19. Julia
19
JULIA
A more?
I kept his cock in my mouth while I put my hands on his thighs, determined to follow his directions. Sinking into this role-play had always excited me, and a thrill shot into my lower stomach. My thighs clenched, determined to relieve the friction he wouldn’t let me handle myself. My clit throbbed, angry and swollen from both his attention and now the lack of it. All the while, that word spun in my head.
Amore. Amore. Amore.
My love.
He’d never used that before. I was his little wife, his darling, his pretty good girl. But his love? Why would he use that word with no one around to pretend for?
This was supposed to be fake. He wasn’t supposed to have feelings for me, not real ones. All of this was a game, a play, something we had to do because of our families, nothing more. And in this space, he was my king, and I was his subservient queen. I knew I’d fallen deeper for him, but when had he started to reciprocate?
“There ya go,” he said, cupping my jaw before sliding his hand to my throat. The other hand clenched my hair, holding my head in position for him to piston his hips in and out…in and out…so slow, so achingly delicate. Drool pooled over the side of my mouth and my jaw began to ache, but I didn’t dare let up. He wanted to smear my lipstick on his dick, and he wouldn’t relent until he had done just that. “Such a beautiful little slut, aren’t you?”
From anyone else, the degradation would have insulted me. My brother had killed for less. But from him? Shivers erupted over my skin and the sharp burn of humiliation scalded my skin. I was his little slut, his little whore. And like he said, no one else would ever see me like this.
My heart pounded as he slid farther inside me, hitting the back of my mouth. I yearned to please him. I wanted to be enough for him. I wanted to sink into his control and let him have me because I knew only he could care for me like this.
He went farther in, and I gagged around him. But he hissed in a noise, suggesting he liked that and did it again. My eyes watered, stinging with the copious amounts of makeup I’d put on, but that had been the point. I wanted to be a blurry mess for him by the end of it. He would destroy me, and I liked the look of myself in the mirror after it happened.
“You’re so perfect like this. You drive me wild, you know that? I love fucking every part of you.” He rambled on, saying the filthiest things I’d ever heard. For a lady of high moral standing, I should have been outraged. But I reveled in it. I wanted more.
My knees began to ache, and I’d have bruises tomorrow, but I wanted that, too. Ages passed with his dick in my mouth. Sometimes, he fucked me. Sometimes, he just pet my hair and my face and let me suckle on him like a pacifier. Shame boiled my blood at how much it calmed me, how much peace I found in between his legs.
Bright lights came on from somewhere behind me, and I wondered what was happening in the center room, but I didn’t dare move. If I stopped to look, if I let him fall out of my mouth before he told me to, he’d punish me. And it wouldn’t be a spanking or a deep fisting, no. He wouldn’t let me come the entire night. He might not let me come for the rest of the week. My poor empty cunt lurched at the very thought, so I held still, gripping his thighs to ground me.
“It’s starting,” he said, running the backs of his fingers along my jaw. “Would my greedy cumslut queen like to watch?”
I nodded, doing my best to look sultry and adorable despite the thick tears streaming down my cheeks. He pulled himself out of my mouth and grabbed my arm to help me stand. My feet had gone numb and blood rushed through my tingling legs, but he didn’t let me go very far. He turned me around and coasted his hands up the sides of my thighs, inching my dress up with him.
“Now, I’m not ready to fuck you yet,” he said. “The lovely exhibitionists in there want to give us a good show. But my cock still needs attention.”
I gulped and rolled my jaw to stretch it out, trying to hide the trembling in my muscles. My throat was sore, my eyes burned, and my knees were already protesting anything else that might happen tonight. Still, I waited for his command.
“Spread your legs, my lovely queen,” he said.
I did.
“Now, come here and sit on my lap. But don’t you dare move.” He backed me up until I straddled his legs, and he lowered me, lining himself up at my entrance. I moaned when he was fully sheathed inside me, the pressure of the last million years of sucking him finally getting some relief. I arched my back, trying to get him to that special spot inside, but he slapped my ass hard enough to make me hiss and wince. “I told you not to move.”
