Chapter 5
Angelina
D ez stared down at me for a long moment, taking in every inch of my exposed body. The intensity of his gaze made me feel more naked than I actually was.
"Beautiful," he murmured, his hands resting on my inner thighs, holding me open. "And so fucking wet already."
I was. I could feel it, could feel how slick I'd gotten just from being fed, teased, and commanded.
“Your age has fuck to do with anything.” His thumbs traced lazy circles on my inner thighs, getting closer to where I needed him but never quite touching.
"Here's how this is going to work. I'm going to touch you.
Taste you. Make you desperate. And you're going to stay exactly like this.
Your arms above your head, legs spread, until I give you permission to move. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you don't come until I explicitly tell you to." His thumbs moved higher, so close I could feel the heat of them. "If you're getting close, you tell me. If you need to come, you beg me. But you do not come without permission. Clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"What happens if you break that rule?"
My breath caught. "I... I don't know, sir."
"Then I stop. Completely. And you don't get to come at all today." His eyes met mine, and there was no humor in them. Only promise. "So I suggest you follow instructions very carefully. Because I am going to fuck you, and I’d be a shame if I was the only one to come."
"I will follow them, sir."
"We'll see."
Then his mouth was on me again. Not where I expected.
Not between my legs where I was aching for him, but on my hipbone.
His tongue traced the edge of my panty line, following the path where the lace had been.
Then he moved to the other hip, giving it the same attention.
I forced myself to stay still, to keep my arms above my head even though every instinct screamed to reach down and pull him where I wanted him.
"Does this feel like I’m bothered by your age," he murmured against my skin, and the praise sent a fresh wave of heat through me. "Look at you, being so obedient."
“No…” I breathed out.
His mouth moved lower, kissing down my inner thigh with torturous slowness. When he reached my knee, he switched to the other leg, working his way back up. By the time he was close to my center again, I was trembling.
"Please," I whispered.
"Please what?"
"Please touch me, sir."
"I am touching you." His breath ghosted across my wet flesh, so close but not close enough.
"Please touch my—" I couldn't say it.
"Your what, Angelina?" His tongue darted out, licking a stripe up my inner thigh that stopped just short of where I needed it. "Use your words."
"My pussy, sir. Please touch my pussy."
"Like this?" One finger traced through my folds, barely grazing my clit.
I gasped, my hips trying to chase the contact, but his other hand clamped down on my hip, holding me in place.
"I said stay still." The command was sharp.
"Sorry, sir."
"Don't be sorry. Be better." The single finger continued its exploration, gathering wetness, spreading it around but never giving me enough pressure. "I love that you’re soaked. Did you know that?"
"No, sir."
"Did feeding you get you this wet? Or was it being tied up? Being helpless? That I don’t give a fuck about your age? That I only care how good you are for me."
"All of it, sir."
"Honest." His finger circled my entrance, dipping in just slightly before withdrawing. "I like that."
Then his mouth was finally on me where I wanted it to be.
His tongue found my clit with devastating precision, circling it with just the right pressure.
Not too hard, not too soft. Like he'd studied my body and knew exactly what it needed.
I moaned, my back arching off the bed before I could stop myself. He pulled away immediately.
"What did I say?"
"Stay still, sir. I'm sorry?—"
"Sorry isn't good enough." He sat back on his heels, leaving me aching and empty. "You need to learn control."
"Please, sir. I'll be better. I'll stay still."
"Will you?" He reached for the bedpost nearest my right hand, and I watched as he pulled down one of the restraints, soft leather lined with silk. "Let's make sure."
He secured my right wrist to the post with efficient movements, then moved to my left. Within seconds, both my arms were bound above my head, stretched taut but not painfully so.
"Better," he observed. "Now you can't move even if you want to."
Then he moved to my ankles.
"Wait—" I started.
He paused, one hand on my right ankle. "Color?"
I took a breath. This was what I'd signed up for. What I'd wanted. Total surrender. For him to push me. Challenge me.
"Green, sir."
"Then I’ll continue."
He secured my ankles to the lower bedposts, spreading my legs wide, leaving me completely open, exposed, and utterly vulnerable. Dripping for him.
Dez knelt between my spread thighs again, his eyes dark with hunger. "Now, let's try this again. And this time, you're going to make good on your promise. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
His mouth descended on me again, but this time there was no teasing. His tongue found my clit and worked it with purposeful strokes while two fingers slid inside me, curling to hit that spot that made stars burst behind my eyelids.
"Oh god—" I pulled against the restraints involuntarily, my body trying to arch into the pleasure.
"That's it," he murmured against me. "Pull all you want. You're not going anywhere."
His fingers pumped in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue, and I felt the orgasm building embarrassingly fast. Fear mixed with pleasure and it seemed to heighten my arousal.
"Sir—" I gasped. "Sir, I'm getting close?—"
"Already?" He didn't slow down. "That desperate?"
"Yes, sir, please?—"
"Please what?"
"Please let me come, sir. Please, I need?—"
"Not yet." His fingers continued fucking me, his tongue flicking faster, and I was right on the edge, so close I could taste it. As I held back, my body seemed to be dividing. One part of my floated while the other was anchored to this damn bed.
"Sir, please, I can't?—"
"You can." His voice was firm, commanding. "Hold it because I told you to. Show me how much control you have of your body, Angelina. Take what I give you without breaking. Give in to me and let me show you what you’re capable of."
Tears pricked at my eyes from the effort of holding back. Every muscle in my body was taut, straining, fighting against the orgasm that wanted to crash through me. Instead of running from it, I embraced it and wore it like armor. I gave in to him, but that didn’t stop the begging.
"Please," I sobbed. "Please, sir, don’t stop. I need?—"
"Beautiful," he murmured, and I felt his lips curve into a smile against me. "Absolutely beautiful when you beg. But not yet."
