Chapter 34
Chapter
Thirty-Four
Lizette
“ W hat?” It takes me a moment.
I’m still flying from the bone shaking orgasm I stole from him. I can still taste him in my mouth, feel him in my throat.
He likes things different from Knight and Reaper.
Last night I spent time with Knight and blew him. He’s softer with it, he likes to go slow, enjoy every moment in my mouth. He likes to coach, coax me down, make me lick him all over. And he loves me sucking his nipples as I sit in his lap in nothing but lacy panties and one of his dress shirts, unbuttoned.
Reaper is closer to how Dante likes his blowjobs. Rough. But Reaper is more primal, enjoying it as part of a ritual of the taking of me.
Dante is… All consuming. He devours. Demands. Steals.
I like it all. They all speak to a part of me. Dante to my need of being really punished, treated like a filthy thing, like a fuck doll. I love his dirty talk, his nasty, filthy ways. And I like how hard he fucks me, how he twists it up into me and coming is up to him. And if I do come when he hasn’t commanded it or he’s told me not to, a punishment awaits.
Part of the punishment is not going near me. I’m not sure if he gets that, but for me it is. Him barely talking to me or treating me as an employee is as painful as what I imagine his whip or paddle would be like.
That part of punishment, of denial, is both horrible and a turn on and I’m in circles about whether this makes me a fuck up or it’s just that it’s one of the things I like.
“Lizette.”
I snap out of it as he does up his pants and pulls my dress back in place. “They’ll be down here to clean soon.”
He sighs, opens the office and pushes me in and shuts the door, locking it. He leans against it. “Now tell me. What the fuck happened?”
“One of that Jake guy’s friends attacked me. It wasn’t Jake. Last time I saw him he screamed at me to keep away from him.”
His eyes narrow and the stark, violent fury on his face is frightening, thrilling. “Where is this man who dared touch you, dared hurt you? Because?—”
“Reaper killed him.”
“Oh.”
I frown. “You don’t look pleased.”
“Yeah?” He picks up my hands gently and sees my knees. The scabs are healing but I look a mess. I also feel like I’m ten-years-old and I fell in the playground.
Dante kisses each heel of my palms and lets go as he moves to rummage in a drawer. He’s back with some salve that smells like honey, and he rubs it on my hands.
“Maybe I’m not pleased. Maybe I wanted him to let me kill the fucker. Of course, I’m also glad Reaper was there and handled the bastard. Knight would have beaten him up.” He stops. Shrugs. “Actually, we’re talking you. He’d have fucking killed him, too.”
He crouches down and rubs the salve on my knees.
“You’re so weird, Dante.”
“Why?” He puts the tube down and starts clearing the desk. “Because I just looked after the merchandise?”
My mouth twitches and I don’t think I hate or dislike him. I think I like him. A lot. Maybe too much, maybe too close to other things and feelings I don’t want to think about.
What’s that thing about love and hate?
They’re so close they’re pretty much the same, just move a needle a notch…
“You’re also an asshole,” I mutter.
He looks at me, and he smiles. It’s a genuine one and my legs give way. He catches me, pulling me against him. “You just figured it out?”
“No, I always knew it.”
“I’m worse than an asshole. I’m not any kind of hero. That’s Knight. And he’s a dubious one at best.”
I take a risk, slide my palms up along his chest. He doesn’t forbid it. “I didn’t ask for a hero.”
Dante doesn’t say a word and time stands still. There’s a moment, a real one that pulsates through us and the room, and then it’s gone and he lets me go. “Ever had a fantasy you never really thought of acting out until you were in the fucking moment?” He looks me up and down, gaze lingering at my breasts where my nipples poke out, and says, “Of course you haven’t. Take off your fucking dress.”
I do. I’m not wearing a bra. I didn’t bother putting one on this morning, figuring I’d wait until the cleaning was done and I grabbed a second shower. And I stand in front of him, panties slightly twisted.
I look down, my breasts are swollen, nipples hard and jutting, and my pussy is half showing, red and glistening, as are my thighs. And I shiver .
“Lucky you look good like that. Fuckable.”
“You just fucked me.”
“You also came when I didn’t allow it. I did not.”
I swallow, take a step back as panic laced with desire licks at my insides. “What are you going to do?”
He keeps clearing the desk. There’s not a lot on there but he’s meticulous and I think it’s to stretch out my agony. “Live out my fantasy and fuck you on the desk.”
