Chapter 2 #2
My eyes flare and I try—really try—to hold it together, but some awful sound still tears out of me, high and whimpering, because fuck, I know how I smell and how I taste and how wrecked I already am. And he knows it too and now he's gonna shove it right in my—
“Now, pup.”
I open. The underwear stuffs in, hot and thick. I gag instantly, cheeks blazing. The taste hits hard—sweat, precome and fabric—and I sob through my nose, arms straining in the binds. My whimper is muffled. My mouth is stuffed full, cock hard and aching, as I twist under him.
“You brat, I warned you,” he growls, circling the bed like a predator now. His hands run down my thigh, stopping just shy of my bruised knee. “But you can’t help yourself, can you?”
I shake my head, but I smile around the gag, which is a mistake.
His hand lands on my thigh. Hard enough to jolt my whole body against the binds. “Keep smiling, pup,” he murmurs, voice sweet. “I want to see how long that mouth keeps grinning when you’re drooling around your own cock stink.”
I moan as watches me squirm like he’s got all the time in the world. And I know this is punishment. But I’d sin again for it.
The lube clicks open I flinch. He’s kneeling between my thighs now, bottle in one hand, the other braced on my stomach. His eyes drag up the length of me—flushed chest, spit-slick cheeks. “Spread ’em.”
My thighs fly open so fast I hear the mattress creak. I groan into the gag. My own goddamn reflexes betray me, because yeah, I damn well spread like my life depends on it, no hesitation, no shame. Then I roll my eyes at myself.
The sound he makes is molten. Low and smug. “Good boy,” he rasps, dragging his palm up my inner thigh. “Look at you. Already dripping. Already open. You were made for this.”
I moan again, louder now, cock twitching against my stomach.
His hand finds my knee—careful with the sore one—and presses it down, opening me further. “Won the game. Took a hit like a goddamn soldier. And now you’re lying here gagged with your thighs spread like a perfect little fucktoy.”
My spine arches. My mouth stretches around the gag, and I try, fuck, I try, to say something. Anything. But it’s just noise.
He smirks, dragging his thumb up the crease of my thigh, slicking the lube slow. “You wanna talk, pup?” he murmurs. “You wanna chirp something bratty now? Or just beg like a mess with that soaked mouth full of your own stink?”
I groan so loud it rattles the bedframe.
His fingers press closer, circling, teasing, not quite breaching. “I could keep you like this forever,” he whispers, voice suddenly quieter, hotter. “Gagged. Begging. My good boy.”
I twitch hard, whimpering through the gag.
“I’m proud of you,” he says. “You hear me, Elias? I’m proud. Of how you played. Of how you listen. Of how you let me ruin you, day by day, into exactly what I want.”
My throat closes and I can’t speak, so I nod—desperate, pathetic—every cell in my body burning for him.
And finally, finally, he presses slick fingers in, and I sob into the gag as they slide slow and deep and cruel.
I arch against them with my hips twitching, the gag muffling the shattered sound that rips out of my chest while my thighs shake and my back bows, because I’m too slick and too open and too far gone already
He stretches me with that unbearable patience, watching every twitch, every moan I make around the gag, every tremble of my thighs as my body gives up more and more control. My arms yank at the sleeves knotted above my head, useless and straining, while my hips rock down like a desperate whore.
And still he doesn’t touch my cock. Doesn’t even look at it. He works his fingers deeper, scissoring, curling, sliding slow until I’m gasping wet into the soaked fabric. My vision goes blurry. My whole body sings with need, thighs quivering open and wide and wanting.
Then, when I think I’m going to explode from the stretch of his fingers alone—he pulls them out.
I sob. I scream behind the gag. My whole chest arches off the bed in protest, but he’s already slicking himself up with lube, bottle tossed aside, eyes locked on mine. “Eyes on me, pup.”
I obey instantly, and then he pushes in—slow, so damn slow—until my vision blows out in stars. My mouth stretches wider around the gag as a moan rips from my chest. He fills me inch by inch, heat and stretch and pressure, until my back’s arched so hard the hoodie sleeves cut into my wrists.
“You take it so well,” he murmurs, almost a growl. “God, look at you. Look how good you are for me. So tight. So fucking mine.”
He keeps going deeper and deeper, one slow thrust at a time until he bottoms out—and then stills. All the air leaves my lungs and I whimper, tears slicking my cheeks, drool slipping from the gag, cock pressed wet between us, untouched and twitching.
He leans down, voice in my ear. “You feel that, pup? That’s me. Filling you. Owning you.”
I nod so fast it rattles the bed.
“You win my games. You wear my jacket. You kneel for me in showers, in locker rooms, in my fucking bed.” His hips roll slow, shallow, perfect. “You’re everything I ever wanted. You know that?”
I sob as he fucks me deeper, one long, slow thrust followed by another, each one dragging me further under. My legs shake, my cock leaks untouched, and my arms tremble against the binds—but I don’t care. I don’t need anything except him, his voice in my ear, and his body wrecking mine.
“I should keep you like this,” he murmurs. “Every night.”
I groan around the gag, so loud it echoes.
“You want that?” he asks, hips grinding in deep again. “Want to be my good boy forever?”
I scream yes with everything in me, and he fucks me slower, deeper, whispering filth in my ear the whole time. And I never want it to end. It hits so deep I think I blackout for a second.
One thrust. Just one, after minutes of slow, relentless, perfect pressure and my whole body combusts.
My hips snap up on instinct, trying to chase the feeling, trying to get more, but Damian growls and grabs me by the throat.
His palm firm around the base of my neck, his thumb dragging up my jaw, forcing my head back into the pillows as my back arches off the bed. “Stay still, pup.”
