29. Deirdre #2
I can’t hold my breath anymore. It whooshes out of me, shaped sloppily around the word no .
Elio’s hand instantly withdraws from my clit and I want to fucking scream.
It returns to me, though, in the form of a crisp slap against my ass.
“Don’t lie to me.”
I hate that he even knows I’m lying now. Because I did, I fucking did touch myself, angling myself away from the camera in the bathroom while I showered. Or sometimes even right beside him while he slept.
“Tell me what you did.”
When I don’t answer immediately, another slap rings out and makes my flesh jump. He’s never spanked me without his leather glove on. It feels different, oddly intimate, and makes every nerve buzz with stinging arousal.
He follows that up with one more crisp smack, then rubs my throbbing skin.
“Tell. Me.”
“I… touched myself,” I choke out, not feeling an ounce of relief with the admission, only horror and shame. Elio doesn’t seem horrified, though. I can literally feel his cock jerk against my pussy at my words, and his breath hitches.
“Where?” he demands.
“You know where!” I cry. “Between my legs, where else?”
That earns me a quick, smart slap to the ass.
Tears fill my eyes, but not because I’m sad or scared.
And it isn’t even just a physical response to the shock of the spanking, either.
It’s like something inside me is breaking down.
Some lever of control starting to crack and falter.
I’ve been so scared with Elio sick in bed.
So worried about maintaining control of the rapidly deteriorating situation.
Giving it up now, submitting to Elio who’s so strong and healthy and fucking alive, feels like the darkest sort of salvation.
“Did you touch yourself here?” His hand skims from my smarting ass to my clit, thrumming a quick, demanding rhythm that has me convinced I’m already about to come. “Or here?” He slides his fingers back and dips two of them into my quivering pussy.
“Yes,” I whisper shakily. I’m gripping the desk so hard it hurts. My nipples ache against the wood. My hips are arching back towards him, seeking more than just his fingers.
He curses softly, withdrawing his hand until I whimper.
“If I hadn’t been fucked up in bed for so long,” he says raggedly, “if I hadn’t been lying there for two fucking weeks wanting you, I would make you wait a little longer. Spank you until you were falling apart and fucking begging for it. But as it is…”
My heart stutters and slams when he suddenly pushes his hard cock into me. A nudge at first, and then a dizzyingly powerful thrust that sends him deep inside.
He never finishes his sentence from before. He just makes a gruff sound.
Meanwhile, I don’t make a single sound at all. I’m too overwhelmed by him. There’s no bright, bloody pain like the first two times he was inside me. But there’s an incredible, searing stretch as he seats himself fully that steals every breath out of my lungs.
Everything inside me tightens around his shaft, like no matter what my brain thinks about it, my body wants to hold onto him, to draw him even deeper somehow. Not that I think that’s physically possible at this point. This angle is new, and I feel him in places I didn’t even know he could reach.
I don’t realize I’ve started holding my breath again until Elio grabs my braid, wraps it around his fist, and yanks my head back, forcing me to draw a quaking breath.
“None of that now,” he chides. He gives another firm tug on my hair, pulling until I’m lifting off of the desk, bending my spine towards him. My fingers uncurl from the far edge of the desk as I move, my hands sliding towards my hips before planting themselves flat.
“You don’t stop breathing,” Elio adds with a grinding thrust, “unless I tell you to.”
He releases my hair, but before I can slump forward his palm slams into place at the front of my throat.
His fingers dig into the side of my neck, his thumb pressing possessively into the pulse-point beneath my jaw.
At the same moment, he draws his cock all the way out and then slams mercilessly back in.
Scars and skin. Blood and heat. All I’m aware of is him.
Inside my body. Around my throat. Going harder, harder, until stars spark in front of my eyes and pleasure coils in my pelvis.
My breathing is reduced to a reedy whistle, dizzying, disastrous.
My head feels oddly light, like it could float upwards, but ultimately can’t, because my whole body is anchored by the possessive plunge of Elio’s cock.
The room ahead blurs. I can’t tell if it’s from tears or reduced oxygen.
I let them slide closed, and when I do, every sensation in my body moves down, down to the place Elio is rutting so deep inside.
The powerful pulses of his hips send my clit bumping against the wooden edge of the desk.
I can’t make a sound like this, with that leather cage of fingers at my throat.
In silence I stagger and fall apart. My insides go taut as my mind unspools.
Elio groans, giving a throb inside, before loosening his grip on my throat.
Oxygen rushes in, flooding my brain until I’m flung over the edge of another orgasm that instantly follows the first. My eyes flare wildly open, my fingers curl and claw at the desk.
Elio doesn’t give me a moment of reprieve.
He maintains a vicious rhythm, his breathing tight.
“ Merda ,” he bites out. “I’ve been waiting to feel this needy pussy come all over my cock again.”
I moan, feeling my throat vibrate beneath the solidness of his yet-lingering hand. And then, like I’ve just been dragged from a dream and thrust into the harsh light of day, I flinch and gasp.
He’s not wearing a condom. And we haven’t sorted out the birth control situation, either.
I try to pull away from him but there’s nowhere to go. The solid wood desk is before me, Elio behind.
“Don’t…” I pant raggedly, panic clawing at me. “Don’t come.”
Elio’s thrusting hitches slightly, losing its tempo, before resuming with even more intensity.
His fingers twitch at my throat, then move away, returning to my body with a breathtaking smack on my ass.
Now that he’s not holding me up, I collapse forward onto my elbows, bent over for him at a lurid near-90-degree angle.
It’s the perfect position for him to spank me again, which he does.
Waves of prickling fire undulate across my skin, moving inward, inward, until it feels like he’s slapped my clit.
“You don’t tell me when to come,” he growls, giving me another tight smack. “I tell you when to come.” Another collision of his hand on my ass. Another pathetic mewl ripping itself from my throat. “And I want you to do it right-” smack “fucking-” smack “ now. ”
I have to disobey. I have to . I’ve given so much to him that I can at least resist this. Can’t I?
The answer comes to me with a quaking in my core. Elio is hitting some deep, delicious, terrible place inside me that makes me feel like I might come or pee or maybe both at the same time. There’s no stopping this riptide of pulsating pleasure, so intense and raw that it almost borders on pain.
“I said now , Songbird.”
The quaking inside ceases, and I clamp down on Elio so hard that I can tell he’s affected by it. By me .
He slams forward and gives a broken-sounding groan, his hand seizing on my hip to draw me even closer to him, even though my raw, red ass is already right up against his groin.
Anxiety spikes, fear that he’s going to lose control and come, or maybe come inside me just because he wants to, to send me a message, remind me who I belong to.
But that quiver of distress only sends my arousal shamefully higher.
Every nerve inside me is splayed and screaming for him, and I hate, I hate , that a part of me wants him not to pull out.
But he does, so suddenly that I jerk with the shock of it, almost like I’ve been hit.
And the emptiness he leaves behind feels just like a bruise.