Chapter Ten
Cassian
In the morning, I hear her rummaging around the kitchen—like a mouse trying not to get caught in a trap. She’s opening cabinets I stocked for her, and shutting them quickly, as if taking food makes her indebted.
When I walk in, her shoulders snap up; her spine turns to glass.
“Morning,” I say.
She stuffs her mouth with the peanut butter and jelly sandwich she just made. “Good morning…there’s… nothing for me to do here.”
“Good,” I reply. “You’re not here to do anything.”
My woman has spent her entire life working her dainty fingers to the bone just to survive. No more of that.
“I don’t like just sitting around.” She wipes her mouth from the peanut butter, and all I can think is how much better it would taste if I licked it off her lips.
“You won’t.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” I say, grabbing my keys, “I’m taking you out today.”
Her entire face collapses into panic. “Out where?”
“Somewhere public.”
Everybody will see that she belongs to Cassian Morelli, and no one else. For the rest of our lives, our names will be interconnected. We are fated to be together.
God, if my father felt even half of this obsession I’m feeling, I can understand why he chose to kill himself rather than letting our mother go. I’d wither and die if Anya ever leaves me.
Her eyes widen. “Cassian, no. No public anything. People will look. They’ll think I belong to you.”
I gently tilt her chin up with a finger. “That’s the point, my little doll. I want all of them to know exactly who you belong to. To Cassian Morelli.”
“I belong to myself and myself alone,” she hisses.
“Too bad you think that way—because you belong to me, and you’ll realize that in a few days. Your smiles are for me. Your laughs are for me. Your little sunshine energy is only for me. And that cunt is definitely all mine.”
If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under right about now. Then she utters the words that almost make me pop a fuse: “For the week. Which you now have six days of only.”
It’s hilarious she thinks I’m going to let her go, but if the illusion makes her act like a docile little kitten, let her be as delusional as she wants.
“A deal’s a deal,” I remind her. “I get seven days.”
“And after seven?” she whispers.
“After seven, you’ll want eight.” I wink at her, getting started on my morning coffee.
“I doubt that.” She mutters with a groan and an eye roll.
I ignore her words, or else I’ll break everything in sight. I just want her to hurry up and understand that she’s mine. Mine. Fucking mine. But to make that happen, I must be on my best behavior.
“I’m taking you shopping today.”
Don’t women love shopping? While the idea of going from store to store, staring at clothes, and dealing with people is a nightmare to me… I want to spoil my little doll.
“I have clothes,” she mutters.
“You have three shirts, two pairs of jeans, and a panda onesie. And a shit ton of stripper heels that you’ll wear for me from now on.”
“That onesie is adorable,” she snaps defensively.
“It is,” I admit. “And you’re keeping it. But you’re still getting real clothes.”
“No. I don’t want anything from your filthy money.”
“Yes. Besides, it’s our filthy money now.”
“No, Cassian.”
“Yes, Anya.”
She glares. “You can’t force me.”
“I can,” I say. “Do you really want me to?”
I set my coffee mug down and walk toward her as she backs up. “Do you want me to put you over my shoulder? Spank you over and over on the way to the mall until you arrive pliant, like a good girl?”
She folds her arms tight. “I’m plenty stubborn.”
“Do you really want to test which one of us is more stubborn?”
She hesitates. Her pride hates agreeing. Her fear hates refusing.
“Fine,” she mutters. “One hour.”
“Good girl.”
She bristles so hard I almost laugh.
At the mall, she tries to walk several feet away from me, until I wrap my arm tightly around her waist. Every man that glances in her direction earns a glare from me that sends them looking at their shoes.
“You’re scaring people,” she whispers.
“Not enough,” I say. “I hate other people looking at you.”
She huffs, whisper-screaming, “I can’t believe a fucking killer is forcing me to go shopping with him. What kind of fever dream am I living in?”
She’s right—I am a killer, and I’d kill anyone who tries to take her away from me.
We step into the first boutique, which I own, but she freezes just past the entrance, staring at price tags as sweat starts to collect at the base of her neck.
“I can’t afford anything here,” she hisses through clenched teeth.
“You’re not paying.”
I grab a dress off the rack—something I know will look sinful on her—and hold it out.
“Cassian, I’m not wearing that.”
“It’s not for wearing right now.”