“Please,” I said, looking over my shoulder with a pout. My lips were swollen from my ministrations and my voice was hoarse with thirst, but there was nothing in the world I wanted more than to ride him to orgasm.
“I said no.” He scoffed and shook his head. “You Caputis, all the same. Pigheaded. Refusing to listen to anyone.”
I bit back a laugh and refocused on the center room, finally taking in the scene. A man stood on a platform with two other people kneeling at his feet. He had on a finely tailored suit with a vest, matching slacks, and a black button-down shirt. The two other people wore next to nothing. The woman had been clad in a black lace bra and the tiniest thong I’d ever seen…until I looked at the man and realized his thong might have been the same size. His cock and balls nearly spilled out of it, and it would have been comical if I wasn’t so damned turned on and curious to see what would happen next.
“My queen,” Roman said, grabbing my shoulders, “lean against me.”
I did, holding him inside me while I rested against his chest.
“Drink this.” He held a bottle of water up to my mouth and I swallowed a few greedy sips while I focused on the performers. The suited man, clearly the dominant, nodded at his shoes, and each of his submissives kissed one before glancing up at him for further direction. He waved two fingers at the male submissive, who stood and unbuttoned the dominant’s vest, shucking it down his arms before walking to hang it up on a nearby chair. The woman stayed on her knees while the dominant ran a hand along her cheek, pausing at her mouth. She opened dutifully for him, and he shoved two fingers inside, reaching to the back of her throat. I marveled at her lack of gag reflex.
How did she do it?
But that thought quickly went away when the dominant unbuttoned his pants and pulled out his beautiful cock, quickly replacing his fingers with it in her mouth. She latched on like it was her lifeline, sucking and pulling from him with amazing eagerness.
A desperate wave of arousal rushed through me, heating my body, making my inner muscles clench around Roman. He felt it, and he groaned behind me.
“Oh, does my little wife like the show?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, focusing on not moving, not angling my hips the way I wanted. I was pathetically wet. It puddled out of me, leaving a spot on Roman’s pants that I felt anytime I moved my legs.
“Hmm, take this dress off,” he said, sliding the zipper down. “I want to play with your nipples.”
I yanked it over my head and tossed it to the side, doing the same to the bra when Roman unhooked it. The rush of cool air on my skin made me painfully aware of how clothed he still was, and I gasped when his rough, callused hands ghosted over my ribs and up toward my breasts. Despite the way he talked to me and the way he handled me sometimes, he never treated me with violence. These hands were capable of bloodshed. I’d seen them tear a man’s limbs from his body, but like this, they only brought me the pain and pleasure I asked for.
Roman rolled one nipple between his fingers while the other ventured south, toward my aching cunt. I watched the dominant pull the female submissive from him and tell the male submissive to take her to the bed on the other side of the platform. He scooped her into his arms and did as commanded, where she rolled onto all fours, patiently waiting for their next instruction.
I understood then why Roman had wanted us to see this performance. I’d marked voyeurism on my checklist because I liked the thought of getting off while I watched others do the same, but those three were clearly in a similar type of dynamic as Roman and me. That dominant was their lord, and they worshipped him, and he in turn took care of them. Was Roman trying to prove to me what we had was normal? Or did he perhaps choose something he thought I’d be comfortable with for my first time? Had he even known what it was we were going to see?
Roman swept over the lower half of my stomach, toward my hip, and down the inside of my thigh, purposely ignoring my needy clit. It pulsed in time with my rapid heartbeat, and I panted, wanton for friction, needing more than just sitting here with his jerking dick inside me.
“Do you see how powerful he looks?” Roman said, kissing my shoulder, working his way up my neck to my earlobe. “Do you see how it’s their submission that gives him that strength?”
“Yes, my king,” I said, moaning when he went to the other nipple, pinching and yanking the same way as the first. Sparks went through my nerves, jolting straight down to my cunt. I clenched around him harder, and he twitched inside me, maybe also furious for more.