His fingers withdrew, his mouth lifted away, and I made a sound that was half-sob, half-scream of frustration.
"Shh." He moved up my body, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that tasted like me. "You're doing so well. So fucking perfect for me."
"I was good," I whimpered against his lips. "I begged, I asked permission?—"
"You were very good." He kissed me again, deeper. "Which is why you're going to get a reward. Just not the one you think."
He reached down and removed his boxer briefs, and my eyes went wide. He was bigger than I'd expected, thick and hard and already leaking at the tip.
"See what you do to me?" He wrapped one hand around himself, stroking slowly.
"Please," I whispered. "Please fuck me, sir."
"Oh, I'm going to." He reached over to the nightstand and pulled out a condom and rolled it on with practiced ease. "But on my terms. At my pace. You’re going to meet my needs the way I want. I’m going to use you until I’m satisfied."
He positioned himself at my entrance, the head of his dick pressing against me but not entering.
"Beg me for it," he commanded. "Tell me what you want."
"I want you inside me, sir. Please. I want you to fuck me. Use me. I'm yours! Please?—"
He slammed into me in one brutal thrust.
I screamed, the sudden fullness overwhelming, the stretch bordering on too much but not quite. He filled me completely, and I could feel every inch of him.
"Fuck," he groaned, his forehead dropping to mine. "So perfect. Like you were made for this."
"Yes, sir," I gasped. "Please move, please?—"
"Not yet." He stayed buried deep, not moving, just letting me feel him. "I want you to remember this. Remember how it feels to be stretched around me. Helpless. Unable to do anything except take what I give you."
"I'll remember," I promised. "Please, sir?—"
He pulled out slowly, almost all the way, then slammed back in.
The rhythm he set was brutally hard, deep thrusts that had the bed frame hitting the wall with each movement.
His hands gripped my hips tight enough to bruise, holding me in place while he fucked me exactly how he wanted.
And I took it. Took every thrust, every possessive grip, every filthy word he growled against my ear about how tight I was, how good I felt, how he was going to ruin me for anyone else. It all felt wonderful, made me tremble.
"Touch yourself," he commanded suddenly. "Your clit. I want to watch you."
"I can't—" I pulled against the wrist restraints. "I'm tied up?—"
"Fuck." He reached up and released my right wrist with quick, efficient movements. "Now you can. Touch yourself. Show me."
My freed hand flew between my legs, fingers finding my clit, and circling frantically.
"Slower," he ordered, his hips never stopping their relentless rhythm. "Match my pace. When I thrust in, you press down. When I pull out, you ease up."
I obeyed, and the coordinated rhythm was devastatingly perfect. Every thrust drove him deep while my fingers provided exactly the right pressure on my clit.
"Better," he approved. "Look at you, baby… Are you close again?"
"Yes, sir," I gasped. "So close?—"
"Do you want to come?"
"Yes, please, sir, please let me come?—"
"Not yet." His thrusts got harder, faster, and I could feel him getting close too. "I want to feel you clench around me. I want to feel you fall apart as I come inside you. Stay right here with me.”
"Yes, sir," I sobbed, my fingers still working my clit in time with his thrusts, the orgasm hovering just out of reach.
"That's my perfect girl." His hand came up to wrap around my throat—not squeezing, just resting there, a reminder of his control. "You're mine tonight. This pussy is mine. These sounds you're making are mine. Everything you are right now belongs to me."
"Yes, sir," I whimpered. "Yours. All yours."
"Damn right." His thrusts became erratic, and I could tell he was close. "When I come, you come. Not before. Wait for me, Angelina."
I didn't know how I was going to manage it. Every nerve ending was on fire, my body screaming for release, my fingers still working my clit in that devastating rhythm.
"Please," I begged. "Please come, sir?—"
"Almost there." His hand tightened fractionally on my throat. "Just a little longer, baby. You can do it. You can… fuck?—"
His thrusts sped up, chasing his own release, and I held on by a thread. Drifting further from my body, unable to fight the pull to carry on.
"Come," he growled. "Come for me right fucking now."
The orgasm slammed into me like a freight train.
I screamed, my body convulsing, clenching around him so hard I saw stars.
Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me, and I felt him taking his release, groaning my name as he emptied himself.
He collapsed on top of me, both of us breathing hard, sweat-slicked and trembling.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. Then he lifted his head and kissed me softly, gentle, completely at odds with the brutality of moments before.
"Still concerned?"
Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. Not from pain, but from the overwhelming intensity of it all. I shook my head and he smiled.
“Good. How are you feeling?"
"Green," I whispered. "So green. That was... that was..."
"Yeah." He smiled, and it transformed his face into something boyish. "It really was."
He pulled out carefully and disposed of the condom, then returned to release my remaining wrist and both ankles. His hands rubbed circulation back into them with gentle attention, such a contrast to how he'd used me moments before.
"Can you sit up?" he asked.
I tried and failed, my limbs feeling like jelly.
"Okay, we're going to work on that." He scooped me up easily, carrying me toward what I now realized was an ensuite bathroom. "First, we clean up. Then we hydrate. Then we see how you feel."
"I feel amazing," I murmured against his chest.
"You feel amazing now. Give it ten minutes and you might feel differently." He set me down on the edge of a massive bathtub and turned on the water, testing the temperature. "Trust me. Aftercare is important."
"You sound very experienced."
"I know what I'm doing." He added something to the water that made it foam. "Don’t underestimate me because of my age."
I watched him prepare the bath with the same focused attention he'd given everything else, and felt something shift in my chest. Maybe I had underestimated him. Maybe Dez Moretti was exactly what I'd been looking for. The thought should have terrified me. Instead, it felt like relief.