“Then what?”
“It’s for me to take off you later.”
Her cheeks flame so fast I have to look away for a second just to keep control. Keeping control around this woman is an impossible task. She’s just that sexy.
“We’re leaving,” she chokes, trying to drag me to the door. None of my staff even dares to look at us; they continue their work normally, as if they are not witnessing the most powerful man in New York act pussy-whipped in front of them. Just as I instructed.
“No,” I say simply. “Try it on.”
“Why do you need to dress me? I don’t understand what you’re doing.” She screams before quickly putting her hand over her mouth, looking around. No one acts like there’s anything out of the ordinary.
“I’m spoiling you.”
“I don’t want to be spoiled.” She glares holes into my skull. “Why can’t you just… be normal? Let me go?”
“Because normal men don’t get women like you.”
“That’s absolutely not true.” She scoffs. “All I ever wanted was something calm and boringly normal.”
Even mentioning the idea of other men is where I draw the line. I grip the back of her hair with a mix of gentleness and roughness, and her body instantly melts. Her body knows it’s meant to submit to me.
My lips meet her ear, and I deliver a small bite to the outer shell. “Any man that offers to give you fucking normal, or boring, or safe—I’ll gut him from the inside out. Unfortunately for you, the only man in the cards for you is me.”
She snatches the dress from my hands, muttering curses under her breath as she storms to the fitting rooms.
Minutes pass.
Too many.
I knock on the door. “Anya?”
“Don’t come in,” she warns immediately.
“Why?” I ask. Even if she isn’t dressed, I’ve literally kissed her pussy and asshole. How much more intimate can a man and a woman get?
“…I don’t like how it looks.”
“Open the door.”
“No.”
“Don’t make me break it. I know you wouldn’t appreciate the scene.”
The door cracks open a few inches, and she peeks out. I push it wider, and then I forget how to breathe.
She’s sex on legs. Her tits are molded by the dress, her soft lower tummy too, and the delicious swell of her thighs—everything in me goes feral. I walk further into the dressing room and lock the door behind me.
“You’re beautiful,” I say, not even trying to restrain the hunger in my voice.
“You’re just saying that.” She sighs, hiding her stomach with her hands.
“I don’t say anything I don’t mean.”
That soft belly she hides? Fuck, it makes me want to pin her down and rut into her until she screams. I pull her hands away from her stomach.
"This dress hugs your juicy fucking body like it was made for my cock to tear off. But it's not the dress—it’s you. Your fat tits bouncing when I fuck you, that plush ass I want to spank red, that gorgeous soft belly, and this sweet little pussy that's probably dripping just from me staring."
She squirms, her thighs pressing together, confirming what I just said. My hands slide down to grip under her thighs, hoisting her up. Her back presses against my chest, her legs splaying wide as I hold her open like a filthy offering to the mirror.
“Oh god, this is so fucking embarrassing,” she gasps, but her pussy grinds against my forearm. Her dress rides up, exposing the lace panties soaked through to the mirror, clinging to her chocolate lips.
“Look at that sloppy cunt of yours, Anya. Spread wide for me, begging to be eaten. I own this body now, every inch, and you're gonna cum so hard you'll forget why you ever hid it."
I bounce her lightly in my arms, her pussy slapping on my forearm, leaving wetness on my skin. With a grunt, I shift my grip, flipping her upside down over my shoulders like a prize. Her head dangles near my ass, legs kicking wildly until I clamp my arms around her thighs, spreading them eagle-wide. Her dress flips up completely, panties yanked aside to bare her dripping holes to the mirror.
“What the—fuck!” she yelps, but I ignore her, carrying her to the mirror’s edge. I balance her there, her ass resting on the cool glass, and bury my face between her thighs. I lick from her asshole to her clit in one long, sloppy stroke.
Her words dissolve into desperate moans as I devour her. I suck her clit hard, teeth grazing the sensitive nub. Her juices coat my chin, dripping down to her ass as I rim that puckered ring.
“Your pussy's gushing for me, Anya. So fucking filthy.”
I hold her steady as she orgasms, a gush of her release splattering the glass. Then I lower her shaking form to the ground. Her eyes are glazed, dazed from her orgasm. Pride fills my chest. No one can make her feel the way I do, and any motherfucker who even tries is dead. I rip the dress off in one yank.
