Chapter 6 Roxana
ROXANA
Awave of bliss rushes through me, and I ride it, curling my toes and bucking my hips, before I’m submerged in another, more powerful one that makes every muscle in my body tense and spasm.
“Uhhhhhmmm.” The sound of my own voice pulls me out of the depths and closer to the surface of consciousness.
Then the next wave arrives with a sharp tug near my core and is laced with a little bit of pain.
Nowhere near enough of it for me to want to make it stop, but just the right measure to ramp up the intensity of my enjoyment.
I squeeze my thighs, and they come into contact with something rough and scratchy.
Another sound escapes me, a complaining one this time, because unpleasant sensations are invading my limbo now. Like the fact that I’m cold, goosebumps erupting all over me, and my nipples are almost painfully hard underneath a thin scrap of fabric.
The next ripple of ecstasy is so sharp that I yelp and my eyes flutter open.
It’s night, but the curtains are pulled open and the patchy sodium-orange light of the streetlamps is pooling in, illuminating the crown of Silas’s head between my legs.
I want to run my fingers through his hair.
But when I try to reach forward, something cuts into my wrist. I glance to the sides and see that both my arms are fixed to the headboard with a pair of long-unused handcuffs.
“Silas, what the fuck?” I demand with a smile, then moan loudly as he sucks on my clit instead of responding. “Silas, I told you I was wiped out today and didn’t want to ...”
“Yes,” he cuts me off, raising his eyes to meet mine. “That’s what these are for.” He reaches out and taps the cuffs on my right side.
His lips are back on my pussy, but I squirm and kick my legs.
“But I’m so tired!”
He looks up at me again with that new lopsided smirk of his that exposes only a sliver of his teeth.
There’s something threatening about it that makes me think of wolves curling their lips to reveal their fangs.
It may look like a smile, but it doesn’t serve the purpose of one. Shivers run through me.
“It’s cute that you think I’d care,” he drawls.
“Silas!”
I’m all for a little “forced entry” play and have long ago given him my permission to wake me up in exactly the way he just has.
But he’s been acting very strange lately.
And that has me unsettled in a way that isn’t anything like the adrenaline-fuelled excitement I usually feel before doing something thrilling, like when I went skydiving.
No, this is more like the creeping dread I experienced minutes before I got mugged in Bucharest that one night.
Like my subconscious has already registered signs of imminent danger, even if my mind can’t pinpoint what they are yet.
Silas licks his lips slowly, savouring the taste of me like a predator after devouring his prey.
“Your mouth might be saying no, but other parts of you aren’t,” he remarks.
“Your cunt is weeping so much that the sheets are completely drenched underneath you. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want me.
” He regards me for a moment, assessing me, before adding, “And you know what happens to bad girls who lie.”
I shudder, my unease and anticipation fusing into potent intrigue, overshadowing all else.
I live by the motto that if life gives you something too good to be true, you go along with it and enjoy it while it lasts before the other shoe drops.
Even if it’s been getting really fucking hard to ignore that my husband has likely developed some sort of split-personality disorder.
That in itself wouldn’t bother me. As far as I’m concerned, this insatiable new personality is a significant improvement on the old, indifferent one.
I’d be more than happy to keep him split, or better yet, have the new personality take over completely.
No, what worries me is the memory of Andrew Wilson, the memory of his deranged face spattered with blood.
The way he snapped completely, becoming a person I didn’t recognise.
What if this mental instability on Silas’s part is a sign that he’s headed the same way?
If I had a guarantee he’d spare me like Wilson did, I might ignore even that worry, but I don’t, and so I can’t.
But neither is there anything I can do about it whilst cuffed to the bed.
So I might as well have a good time now and worry later.
“Of course I want you, Silas! I always fucking want you. But do you want me to be sore tomorrow?” I protest.
“No. I’m telling you that you do.”
As if to prove his point, he traces his tongue over my clit and then teases it with the edges of his teeth. My head thuds loudly against the headboard, and I hiss with a sharp intake of breath.
“Silas ...” Defeat creeps into my voice, and he chuckles.
