Chapter 12
LILY
“Entrambi sono la perfezione? What is your choice?” His hands leave my skin, the plug still remaining, and I hear the floor creak as he steps back. His chuckle resonates in the room to a response I can’t see. “As you wish,” he says, his voice directed at Marco.
And I wait to learn the ramifications of that statement.
My tongue feels thick, heavy, and my heartbeat climbs higher with every beat of silence that follows.
“Oh God,” I cry out as my hips are grabbed roughly and jerked up higher in the air.
I instinctively angle my head back to try and see what’s happening—my mind so occupied on what’s next, that I forget the blindfold covering my eyes.
I feel someone move between my parted legs, and my sight isn’t needed to understand what happens next.
I’m forced up on my hands as a body slides beneath me—between my legs and up the mattress, bare flesh barely grazing my hypersensitive skin.
I suck in a breath as whoever it is—my captor?
Marco?—shudders one out in reaction to my nipples sliding over his chest as he positions himself.
My ankle restraints grow taut momentarily, the left and then the right, but within seconds the tension eases and I have more slack in the tether. I pull my legs in closer, relieved to have more freedom and find them framing the torso beneath me. I flex my hips, the plug slightly uncomfortable.
Who is beneath me and who is behind me?
Calm down, Lily. This is fucking crazy, but calm down. Do as they say. Lose yourself in the pleasure to cope.
Easier said than done. It’s one thing to want something, and then when it’s knocking on your door, it’s okay to be terrified by it.
Like I am now.
I know what’s going to happen next. There is no question. I have always found the idea of double penetration to be sexy, but now that I’m in the moment, now that it’s here, I’m nervous. Anxious. On edge.
Is this something that was on my fantasy bucket list? Yes. But if Anderson wasn’t open to using toys, he sure as shit wasn’t going to be open to bringing another man in our bedroom temporarily.
Not that I necessarily wanted that. Another man to see me naked? Another man to possibly make Anderson feel inferior? Another man to damage our marriage? No. But dual penetration with toys or other means? Yes, I wanted to experiment with that.
But not like this. Not bound and blind and being held against my will.
Every fantasy I ever had about this feels distant—warped—like someone else’s memory I’ve been forced to partake in.
I’ve formed a misconstrued sense of trust with my captor. Wrong? Right? I don’t know, but it’s all I have in this situation filled with unknowns.
Trust him? Is this my mind playing tricks on me?
Yes. No. All I know is that he’s started all of this, but he’s also kept his word to me thus far.
Because he’s been worrying about your pleasure this whole time.
Even when he was “punishing” you, he was still pleasuring you.
Make it make sense.
But I don’t have time to. Not now. Now when my breasts brush against the chest beneath me and a hand reaches up to press on either side of my jaw.
“Ready, bella?” my captor murmurs into my ear. My relief is short-lived and confusing because I’m thankful that he is the one beneath me. The one near my face.
The stranger I know is better than the stranger you don’t know, and I don’t know Marco.
I exhale a shaky breath and nod subtly as I feel Marco brush a hand over my ass from behind.
“You look so gorgeous right now? Your husband should be jealous that I get to fuck you when you look like this? Nipples tight, pussy dripping, wax hardened, and my marks on your back? Does he know you need this? Need to be tested? Dominated? Filled? Used? Fucked within an inch of exhaustion?”
A strangled sound comes from my throat—part sob, part desperation—when he refers to Anderson. I don’t want him mentioned, don’t want to be reminded of the kindhearted man I am betraying.
No. That I’m being forced to betray.
My body vibrates for more, but my head begins to win the battle. The guilt rightfully returns full force. The tears well and my limbs tremble as my captor’s hands run down the sides of my torso, rough calluses against my smooth skin.
He slides his hands down to my hips and guides them down and forward. I remain where he’s positioned me even though he’s removed his hands. Within seconds he swipes the crest of his cock over my clit, separating the flesh there, and positioning himself at my entrance.
There’s a groan at my back. Quiet and muffled and different from my captor’s. It’s Marco and his breath labors as he grabs my hips from behind.
I suck in a breath. My pussy clenches around my captor’s tip. Using his hands, Marco slowly pushes me down so that at his guidance, I lower myself down onto my captor’s cock, inch by painstakingly slow inch.
My body shudders at the sensation, nerves raked over, and swollen muscles unable to resist the re-ignition of desire. Fingers reach down and apply lubricant gently around where we are joined and then back up to where the plug still remains.
“Are you ready?” my captor whispers beneath me as his hands guide my shoulders forward, my breasts now pressed against his chest to give Marco better access.
The wings of panic begin to flutter anew, fear fanning it as I feel his fingers grip the base of the plug and begin to remove it. The mewling sound I make is involuntary, my heart thudding—that potent mixture of the unknown and the wanting to know messing with my head more than it already is.