“Mine,” I snarl, shoving the ruined dress aside.
In complete animalistic, primal fashion, I scoop her up again and impale her on my cock, kissing her to shush her.
The years of working out religiously have paid off, because I can now throw my little doll around like it’s nothing.
My boot kicks the dressing room door open, and I stride out of the room. I informed the staff beforehand to clear out the store, not interact with us, and never step foot into the dressing area until we leave. No customers, no interruptions. But they’re just a few feet away, and I know damn well they can hear every groan and wet slap. Nothing is stopping them from barging in except my word, and the thought that they’re standing there, listening to their boss claim his woman, makes my dick throb. Anyone of them who ever dares to try and peek will be met with a bullet in the head.
Each step I take out of the dressing room makes my cock grind further into her, forcing a choked cry from her lips. I’m using her entire body to fuck myself, her tight cunt a sheath I drag my cock through. We pass the first mirror, and I angle us toward it.
“Look at the reflection. Look at the powerful man who owns you and the gorgeous little slut who can’t get enough.” I grip her ass, spreading her cheeks wide so the mirror shows all of her holes.
Reluctantly, she turns her head to stare at us in the mirror. Animals fucking.
“You love this, don’t you? You love having a man so obsessed with you he’d burn his own empire to the ground just for a chance to fuck you like this. I could clear out any room, any building in this city. I could bend you over the hood of my car in the middle of rush hour, and no one would say a fucking word, because they know who you belong to.”
Her head lolls against my shoulder, and the sounds leaving her lips are straight out of a porno—porn I don’t watch anymore, because they aren’t my Anya.
“They can hear everything,” she gasps. Her chocolate-brown lips are parted, and I can feel her heartbeat hammering through the walls of her cunt.
I move over to the next mirror, a taller, ornate one. I rotate her to the front while she’s still impaled on me, and press her front against the cool glass. My arms are definitely going to be sore tomorrow, but this fuck session is more than worth it.
“That embarrassment is just your pussy getting wetter,” I snarl, reaching around to pinch her clit. “You love being my little doll. My cock-hungry little doll, ready to be fucked whenever and wherever I please.”
I force her legs up and out into a perfect, horizontal split while I’m still buried inside her. She’s very flexible, so it isn’t that hard. Her weight is entirely on my cock, her body a gorgeous, obscene 'T' shape. The new angle makes my prick hit a spot inside her that causes her whole body to lock up.
“Fuck! Oh, fuck, I can’t—” she screams. Tears of pure pleasure stream down her cheeks. She’s so exposed, so vulnerable, being held like a toy in the middle of my empty shop while my staff listens.
I start to piston my hips, fucking up into her split body. “I love these tears. I love knowing that every single person working for me is hearing you fall apart on my cock. Knowing you’re mine.”
The sounds are obscene—the wet, sucking slap of her cunt against my groin, her broken sobs and moans.
“Cum for me,” I command. “Fucking squirt for me.”
A gush of hot fluid erupts from her, spraying against my stomach and dripping down my thighs. Her entire body shakes with the force of her release.
I act quickly. With a snarl, I yank her up and off my cock. The absence of her tight heat and the mere thought that she squirted all over me is all the trigger I need. A rope of cum erupts from my cock, splattering across the polished concrete floor and the many mirrors.
Before the second spurt of her release can follow, I’m already moving. My burning biceps and trembling back scream in protest, but pure, possessive adrenaline floods my veins. I haul her up over my head, holding her high like a fucking trophy. Her legs dangle limply on either side of my head, her spent cunt right above my face. My own cock continues to pulse, emptying itself onto the floor below, but my focus is entirely on her.
My arms are shaking violently from the strain of holding her like this, but I would sooner die than drop her. I open my mouth as the last of her release drips from her, catching her sweet essence on my tongue, swallowing it down like it’s the finest fucking champagne.
I lower her slowly, her body sliding down against mine until her feet touch the floor, though she sags against me, completely unable to stand on her own. I hold her tight, my chest heaving.
“I love seeing you enjoy your man’s cock. You own him just as much as he owns you,” I whisper in her ear, and in her post-orgasmic daze, she snuggles me.
My heart melts. This woman is all I need in my life. If I die now, I’d die a happy man… but I’d still haunt Anya.