22. D.T.F
Chapter 22
D.T.F
Winnie
Wild.
Unrestrained.
Completely out of control. That’s how Christophe fucks me.
I held my breath at the feel of his broad head notched at my center. I waited, anticipating the inevitable pain that’s synonymous with losing one’s virginity.
But really, it was excitement. The promise of being stretched and filled. The promise of being fucked.
Our gazes were locked in the dark reflection of the window. Indecision? Caution?—I don’t know. Something flashed across his face, and he didn’t move.
I waited, fully expecting, wanting him to twist his fist in my hair and slam home. Rid me of the stupid label that made men with way too much money lose their fucking minds.
But he didn’t.
He paused. Stilled.
Hesitated
So I took matters in hand. I blew out the air I’d held in my lungs for far too long and pushed my hips back, spearing myself on his dick.
Stars flashed behind my eyes at the feeling of fullness.
Obviously, I have no comparison, but Christophe is big .
I don’t feel a pinch. It’s not a hint or a bite of pain. It’s a damn life changing intrusion that threatens to split me wide open and spill an ocean of tears.
But I’m not alone in this.
Christophe’s fingers dig into my hip as his free hand slides up the center of my back, finally twisting in my hair, the bite at my scalp distracting from the feeling of being torn apart.
His hips are flush against my ass and I’m grateful for the moment to catch my breath. Because the minute he says my name, growling it like he’s the one having sex for the first time, Christophe fucking moves.
He drags out slowly and then thrusts in hard, slamming into me, fucking me thoroughly; all I can do is hold on and pray that I make it through to the finish.
“Fuck,” rolls off his tongue, the tone guttural and primal.
Deft fingers slide from my hip and swirl in tight circles around my clit, teasing the bundle of nerves, coiling the muscles in my core until I explode.
My legs tremble and no matter how hard I try, my fingers find no purchase against the glass.
If Christophe didn’t have one arm wrapped around me and the other tangled in my hair, I’d fall to the ground in a puddle of nothingness.
But Christophe pulls free, the loss of him filling me is jarring, and he scoops me into his arms carrying me like his bride.
Not a virginal one though, that’s for damn sure.
“That was two. I’m going to need a couple more from you, honeybee.” He lays me down in the center of his massive bed and crawls up my body. He curves his big palm around my breast, holding me hostage as he licks, sucks, and feasts on my nipple. He settles between my thighs, filling me in a single thrust.
I gasp, arching my breast into his mouth.
I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I’m capable of having another orgasm, my body is spent and sensitive as all hell. “I can’t,” I whine, hating how breathless I sound.
Christophe laughs, low and dark. “Bullshit. You can and you will.” His hips rock, pistoning his cock in and out of me.
My protests morph into moans of pleasure. Squirming away from him becomes rocking and writhing into him, and with absolutely no warning, he pushes me over the edge, and I shatter again.
His breath is hot against my ear. “That’s a good girl. I need another,” he demands not pausing in the way he plays my body.
Each touch demands pleasure from me, promising even more in return.
Every slide of his body over mine has my insides clenching and my eyes rolling back in my head.
He plants his hands on the mattress and pushes up, shoving his knees hard against the backs of my thighs. Then his hands spread my knees wide.
“Fucking stunning. Jesus, honeybee, you couldn’t be any more beautiful. Look at the way your perfect pussy takes my cock. You were made for me.” Every delicious word is punctuated with a thrust of his hips.
The change in angle takes my breath away, and this time when I come, Christophe follows me. And it is spectacular.
He throws his head back and buries himself deep inside me. His cock pulses, and I swear I can feel his hot cum filling me. And the entire time, his hooded eyes are locked on mine, never straying, his intense focus never wavering.
When he catches his breath, he says, “Fuck yes, honeybee. You are absolutely perfect.”
He thrusts lazily, dragging his cock all the way out of me before slowly pushing back in. He watches the movement with nothing short of awe painted across his beautiful face. His lips quirk up on one side pulling a satisfied smirk from him.
“Think you have another in you?” he asks reaching between us and circling my clit with his thumb.
I yelp and try to squeeze my legs closed, but Christophe wedges his body farther between them.
“Stop… Please…” I’m so sensitive, tears spring to my eyes and spill down my cheeks.
His thumb stalls and the torture is almost worse knowing it’s there, feeling the featherlight pressure but at the same time, not nearly enough.
I don’t want to climax again; I honestly think it would kill me.
Death by orgasm.
That would be a good song title or maybe even the perfect name for a band.
“What’s putting that smile on your face, huh?” Christophe continues his leisurely fucking but his thumb? …Nothing. He holds it perfectly, maddeningly still against my clit.
“You. You’re trying to kill me,” I whine. I fucking whine because that is all I’m capable of at this point.
His chuckle is dark, deep. Filled with promises or maybe it’s full of threats that I don’t want to think too hard on.
“I’m not trying to kill you, honeybee. I’m filling you full of life.”