The plug slips out and my body tenses when I feel a generous amount of lubricant applied. I suck in my breath, emotions warring, body anticipating, and ache intensifying while I sit in that suspended state of time between fingers leaving my skin and waiting for the next contact.
The pause stretches long enough for my imagination to weaponize it.
And then he’s there. Marco with the head of his cock pressing against my forbidden entrance.
Anderson.
My husband flashes through my mind and a sob tears from my throat.
This isn’t how I want this fantasy to play out. How I ever dreamed for it to.
I mean, I want this—to try this—but with Anderson, my husband . . . not forced and . . .
My body shakes and the tears fall. I start to struggle away, start to try and fight against this. Against Marco.
“No. Please. I need—I want. Just please . . .”
Hands grip my shoulders as my captor pulls me tightly into his chest. His arms hold me there, my hips wriggling—pleasure I don’t want presenting itself as my clit moves against the length of his cock still within me.
“Remember the rules. Don’t fight us.” His voice is a demand in my ear. “You want this. We want this.”
“I can’t. I just—”
“We’re going to claim that virgin ass of yours. Going to fuck you, one hole for each of us. Going to make you realize how good it feels to be that dirty little whore you want to be . . . that you fight to deny.”
I struggle. But each movement only serves to seat his cock deeper in me and press Marco’s tip against the tight rim of muscles.
I’m at the mercy of two men I can’t even see and yet . . . I can feel my own arousal sliding down my inner thighs.
And I know he can too.
Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. You can do this. Whatever it takes to get home to your boys.
My captor squeezes his arms tighter, almost as if it’s a silent reassurance, before letting me prop myself up on my elbows.
I hold on to the inexplicable and misguided sense of trust that I feel with the man who began this whole bizarre situation. I grasp the now and not the why as Marco uses the moment to push his cock into me.
The pain sears when he forces his head through the tight ring of unforgiving muscles.
“Argh!” My eyes water and my body bucks in resistance but both men use their hands to pin me in place.
“Hold on, bella. Once he’s far enough in, we’ll let you adjust,” he croons against the riot of noise filling my head.
“It—it’s—”
“We don’t want to gag you,” he warns when I don’t stop.
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip to make my shouts turn to whimpers. I’m so focused on the threat of the gag that when the distraction’s over, I realize the sting has dissipated.
I focus on my breathing. On evening it out. On the next inhale and exhale. Yes, the pain has faded but what happens when he moves?
The snap of a bottle cap fills the room and then cold liquid hits the top of my ass. Fingers rub it over my ass and then a healthy dose is poured where Marco has pushed into me.
I’ve never felt so . . . full before. That’s the only way to describe it. To explain what I’m feeling.
And then Marco begins to move. It’s slow. Steady. Controlled.
He pushes deeper into me and steals the breath I just evened out.
The orgasm rips through me at a lightning-fast pace. It happens so quickly I don’t understand it.
I’m uncertain if my climax comes from touching the million nerve endings that have never been touched by a cock before.
Or if it was spurred on more by the idea of doing something others had always called taboo.
Or if it actually feels good because the intensity with which my release hits rivals no other climax I’ve ever experienced.
Pleasure is a constant wave, an unexpected tempo, that I couldn’t fight even if I tried. My legs clench against the hips they frame. My toes curl. My mouth falls open.
I’m inundated with a new array of sensations I’ve never felt before.
My breath is held hostage by the pleasure edged with pain.
I don’t even attempt to find it, as my pussy clamps down and muscles pulse rhythmically around both cocks filling me.
And I don’t know if it’s being stretched—filled so incredibly full—but my orgasm rages on, my body trembling and head hanging forward as everything about me is lost in this orgasmic haze.
And then they begin to move for themselves move.
“Oh my God,” I pant as my breath returns.
The twinge of pain is still there, but my adrenaline is on such a high, the need to come that has been met time and time again is already coiling tight again.
I moan. I think. I don’t know, because all I can feel is my senses. All I hear is slick skin, panted breaths, and that damn music playing somewhere beyond. All I smell is arousal and sex and lube and hints of colognes drowned out by the sex.
All I feel is pleasure.
All I want is more.
The push and pull of one cock moving in while the other pulls out. The feel of them rubbing against each other with only the thin interior wall of my pussy between them. One pair of hands on my hips and the other on my arms.
Every single thing assaults my senses, drags me under yet has me on edge, waiting, wanting, willing to come again.
To experience something so different, so taboo and out of character for me for the first time in so very long.
Anderson.
He’s back in my thoughts and I shove him away. I can’t have him here right now, can’t think of him while experiencing all of this, because even though it’s against my will, him being in this headspace would make me admit that this is what I want.
This is what . . . I need.