shatter her, to break her down until there's nothing left but the raw, desperate need for release.
Her moans fill the room, a symphony of pleasure and pain, a desperate, pleading music that goes straight to my head, making me drunk on her submission.
I look down at her, at the way her breasts bounce with each thrust, at the way her lips are parted, her eyes closed in bliss. She’s a goddess beneath me, a beautiful, wanton creature made for my pleasure.
And I am the god who worships at her altar.
My thumb finds her clit, and I rub it in hard, fast circles, matching the rhythm of my hips.
"Oh God, oh God, oh God," she chants, a desperate, broken mantra, her body tensing, her movements becoming more frantic, more erratic.
I know she's close.
I can feel it in the way her pussy clenches around me, in the desperate, pleading sounds she's making.
"Oh God," she moans, her head thrown back, her neck a long, elegant arch of surrender. "Nico."
I still. Everything. My thumb on her clit, my cock inside her.
Her eyes fly open in shock and pained confusion.
She probably didn't even realize she did it.
But it doesn't change the facts.
I lean down, my lips brushing against her ear. I slide one hand up her body and wrap it around her throat. Not hard. Not cutting off her air.
Just a light, possessive pressure.
A reminder.
Her body instantly reacts, a fresh wave of wetness coats my dick, still buried deep inside her.
I fight the urge to plunge mindlessly and forget everything else.
"What did you call me?" I ask, my voice a low, dangerous growl.
Her eyes, wide and dazed with pleasure, blink slowly, trying to focus. "Sir?"
With great effort, I pull out of her. Just the tip rests against her entrance.
"Nico?" Her voice is barely audible now. "Please, Sir. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
And I want to give her what she wants. To slide back into that wet, welcoming heat and fuck her until she screams.
But it doesn't work like that, and she has to learn that.
She's still repeating her apologies in a desperate rush.
"I know," I say, pressing my lips against her ear and lowering my voice even more. "But sorry doesn't always cut it." I rock my hips forward slightly, letting the head of my cock breach her entrance, a tantalizing promise of what's to come, before pulling back again.
A frustrated sob escapes her lips. "I'll be good. I promise. I'll be so good for you."
"You will be anyway," I say, my thumb stroking her pulse point, feeling the frantic, frantic beat of her heart against my fingers.
I pause, letting the words sink in.
I pull out of her completely, absorb the satisfaction of her whimper, and make my way up her body, a knee on either side of her until I’m straddling her chest.
"Have you sucked cock before, Erica?" I ask, my head cocked as I look down at her.
Her cheeks flush a deep crimson, but she doesn't break my gaze.
She gives a small, almost imperceptible shake of her head.
The raw, unfiltered honesty in her eyes, the vulnerability of her confession, hits me like a physical blow. My desire, already a raging inferno, ratchets up another notch.
Her innocence is a gift.
A precious, fragile thing that I am the first, and only, man to touch.
I can't wait to wreck it.
"I'm going to use your mouth," I say, my voice flat, a statement of fact. "We haven't talked about safe words yet, and we will, but I find the stoplight system works best for beginners."
I take her hands in mine. "Look at me," I order when I see her eyes following my cock.
She meets my gaze, her own wide and trusting.
"Green means go," I explain, my thumbs stroking the backs of her hands. "Yellow means slow down and check in. If you're uncomfortable or unsure, you say yellow, and I stop and check in with you. Yellow is two squeezes."
I squeeze her hands to show her. "Show me," I say.
She squeezes back. Twice. Her grip is firm, sure.
"Good. Just like that," I say, "Red means stop.
Completely. Everything. No questions asked, no matter what.
If you're tied up, I'll cut you loose. If I'm inside you, I’ll pull out.
And— Look at me," I repeat when her eyes drift to our hands.
"I will never, ever be angry at you for using it.
You say red loud and clear when you need it, or squeeze my hand three times. Show me."
She squeezes my hands three times. Her entire focus is on me, her expression open, receptive.
"The only way you'll ever get in trouble with me is by not using it when you need to," I say, my voice serious. "Do you understand?"
She gives a small but decisive nod. "Yes, Sir."
"When we're talking about things like this, there is no Sir," I tell her. "We are equals, establishing boundaries and trust. So, I will ask you one more time. Do you understand?"
She meets my gaze without hesitation. "I understand. Nico."
I lean down to kiss her. "Good," I say, my voice a little rougher than I intended. "Now, what color are you, Erica?"
"Green," she whispers, without a second of hesitation, squirming a little under me in anticipation. "Definitely green."
A slow, satisfied smile spreads across my face. “That’s my good girl.”