“That’s what you give to me, Julia,” he said, biting my earlobe. “When we argue, when we play, when you crawl for me…you give me your strength.”
Pressure mounted in my chest, and I didn’t know what to do with it. I watched the dominant flip the female submissive over and wrap her legs around his shoulders so he could lick her, swirling his tongue and sucking in the right ways to make her writhe and moan. The other submissive held her down by the wrists, kissing her breasts, biting her windpipe.
“And you see,” Roman said. “He cares for her. He cares for both of them. They trust him to do that, to always be there, to catch them when they fall.”
I took a deep breath and looked at Roman, his face millimeters from mine. This wasn’t supposed to be so intimate. Yes, we were fucking, and yes, we were deep into role-play, but those words changed it from a game to something…more.
Amore.
“I love when you look at me like that,” he whispered, touching my face, pressing his forehead to mine. “I love when you bow to me, when you place your trust in me. It makes me feel like I could fly. I’ve never felt as comfortable doing these things with anyone else, only you.”
I swallowed, repressing the tremble that threatened to break through. I sensed where this was heading, and it couldn’t…shouldn’t…go there.
“Fuck me, please,” I said, more to break his concentration than anything else. I was so turned on and amped up, the moans coming from the center room spurred me on. If he didn’t take me hard, if he didn’t make up for this entirely too sentimental moment, I would burst out of my skin.
His features dropped, his eyes widening as his mouth hung open. I could have slapped him and he might have been more surprised. Just as quickly, he locked it into a scowl and fisted a handful of my hair, yanking my head back so quick, I nearly cried. “Is that all you want from me? A good fuck?”
I reminded myself this was pretend, just role-play, even if the agony in his voice bordered too close to reality. He let me go and sat back, raising an eyebrow.
“Fine. Fuck yourself,” he said, resting his arms on the throne. “But turn around so I can watch you.”
Finally.
I stood, faced him, and sat again, positioning his cock at my entrance so I could impale myself on him. He slid in easily; I was so ready for this. I’d been ready since we got here. I put my hands on his shoulders and rocked my hips, rolling him inside me, hitting all the spots I wanted. My head fell back, exposing my neck, and I closed my eyes, allowing my anxious thoughts to disappear into this clawing thing between us.
He grabbed my chin and forced my head upright. “Eyes on me, little wife .”
I followed his direction, maintaining contact while I worked myself on his lap. The tone was back in his voice, the one he’d used when we first got married. Its sarcastic glimmer should have been the first indication this game had gone awry, but I didn’t care. No, I chased the euphoria that usually came when I sank into his dominance, moaning and grinding and…God, I wished he would touch me, grab me, choke me, anything except sit there.
I reached for my clit, but he smacked my hand away.
“Please,” I whimpered. “I need to come.”
“Oh, now you need something from me?” He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Why should I let you?”
Had I done something wrong?
I’d stopped him from confessing something that would send this precarious house of cards tumbling to the ground, but other than that, I’d followed all of his commands. Emotions weren’t welcomed here, not in this space. He wasn’t supposed to love me. I wasn’t supposed to love him back.
It was only supposed to be pretend between us, and even if I’d started to feel more for him, the thought that he reciprocated terrified me. The wedding was in a few days, and if he went the same way as my other lovers…no, I pushed that thought away. I couldn’t face it, not yet, not like this.
“I want to be good,” I murmured. “I want to be good for you.”
He growled and wrapped his arms around my ass, holding me to him as he stood. He flipped me around so I was kneeling on the throne, my arms along the seat back, my knees on the cushion. With no preamble, he grabbed my hips and shoved inside me. It was hard and deep and I surged forward, almost unable to hold myself still.
“You better hang on, you Caputi slut,” he snarled, suddenly right at my ear. “This isn’t going to be soft and slow.”