I can’t. I can’t not move, not when he’s inside me, not when he’s there, dragging me open with every roll of his hips, stretching me until I can’t breathe.
And then his other hand slides under my lower back and lifts me—just an inch—but it’s all it takes.
The angle shifts, and the next thrust spears straight into that spot, and my vision detonates.
White heat slams through me as my thighs snap tight and my toes curl hard enough to cramp, and the scream that tears from my throat is pure, soundless pain-pleasure-chaos.
I don’t even care that I’m gagged—I scream, the sound ripping out of me mangled and choked as my whole body jerks, seizing tight around him.
His hips don’t stop. They keep driving and his voice breaks rough and hoarse above me. “That’s it, pup,” he groans, buried so far inside me I swear I can feel him behind my ribs. “Scream for me. Let them hear who you fucking belong to.”
I can’t stop. Every thrust hits that spot again and again until I’m twitching so hard my restraints creak and the gag’s soaked straight through.
My toes won’t uncurl. My cock leaks between us.
I’m shaking. Gone. He fucks me right through it.
Right through every sob and shudder and writhing twitch I give him.
His grip on my back holds me in place. His hand on my throat keeps me his.
He owns the sound I make when I come. Screaming through my teeth. The world tilts sideways. My body’s still twitching, my thighs useless, my hands numb where they’re tied above me. But the second he slows, the second his thrusts start dragging deeper instead of harder, I know he’s not done.
He leans down, chest flush to mine, heat sinking into me until I’m swallowed whole. His hand slides from my back to my cheek, thumb brushing over the stretch of my jaw where the fabric’s biting in. “Breathe, pup,” he rasps. “You did so good. Let me hear you now.”
The gag slips free. The soaked fabric hits the pillow beside me, slick with spit and wreckage, and I gasp like I’ve been drowning.
My mouth stretches wide, trembling as I try to speak, but I can’t even find the words at first. Just a sob, sharp and high, ripped straight from my chest. “Sir—” It’s barely a whisper. “Please—”
He swallows the rest in a kiss. Gentle in that way that ruins me worse than anything else. His tongue slides past my lips, licking them clean. His mouth tastes like praise and sweat and home. I clutch at him, wrists pulling at the sleeves, breath stuttering into his mouth as I sob again.
“Please, please, please—” I gasp, heart louder than my words. “Fill me, sir—please—I need it—need you—”
“Good boy,” he groans, and his hips slam forward one last time.
I scream. My back bows, and then I feel it. Heat, sudden and deep, spilling inside me with a possessive snarl at my throat.
He doesn't pull out. He presses in deeper, keeping everything right there, one hand dragging up my thigh, the other braced on my jaw. “You’re perfect,” he whispers against my lips.
“My center. My fucking pride. You won me the game, and now look at you. Letting me break you open just to fill you again.”
I cry out—broken and so full.
“You take it so well, Elias,” he murmurs, brushing wet curls from my face, kissing the sweat from my temple. “Every inch. Every order. Every win. You were made for this.”
My throat works around a sob. “Yours,” I whisper. “Always yours.”
He kisses me again, slower this time, gentler.
“Shhh…” Damian whispers. His voice is a rasp against the raw of my lips as his fingers work the knot above my head.
The sleeves loosen and my wrists fall free, trembling from strain, sore from pulling.
But he doesn’t let go of me. Doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t shift. He stays inside.
The second I’m loose, my arms snap tight around his neck, clawing him down, mouth dragging his into mine like I’ve earned it. Like I need it more than air. Our lips crash desperately and I sob into the kiss, ruined and needy and too full to think straight.
His cock twitches deep inside me. Still hard. Still owning.
My thighs twitch around his waist, trying to pull him closer, trying to keep him in. I don’t want distance. I don’t want space. I want this—him. Inside me, around me, claiming me until there’s no part of me that doesn’t scream his name.
He groans into my mouth, one hand on my jaw, the other dragging slow down my side. “You don’t stop, do you?” he murmurs, kissing the corner of my lips, the edge of my jaw, his teeth grazing the wet skin. “Always needing. Always mine.”
I nod. “Need you.”
“You have me.” He rolls his hips slow.
I moan into his mouth, high and ragged, and his praise follows. “Good boy. Look how perfect you are. Tied up, full of me, still begging.”
“Yours,” I whisper again, hoarse. “All yours.”
His hand slides into my curls, fisting again—grounding me in the mess he made. “Damn right,” he growls. “Now sleep like this.”
“Inside?” I whimper.
“Yes.”
“Still full?”
His smirk brushes my throat. “That’s the point, pup.”
He doesn’t warn me. One second I’m clinging to his neck, lips still swollen from the kiss, and the next he’s pulling out slowly. I sob into his throat at the loss, my whole body twitching around the emptiness, already desperate to have him again.
“Easy,” he murmurs, barely a rumble against my jaw.
Then—hands. One braced under my thigh, the other curled around my ribs, and I’m turned gently onto my side. My back against his chest, his legs caging mine, one arm hooking low around my waist like a goddamn brand.
He pushes back in. One long, slow thrust that splits me again, deeper now with this angle, with the curve of his hips against my ass. My breath punches out of me, half-moan, half-sob, and I melt.
He doesn’t fuck me. He just sinks in and stays there, cock twitching inside me, arm tight around my waist.
“Sir…” I whisper, his body locking around mine. “You’re still—fuck—”
“Yeah,” he says into my hair. “You’re mine. And we’re sleeping like this.”
I whimper, pressing back against him, overwhelmed tethered to him in every way that counts. My whole body fits into his like I was carved to sleep this way.
His lips graze my neck once, then go still. His chest rises behind me, and I finally sleep.