“That’s a pretty tame fantasy.”
“It’s not my only fantasy.”
He doesn’t wait. He picks me up and deposits me, and he dives down between my legs. It’s a show case study in denial because he starts slow. The licks are soft, rhythmic, designed to make a woman disintegrate. And the stroke of his tongue starts at my clit and goes down to my tunnel, licking inside and then up. A measured pace, a thing of beauty that leads me up towards nirvana.
I start panting, I can feel the pressure building, and the orgasm there, just there.
I reach for it and start to shake.
Dante bites me, high, right on my clit and I scream out.
He clamps a hand over my mouth and starts to suck and pull and scrape me with his teeth. It’s too much. It’s a brutal onslaught I need to escape and I twitch, trying to get away. But his other hand holds my right hip, and his body traps my left leg. I’m caught, pinned, and spread out for his mercy.
Only he doesn’t have any.
He keeps going and the hypersensitivity turns painful, and I moan into his hand, whimpering.
He doesn’t stop. Dante keeps going, until I can’t take it, until it’s so unbearable it could turn?—
Dante stops, and starts to nibble on my inner and outer lips and alternates the soft licking alternates between that. The endorphins flood me and I’m rolling high on them, building and building but I can’t reach it. I can’t get there. I need more. I need his tongue, fingers, cock in me, and I start trying to buck my hips up, to tell him with my body.
When he stops, I’m mindless. A mass of nerve endings that crave him. Hate him. Need him.
He lifts his hand from my mouth and smiles. “That’s a fun punishment. And a reward for me. You taste like dessert. Did you know that? What kind? Today, it’s salted caramel. Tomorrow, who knows? Any which way, you’re a fucking tasty treat.”
I want to respond, I do. Tell him no one tastes like dessert, tell him his degrading comment of tasty treat won’t work. But I can’t.
I like being told I’m tasty, I’m dessert. I like the degrading things he says in play. But right now, I hate it. I’m quivering with need and outrage. With shame because I’m not ashamed.
I’m so fucked up I want him to ride me, call me names, take me hard, hurt me in a way that feels good. The hard, deep, pounding fuck kind of good.
A part of my brain wants to scream to get it together, but I have. I think I have.
These three alphas feed into parts of me I never knew existed and make me feel more than the sum of those parts, more than I have before and a wave of heated goodness comes over me.
I look at Dante.
He’s a dirty, cruel, and hard master. He’s wicked and has the charm of the devil, and a deadly bite. He’s filthy and dark and savage. And he’s always, always hungry. It’s there. In his eyes. In the way he looks at me. Like I’m every fucking meal.
I moan as I look down. He’s rubbing me gently, spreading my slick over my pussy and it feels good. “Time for a fucking ride, Angel. Hold on.”
He pulls me to the edge of the table and slams into me, balls deep. I come hard; I can’t help it. No amount of him telling me not to come can stop me .
Dante growls low, and he starts to slam into me so brutally I have to lock my legs around him as the desk slides.
He grabs my face, fingers biting. “You don’t fucking come again. Not until I tell you. Or this is it. The last time I ever fuck you. Look me in the eye, Angel.”
I do and my stomach flips as he surges into me again. I believe him. Oh god, he feels unbelievable. How can I stop coming when he feels this good?
It’s like my body’s made to come for him, for all three of them. And if I’ve any chance of obeying his no come policy, I have to stop myself thinking of them taking me together.
I groan, angling my hips to him as he pounds into me. He lifts me, still fucking me, and takes me to the desk’s chair where he sinks down, me on him. “Work me. Make me come, Angel and then, maybe I’ll let you come.”
He plays with my nipples as he does this and I start to ride him. Soon he’s biting them, sucking them, making me half mad with desire. I rock on him. I need all I can get, and it’s not enough. And I don’t think it’s enough for him, either.
Dante bares his teeth as he lifts his head, eyes glittering with savage intent and he grabs my hips and bounces me hard on him. It doesn’t matter to him I’m cramped up in the chair, legs bent and caught either side.
I can go up and down, and he can control me, and he’s merciless with it.
I’m shaking from trying not to come, whimpering, begging him. All I get is that nasty, feral grin, the one that owns me. The one that tells me this man does whatever he wants to get what he wants and right now, he wants me.
The orgasm is there, so big and just in reach. I’m tingling, aching, needing it. I want to reach out but only the look in his eye stops me.