The slicing sound of a fleshy slap went through the room before the fiery burn zinged up my right side. He’d spanked me, fucking me rough, digging his fingernails into the injury. He did it to the other side, another vicious smack before repeating the process again and again. I arched into the pain because I deserved it, didn’t I? Here I was, married to an MC president, trying to convince myself that loving each other was the worst thing that could happen. This marriage would never be about that, no matter how much we tried to make it otherwise. But how could it be pretend when all I wanted in the world was him?
He grabbed my hair again and tugged, forcing me to arch as he rutted me into the chair.
“That’s right, you take that Rose cock like the little whore you are,” he said. “My whore. My slut. My wife. Mine. All fucking mine.” The filth went on until I couldn’t stand it.
The dam finally broke inside me, a tumult of ecstasy and nerves sparking into a frenzy. I screamed, my climax yanking me under its tremendous weight. The world stopped spinning. Everything wrong had been set right. My mind went blank and rebooted like a broken computer, and when I finally drew a long, deep inhale, Roman had wrapped his arms around me, holding me up while he jerked and moaned and came deep inside me.
“Can’t you see?” he cooed, tenderly kissing the side of my neck and ear. “This is more than pretend now. It has been for a while. I love you, Julia. I love you.”
Those three little words dumped ice water on the whole thing. He’d been building up to it through the entire scene.
Oh God. This is real. He thinks this is real.
And so do I.
He grabbed my left hand and held up my third finger, sliding a beautiful ruby ring over the knuckle. It was encased in diamonds, perfectly gaudy and showy and mesmerizing. I wanted to rip it off and throw it at his head. I wanted to wear it forever and be buried with it at the end of my days.
“Roman,” I said, my voice breaking as my chest cracked open. I couldn’t accept it. I shouldn’t want to accept it. “I’m sorry.”
Whatever response he’d been expecting, that wasn’t it. His arms dropped as he stepped away. His cock slid out of me, leaving a cold, wet mess and a trail of cum down the inside of my thigh. When I turned to step off the throne, he blinked and shook his head, his face ashen, his eyebrows halfway up his forehead.
“You’re sorry?” he said. “For what?”
“I…um…” I swallowed against a painfully parched throat. “I can’t do this.”
He seemed not to know how to process that. “Can’t do what?”
“This.” I gestured to the ring, to him, to the whole thing. “I don’t… I’m not capable…”
I don’t love you.
I tried to say the words, but they tasted like garbage because they weren’t true. I did love him. I knew I did, and I had for a while, and I was a stupid girl who couldn’t accept I might be allowed to have something good and true and amazing. If I said it out loud, if I admitted it to him, he would fall at the hands of my family, and it would kill me. I couldn’t live through that again.
My eyes burned as tears bubbled at the corners, streaming down my cheeks. This time, it wasn’t from gagging on him, but from suffocating under the weight of my own blindness.
“This isn’t supposed to be real,” I snapped as I gathered my dress from the ground and slipped it over my head.
“Julia, wait,” Roman said, trying to stop me. He put his hands on my shoulders, but I shoved him back, swallowing a sob as I grabbed my purse from the floor.
“Julia—” He came toward me again, but I already had my knife in my hand, holding it out to him.
“No,” I shouted.
“Is that supposed to scare me?” Roman looked down at the blade before glancing up at me again, holding his hands out to either side. “I’d get stabbed a million times to get to you, little wife. There’s no running from me now.”
“Is that supposed to scare me?” I scoffed. “Mercutio.”
With that, I turned toward the door and stomped down the hallway, taking the stairs two at a time until I was on the ground floor.
“Hey, Jules,” Hollywood said, pulling the rope aside as I passed. Then, he caught sight of my face and his bright smile dropped. “You all right?”
“Julia, wait!” Roman said, racing after me.
“Leave me alone, Roman.” I reached for my phone and called my brother. He picked up after the second ring, and while I was trying to get a ride out of there, I heard Hollywood wrestling Roman behind me.
“You know the rules, brother,” Hollywood said. “She said leave her alone. Let her be. Or I’ll be forced to get your sister.”
With one last look at my husband, I wiped the tears from my cheeks and stumbled out into the humid August night.