28. ORLANDO, FLORIDA #3
“Look at you,” I growled, my hand reaching around to grip his thick cock, stroking him at a firm, slippery pace that matched my thrusts.
“Look at how dirty you are for me, Si. The champion. The golden boy. Backstage you’re a legend, but in this room, you’re nothing but my personal fucking whore.
You take my cock so well. Look at how open you are for your husband. ”
He let out a broken, high-pitched moan against the cushion, his head thrashing from side to side. “Fuck—yes More. Please, harder—use me.”
The sensation was intoxicating, the scent of sweat and sex filling the small room. I didn’t slow down. I drove into him deeper, my cock bottoming out against his prostate with every single downward slam of my hips, completely claiming every coordinate of his internal anatomy.
I paused for a fraction of a second, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I leaned down, sweat dripping off my forehead and landing on his shoulder blades.
I looked down at the visual under me, the collar, the leash wrapped around my hand, the white lace cutting into his skin, the fishnets framing his trembling legs. It was downright filthy.
“You okay, baby?” I rasped out. “Am I hurting you?”
“Harder!” he groaned, his voice cracking violently. “Fucking drive into me! I want it harder”
“I don’t think I can go harder without hurting you, baby,” I warned, my jaw clenched so tight it ached.
“Do it.” He whimpered, a desperate sound tearing from his throat. “Hurt me. I don’t give a fuck.”
That was all the permission needed.
My remaining restraint entirely evaporated.
I pulled back, my hands gripped his waist like a pair of iron clamps, my thumbs digging deep into his hip bones to leave bruising marks he would wear like badges of honor for a week.
I threw my entire weight into the movement, pounding into him with a punishing force that made the sofa slide an inch across the floorboards with every single impact.
He was literally screaming.
The sound was loud, echoing sharply off the hotel walls, filled with a blinding, terrifyingly intense combination of physical pain and overwhelming, soul-shattering pleasure.
He was unraveled, his internal walls collapsing as I claimed him over and over again, leaving no part of his mind untouched by the truth of who owned him.
He couldn’t think about Rico. He couldn’t think about the belt.
He could only think about the relentless force driving into his depth, shattering the darkness under his skull until there was nothing left but me.
His internal muscles clenched down around my cock in a series of rapid, involuntary contractions that milked every single drop of cum out of my body.
He let out one final, high-pitched, and completely broken moan as he climaxed hands-free, his release shooting out in messy ropes that splattered the cushions.
Seconds later, I followed him over the edge.
My hips snapping forward one final, deep time as I poured my own explosive release inside of him, my vision spotting with brilliant white stars as my legs completely gave out.
I collapsed flat against his back, a dead weight, my chest heaving violently against his shoulder blades.
I slowly pulled out of him. Si let out a soft, exhausted whine against the cushion.
His legs were visibly, violently trembling, the muscles in his thighs twitching uncontrollably beneath the fishnet stockings.
He looked completely ruined, entirely used, and beautifully at peace for the first time in months.
I knelt down on the floor beside the couch, unclipping the heavy steel leash from his collar but leaving the black leather band securely around his throat. I grabbed a warm, damp towel from the bathroom, gently wiping the worst of the sweat and fluids from his skin.
He slowly righted himself, sitting up on the sofa, his long limbs completely loose and heavy with blissful exhaustion. He looked down at his own chest, then looked at me, his eyes clear, focused, and filled with quiet, untouchable adoration.
“I’ve got you,” I murmured, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.
I stood up, walking over to my suitcase to retrieve a clean pair of boxers, but as I zipped the bag shut, I paused. An entirely strategic idea popped into my brain.
I turned back to face him, a small, wicked smirk returning to my face.
“Tomorrow morning,” I said, my voice steady and commanding. “When we walk into that venue at eight AM, I want you to wear one of the other thongs I know you packed in your bag. The black one.”
Si blinked, his blissed-out, exhausted mind completely confused by the sudden request. He shifted on the couch, his brow furrowing slightly. “What? Why do you want me wearing that under my jeans?”
I walked back over to him, leaning down until my lips were brushing the shell of his ear, my hand resting flat over his heart.
“Because,” I whispered, my voice dripping with a dark, victorious confidence that made his pulse jump all over again. “There is business we have to take care of in the morning, and when it’s over, I want you sitting in that arena knowing exactly who you belong to.”