Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Nathalie
"I'm sorry," I whisper, voice small against his chest.
Why does this feel like desire? Why is my pussy already aching and wet when I should be terrified? Why did I even think using his bathroom was a good idea?
His grip tightens. "Sorry isn't enough, princess."
I tremble. "Then… what do I do?"
He doesn't answer with words. He walks me backwards until the edge of the dressing table presses into my thighs.
He slips his belt free and turns me firmly, pressing my front against the cool wood, and catches both my wrists behind my back. The belt loops around them, cinching tight with a soft creak.
He lifts the wet hem of his over my hips, bunching it around my waist and leaving my bare ass and dripping pussy exposed. His tattooed hands stroke slowly over my smooth cheeks, rough palms dragging across my sensitive flesh. A helpless moan slips from my lips as my body clenches with need.
"Are you ready for your punishment?" His voice is low.
My heart is pounding so hard I can barely think. This is wrong. I should be fighting. But my body is leaning into his touch.
He pulls the belt tighter. The leather bites into my wrists.
"Yes," I breathe.
The first slap lands across my bare ass. I bite my lip hard, a bright flash of pleasure cutting through the sting as my pussy throbs.
"This is for touching my clothes," he says, stroking my ass, preparing me, and another slap lands.
The sound cracks through the room. I groan, my ass cheek burning.
"And this is for looking so fucking sexy in my stolen shirt."
He strokes my ass again and then he starts to land slap after slap. Each one is heavier, my skin turning bright red and throbbing under his palm. I'm panting, pushing my ass back into his hand, my wetness is starting to coat my inner thighs.
He leans in close, lips brushing my ear. "And this… is for making me so hard."
He turns to me again. My hands are still bound behind me. My eyes drop and I see the thick, heavy outline of his erection straining painfully against his trousers. It looks huge. My mouth goes dry even as fresh heat floods my pussy, dripping down my legs.
He lifts me onto the vanity, pushing my thighs wide apart.
"Is this… part of the punishment?" I ask weakly.
I'm realizing I like this. Being his plaything. Letting him use me. The thought should shame me. Instead, it makes my clit throb and my pussy clench greedily.
His eyes darken with lust. "Do you want it to be?"
I nod before I can stop myself.
He leans in and kisses me. I kiss him back desperately, panting into his mouth, biting his lower lip, and pulling him closer so his hard bulge grinds right against my wet thighs. He rips the shirt open with one tug. Buttons scatter across the floor. My full breasts spill free, nipples hard.
"You ruined your shirt," I pant against his lips.
"No," he whispers, "you ruined my shirt."
Our mouths crash together again. He lifts me off the vanity and carries me to the bed, laying me down on my back with my bound hands trapped beneath me, arching my tits up toward him.
He pulls the belt loose and tosses it away.
His mouth trails down my neck, collarbone, and sucks one breast. He sucks hard, teeth grazing my stiff nipple. I arch with a loud moan.
His hand slides between my spread thighs and thick fingers glide through my soaked folds, spreading my wetness before one pushes deep inside my tight pussy.
I cry out at the sudden stretch. He kisses me again, tongue invading my mouth in the same rhythm as the thrusts that match his finger fucking me.
I hear his zipper open and then the heavy, burning-hot weight of his massive cock against my thigh.
It's huge, veined, and throbbing. I reach down awkwardly and wrap my fingers around his thick shaft, stroking the hot length.
He stops kissing me for a second and just looks at me, eyes burning with raw need.
"Please," I breathe, voice hoarse. "Don't stop. I like it."
He smiles and kisses me again. His finger keeps thrusting, curling against that perfect spot inside me while I stroke his cock faster, squeezing, feeling him pulse and leak precum over my fingers.
The pressure inside me coils unbearably tight as I moan into his mouth, kissing him harder.
He thrusts his finger so deep hitting a spot that I let loose and I come hard, moaning into his mouth, my cunt clenching and gushing around his finger, my whole body shaking.
At the same moment, his cock swells and he groans deeply, shooting thick, hot ropes of cum across my stomach, my tits, and dripping down my sides.
I let out a sigh letting myself sink into the bed and he falls to the side panting.
* * *
"I'm sorry about your shirt," I say.
The water is still warm. His arms are around me from behind and the bathroom is quiet. I am looking at the pile on the floor, my clothes, and the ruined blue shirt that had ended up in pieces and I feel heat crawl up my neck that has nothing to do with the bath.
"It's fine," he says.
Silence settles.
Then he says, "You're a virgin."
It isn't a question.
I go still for a moment. The water shifts slightly around us.
"Are you dissatisfied?"
He opens his mouth.
"Don't," I say, before he can get there. "I'm not asking you to take responsibility for anything. I know what this is." I turn in his arms to look at him, water moving around my shoulders.
He looks at me for a while.
Then he lowers his head and his mouth finds my shoulder and he bites.
I pull in a breath that embarrasses me slightly with how unsteady it is.
His lips travel to my ear and I feel his teeth and my hand finds his arm under the water and grips it and my eyes close and my head drops back and I am thinking absolutely nothing and then he stops.
I open my eyes.
He is looking at the distance with an expression I can't read and he says, in a voice that has rearranged itself back.
"Best not to get distracted, princess." He pulls back slightly. "You're still my hostage."
I look at him.
I look at his face, the jaw, the pale eyes that are doing the thing they do where they give nothing away, and I feel sadness settle in my chest like a stone finding the bottom.
Does he not want me?
He stands up and the water moves and he reaches for the bathrobe on the rail and slides it on and I watch him and I say nothing because there is nothing yet to say.
"Renzo will be contacting your father." He ties the robe. "Letting him know we have you."
I look at the water.
"He won't come," I say. "My father." I trace a line on the surface with one finger.
"My mother died years ago. A car accident.
I think—" I pause. "I think he blames me for it.
I don't know why, I was twelve and I wasn't even in the car but he looked at me differently after.
Or he stopped looking at me at all, I'm not sure which came first." The water is cooling at the edges.
"I'm sorry I'm not more useful to you. As collateral.
" I look up at him. "I genuinely don't think he'll come. "
He leans down and his mouth presses against mine. It's over before I have fully registered it has happened.
"Oh," he says, against my lips, "you are useful."
He is pulling back and straightening and I reach up and my hand finds the lapel of his robe and holds it and I look up at him from the water and I say, "Please."
He looks at me.
"Please make love to me."
The bathroom is very quiet.
He looks at me for long enough that the drumming in my chest begins to lift and then he reaches down and takes my hand from his lapel and holds it for a moment and sets it back in the water.
"Sorry," he says. He straightens fully. "This afternoon got away from me a little. I apologize for that." He adjusts the robe. "I prefer my women experienced. It's nothing personal."
I stare at him.
"Please," I say again, which I immediately know is a mistake.
He smiles. "Pathetic," he says pleasantly, and walks out.
The door doesn't slam. It closes with a quiet click that is somehow worse. I sit in the cooling water and look at the door and at the pile of ruined clothes on the floor and at my own hands under the surface.