I’m too curious now to order him to set me free.
“Let’s make a bet.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “What the hell do you mean?”
“I bet you’ll be begging me to fuck you before the night is out. If I’m right, then I win, and I get to fill you up and make you swell with my son.”
Despite my objections, my core throbs with need at his words.
“You do know I can’t get pregnant anymore this cycle, right? I ovulated almost a week ago.” I regret my words as soon as they spill from my mouth, feeling like I had accidentally bumped into a house of cards, destroyed a fantasy by pointing out that it’s not real.
But Silas doesn’t seem bothered.
“That makes no difference,” he says with all seriousness. “My thirst for you is the same. There’s no denying it, Roxana. Not for me and certainly not for you.”
There’s a firm assertiveness in his voice that I haven’t heard in years. I’m instantly transported back to the times when he could get me to agree to anything. I have missed him taking control like that.
“What happens if you lose?” I ask.
“I’m not going to lose.” He flashes me a sinful smirk.
“Well, you’re probably right about that,” I concede, convinced rather than resigned. “Come here then and fuck me good, Daddy.”
His grin widens and there’s a sadistic gleam in his eyes that gets my heart racing.
“You don’t seem to understand your situation, dark darling,” he drawls. “You had your chance to be reasonable. Now it’s time for you to learn never to say no to me again. As I said, I won’t fuck you until you beg me to.”
He traces my entrance with his fingertip, warm and a little rough, taunting me with the prospect of penetration without granting it until I can no longer help myself and start bucking my hips to try and achieve a breach. That’s when he withdraws his touch.
“Oh, fine then! Please, pretty please, Daddy, I’m begging you, tear my cunt apart with your big cock. I’m so wet for it.”
I spread my legs a little wider in invitation, but Silas shakes his head.
“Much as I enjoy your filthy mouth, that was not begging. No. Begging means desperate and on the brink of losing your sanity, and that’s exactly what you’ll be before I’m through with you tonight.”
“I see,” I trill.
Silas’s mouth is back on my clit, and he sucks on it and works it with his tongue, unhurriedly, letting my pleasure build.
The first bursts of my climax start tingling throughout my whole body, flooding me from my abdomen to the crown of my head and my fingertips, and then back to my centre again.
I curl my toes, my breathing becoming fast and shallow.
My pussy begins to spasm inwards, as if trying to pull something deeper inside itself.
Suddenly, I’m acutely aware of its empty void, just asking—no commanding—to be filled, like an itch that must be scratched, a chasm that’s aching with its own hollowness.
I close my eyes, my whole body tensing in preparation for an orgasm that I can feel is imminent, only seconds away, right the—
And that’s when Silas stops, just long enough for me to crash before he starts working at me anew, not even waiting for my frustrated groan to die out.
This time, he’s rubbing my clit relentlessly fast with the fleshy tip of his thumb, occasionally grazing the bud with the nail with controlled precision, tethering the impact firmly at the exact split between pain and pleasure.
He begins licking my slit out at the same time, and his tongue feels scalding hot and rough as it reaches deep and trails my inner wall.
There is something so invasive in that contact, so unapologetic and dominating, that it instantly sends me spinning.
I close my eyes, moaning, and my ears are filled with the obscene, indecently wet sounds that Silas’s mouth is making against my overflowing arousal.
I toss my head from side to side, and as my face nears my bare armpits, I catch a whiff of my own musky, pheromone-infused scent, and somehow even that contributes to the ecstasy slashing through me, more urgently and more savagely than before.
I ball my fists and jerk my knees, and wail instead of just moaning.
But I go silent, gasping mutely like a fish tossed ashore when electricity starts rushing through my body in earnest, slicing through my nerve endings before pooling in my core.
Infallible in his attention to my body’s reactions, Silas withdraws his face from between my legs.
“No! Fuck no, you sadistic fucking prick!” I lash out at him, kicking my legs and struggling against the cuffs.
This time, the denial is painful on a physical, visceral level, my whole body raging against it the way it would against being roasted over a pit.