As his words swirl in the air around us, the reality of what we’ve done, what I didn’t think about when it mattered or pay attention to in the least, washes over me.
We fucked. We fucked hard and took absolutely no precautions. None. Every single muscle in my body goes tight, and I press my palms against the hard planes of his chest.
“What did you do? Holy shit, what did you do?” I swat at him, pushing and writhing to get away. But it’s pointless. Nothing I do puts any distance between us, and the more I struggle, the more he laughs. And thrusts.
Before long, I’m moaning my way through another orgasm, Christophe falling over the edge with me.
And then I black the fuck out. Who knew five orgasms could take so much out of me?
I didn’t.
I had no idea, because until tonight, I was a goddamn, inexperienced virgin.
I come back to my senses, the few I have, to see Christophe lying on his side, staring at me, his large hand splayed across my stomach.
He doesn’t say a word, but a small, satisfied smile pulls at his luscious lips.
“That was?—”
“Fucking perfect.” He finishes my sentence for me, placing a soft kiss to the spot just above my heart before climbing from the bed.
But that’s not what I was going to say.
I shake my head and squeeze my eyes closed. I need a minute to process everything that just happened.
Tears sting and threaten to spill over onto my cheeks. It’s too much. All of this, everything…it’s just too much.
I don’t know who I am anymore.
I don’t know anything.
How did I go from trying to escape this life and do the right thing, to this? I literally went from a twenty-two-year-old good girl to being bought and paid for by the French mob. I didn’t even know there was such a thing.
Italian? Duh.
Irish? Absolutely.
Russian? Japanese? Yes. I knew those existed, but this? And in this little nothing of a town? No, I had no idea.
And what now? What does the fact that Christophe either bought me at the auction, or stole me from it, mean for me?
I jump, my eyes flying open at the feel of a warm hand on my knee.
Christophe leans over me, a warm washcloth in his free hand. He gently wipes at our combined releases, whispering sweet, sweet words when I flinch at the contact with my sensitive flesh. His tender care just confuses me even more.
“Stop.” My voice is small, throaty and unsure.
His hand stills as his gaze tracks an escaped tear sliding down my temple to disappear into my hair. “Winn?—”
I shake my head. “It wasn’t perfect, it was stupid.”
He jerks his head back, obviously offended. He exhales forcefully through his nose and slams the pink-tinged washcloth toward the bathroom.
Anger fights with frustration across his face in an epic battle. “Stupid. You think being with me is stupid.” There’s no question, he’s simply stating it like a fact. “Sorry your first time was such a disappointment, honeybee.”
Jesus Christ, men.
I push myself up to sit, wincing slightly as I settle against the headboard, the sheet clutched to my chest.
“The last thing I need to do right now is stroke your ego. It rivals your dick in size, but that’s not what I’m saying.” I pin him with a withering look, proud of myself for finding my backbone with this man. But I literally have nothing left to lose.
“What the fuck are you saying, then?” He shifts, hands flung out to the sides.
Part of me wants to laugh. Part wants to cry some more. But really, I just need to know what this is. And much as I want answers, I don’t know that I want to kick this buzzing beehive.
“Just say it. Ask me whatever you need to so we can go the fuck to sleep.” We stare silently at each other until he adds, “I’ll pay you. Five grand for your thoughts.”
“I thought the saying was a penny for your thoughts?” Why am I fighting him on this?
“Jesus, fuck. Must be a lot of thoughts.”
“So many things,” I tell him.
Ignoring his scowl, I launch into my list. “You bought me but have been telling me I can’t work off this debt. You stormed up here like a caveman, with me flung over your shoulder like a prize and then took the only thing I have of any value. So which is it going to be? Am I worth something to you? Am I here until I work off what my parents owe you, or are you going to…I don’t know, sell me off for what you can? Use me until you’re done with me.” My voice rises with each word, surprising even me. “What is this, Christophe? What am I?”
I watch as Christophe’s mouth opens, closes, and then opens again before he purses his lips and shakes his head. “ Mon bijou . You are mine, just mine. That is all.” His eyes soften and a smile tugs his mouth up into the shadow of a smile. “You always have been, honeybee. I’ve known it since I followed you home the first time we met to make sure you were safe. I knew it when I found out your father was setting you up with my uncle’s men to make drops. With every year I had to stay away, every status report from Teague, every gift I left for you…I knew. Not just that you were mine, but that you owned me in equal measure.”
“But…”
He climbs into the bed next to me and pulls me into his arms. “But what?”
I turn to face him, needing to see his reaction when I say this last part. “I’m not on the pill, not on birth control at all. What if?—”
He brushes his lips across mine, his tongue licking inside and dancing with my own.
“You’re mine, Winn. All of you. Every piece of you, always.” He drags me across his body, settling me on his lap so I’m straddling his thick, muscular thighs.
He kisses me until I’m pliant in his arms, needy and aching for him to fill me again.
This time, Christophe enters me slowly. Brings me to climax gently.
And I fall asleep wrapped up in his arms.