He keeps going, working me, and my eyes roll back. All I can do is cling to him and help him with the bouncing on his cock. Harder. Wilder, more brutal. It’s growing into a thing that’s too much and I’m going to explode.
That’s when I feel it, the swell of his cock. It’s happened twice now so I know what it is, and the feeling’s hot pleasure, relief. Desire. It’s a different sort of thing. An orgasm for the orgasm. Pleasure’s entryway.
As he knots, he slams me down, coming in me. Then he bounces me hard and fast as he growls, almost howling out his pleasure and I lose it. I’m swept up with him. And I swear I black out.
It’s that good.
I’m shuddering and shaking, contracting around his cock, and I’m coming from the tip of my toes to my hair. Everything is pure, pulsating pleasure. And it doesn’t stop.
It’s one continuous orgasm that rolls through us and he’s kissing me hard. They’re nasty kisses. Violent bites of kisses. He sucks my tongue, my lips. He demands the same violence back and I’m so gone, I give it. I can’t get enough. We mate with our mouths as we’re joined and coming.
And as it all ebbs, I’m locked to him and I slump, his arms around me. I don’t want to move. And, I realize I can’t. He’s gone down some, but not all the way, and I have almost no experience of this. Reaper and Knight don’t count. They care. They’re mindful. This man… I shiver. This man is an entity unto himself, as they say.
“So. You came.”
His words hang in the air and I go still. “How could I not?”
“I told you not to.”
“No, you said to hold off.” I hate myself for how my voice wavers.
“What I said was if you came without permission, this was the last time,” he says, “and maybe I’d let you if you made me come. I never said you could.”
“Fuck you, Dante.”
“Stacking up the punishments. ”
Fear hits me. There’s no light or play to his tone. It’s flat, serious. Foreboding. But then I think about it. Would he, really? Even if he doesn’t like me, he wants me.
“What’s the punishment?” I ask.
“Well—”
He stops, and goes still. I can’t hear anything much, just voices. And then a shout goes up. “Peabody!”
I stare at him. “What?”
“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Angel.” He pulls me off him and he’s still big, and it pulls. A flash of pain hits. He tucks himself away and he’s on his feet, moving the desk and racing to the other side to throw my clothes at me.
He comes back and lifts up the rug on the floor. And he pulls open a trapdoor. A dark maw stares at me.
I back away, clutching my clothes as he lunges for me. “If that’s your idea of punishment, I’m not going down there.”
“Peabody is code for raid, Angel. It won’t be the cops on their own as we have too many on payroll. We’d have gotten word. This is something else. FBI? Council? Something like that.”
He opens a drawer and hands me a flashlight and grabs his phone, punching in a message.
“Where the fuck’s Reaper?” He turns on me. “Have you seen him?”
“Not today.”
“Take the fucking flashlight, go down there, and follow the tunnel. There’s a safe room at the end. Go in there and close the door. It’ll lock.”
Panic beats fast. “What about you? Knight? Reaper? The others. What?—”
“Just fucking go. Now.” he shoves me, naked except my shoes and panties to the open trapdoor and I fumble with my dress. “No time. Put it on down there. Go.”
I take a gulp of air and turn on the flashlight, holding it between my teeth and start climbing down the rungs.
I’m a few rungs down when the door above slams shut, scaring me and I drop the light. It goes out.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
I try and find it when I reach the floor, but it takes too long and then I feel around on the walls. Two each side. Dead end behind the ladder. One exit only. One tunnel. I pull on the dress and shuffle down, keeping a hand on the wall until I finally reach the end. There’s a door. Steel by the feel. I touch it and a panel lights up.
I start to cry. He didn’t tell me the code.
In frustration I press down on the handle and my heart jumps. The door opens.
I go inside and as I pull it shut, lights come on and the door locks. I’m in a room with no way out. There’s a sofa that looks like it folds out, a second space with some kind of futuristic bathroom, and a pantry with a hot plate. There’s food and drink in sealed packets with insane use by dates. It looks disgusting. And I hurt.
Going back to the door, I try and open it, but it’s locked. I try to get it to open but it doesn’t work. Who has a room that only locks from the inside?
I close my eyes. It’s a safe room. That’s what they’re for. To stop others getting in.
“At least there was a panel on the front. So there must be a way to open it from in here.”
Feeling very slightly mollified, I lay down and hug myself and hope against hope everyone is going to be okay. Because otherwise…how the hell will I get out?
I don’t want to die down here.