Chapter Twenty
Damiano
My hand flies out on reflex, catching the plate before it goes flying. My little flower uses the momentum to break loose and run.
A primitive thrill runs up my spine. She should know better than to run from a predator.
I rise slowly, unhurriedly, my muscles coiled tight, my control stretched thin.
My eyes drop to the plate. The desserts are still intact even though the plate is smeared with streaks of chocolate and melting vanilla.
Methodically, I scoop up a glob of vanilla ice cream with my finger to bring it to my lips, sucking it off my digit.
So sweet, like her.
My blood pounds in my ears. My vision tunnels. My beast is rattling its chains as if sensing it will be released to come out to play.
Soon.
I take one step after another in the direction she took off to. In the sleeping area, my eyes land on the carpeted floor and I can see her small footprints going into the guest room on the right. I shove the door open hard, wanting nothing in between my prey and me.
There she stands, frightened but defiant. She is clutching a bedside lamp in her hand, the cord dangling down to the floor. “D-don’t come near o-or I will hurt you!” she threatens.
My nostrils flare. My flower, my perfect queen, mine.
Our gazes are locked. I stalk closer.
With a cry, she flings the lamp toward me but I catch it easily in my hand.
I wrap the cord around my other hand and yank it off of the lamp, sending the device crashing to the floor while keeping the cable.
Step after step, I stalk toward her as she retreats until her back is plastered to the floor-to-ceiling window.
I am so close now that our bodies touch every time she inhales.
Her eyes are huge, fear clearly visible in the green depths, her breath coming out in short gasps.
Slowly, I reach up and stroke her cheek with the backs of my fingers.
She jumps at the contact and her gaze flies to the door behind me.
Before she can make a run for it, I have her throat in my palm and her wrist held up above her head.
She struggles, trying to dislodge my hand from her throat with a helpless whimper.
“Oh, my little flower,” I murmur darkly against her lips. “I still haven’t taught you not to run from me, have I?”
She struggles harder, glowering up at me. “I will never stop. You can’t keep me locked up forever.”
“That remains to be seen,” I reply grimly. I grip both her wrists and tie them together in the front with the lamp cord, being careful not to tighten too much.
“W-what are you doing?” she asks indignantly.
I don’t reply. She needs to be disciplined.
Tugging at her tied wrists, I haul her to the bed.
Unbuttoning her jeans proves tricky with her struggling, but soon I am sitting on the edge of the bed with her belly on my lap and her torso on the mattress.
I lower her pants down her legs, and seeing her ass in those little black lace panties nearly undoes me.
I tear them off of her with a loud ripping sound. “Stop struggling, sweetheart. Submit to me.”
“Never!” she yells, then yelps loudly when I bring my hand down on her ass with a loud crack.
“W-what are you doing! Stop!”
Two more smacks resound, followed by her howls.
Her desperate struggle makes her rub against my rock-hard cock. Fuuuck, I am going to come in my pants like a goddamn teenager.
“You have been a bad girl, running from me.”
Smack.
“Hiding from me.”
Smack.
“Wearing that fucking red dress, letting everyone see what’s mine.”
Smack. Smack.
She is now crying and begging me to stop.
I leisurely stroke her ass, mesmerized by the red welts on her pale skin asserting that she is mine.
I let my hand wander to her pussy and groan when I find her sopping wet. “So wet, my sweet flower. Do you enjoy being a bad girl?”
I swipe my fingers along her seam and she shudders. I bring them to my mouth to taste her. So fucking delicious.
Then I spank her again several times. Hard.
Another caress and I return my attention to her pussy, finding it pulsing with need.
Goddamnit. I won’t last.
I insert my thumb into her pussy while my fingers stroke her folds. Her voice is hoarse as she pants and cries incoherently. She pushes her ass desperately against my hand, seeking more friction.
Shit, I wanted this to last. But right now I am punishing myself by dragging this out.
In one movement, I have her thrown face-first on the bed, my pants and boxers discarded.
I lift her ass up and thrust into her with a roar.
I don’t register if her cries are from pain or pleasure.
All I hear are my grunts as I ravage her from behind.
Her bound hands are gripping the sheets, her neck and back are arched, offering me her perfect ass.
I want to commit this picture to memory until the day I die.
The pleasure is overpowering as it coils in my spine and travels south to grip my balls.
She. Must. Come. First. I hear the faint command coming from my brain.
I lick my thumb to lubricate it and bring it to her tight puckered hole. I circle it before I slowly push in, ignoring her pleas. Once she is accustomed to the feel, I start to pound into her pussy in earnest, drawing almost all the way out to surge forward and slam into her.
Again and again.
Her cries are getting frantic and when she shatters, she screams my name.
That is all I need to let myself fall over the edge and slam into her three last times before my cum shoots out in hot spurts into her tight channel. I roar and grip her hips to hold her immobile until our orgasms begin to ebb. We are both panting hard.
I pull out, then roll Lily on her back and remove her jeans, which are still halfway down her calves. Then I lean over her and gently untie her wrists, kissing and massaging the red marks left by the cord.
Her eyes are still closed, hiding her emotions from me, her chest heaving as she is gasping for air, lips parted and face flushed.
She looks utterly beautiful. So vulnerable.
I want to scoop her up, hold her close to me and never let go. Instead, I lift her in my arms, carry her to our room and lay her on our bed. I get up and walk to the bathroom, dampen a washcloth and bring it back to the room.
Her eyes are open and she looks at me warily. I kneel over her and gently clean the insides of her thighs. She looks away and a lone tear runs down her face.
I toss the cloth on the floor and turn her face toward mine to look into her eyes. She is confused and overwhelmed, that much I can tell. I gently wipe away the tear, memories of the first time we met tugging at my chest.
Then her words from yesterday come crashing into my consciousness.
‘I hate you.’
Suddenly my rib cage constricts and all I know is that I need to get away from her.
So I stand and go into the shower like the bastard I am, leaving her broken on the bed.