11. Maeve
CHAPTER 11
MAEVE
The ring I didn’t expect weighs my finger down. It’s not delicate or pretty. It doesn’t have a diamond or any other rock. It’s chunky and uncomfortable, looking like it was pulled off a dead man for all its style, but I don’t complain.
My name is written on our marriage certificate. That can’t be from my hand. But he signs his right after, our hands sliding against each other and breaking the illusion that this is some kind of bizarre dream where Diego eats me out and I marry him. It must be real. A dull echo fills my ears rather than words, like I just dipped into a pool too quickly, and I’m listening through water. His deep voice surrounds me, but it means nothing.
Rather than trying to take the lead or make sense of my new reality, I let my sluggish body follow thoughtlessly after Diego. His hand is firm around mine as he speaks to a couple of people, people who call me “Mrs. Rodrigues.”
“Maeve.” He shakes me hard once we’re past them, and it strikes me somewhere deep down the move is surprisingly aggressive. Similar to when he slapped my clit and made me come the night before. “Wake up.”
“Yeah, sorry,” I murmur.
He grips my upper arm tight, leading me down the hall at a too fast pace. My much shorter legs struggle to keep up, so he ends up dragging me along. Furious energy radiates off him, and I’m not sure why. Did I do or not do something I was supposed to? Did I embarrass him? That’s my first thought after years of always being expected to be perfect.
A sign on the wall marks this as an employees-only area, and a thrill runs through me at disobeying the rules. I didn’t get into stealing cars because I hated danger. I look around at the flickering fluorescent bulbs and the green tile walls. I’m not sure the employees even come down here. An electric thrill zips through me, but it’s tempered by my fear and the violent energy radiating from him.
“Here.”
Diego grabs a random doorknob and throws open the door like he knows the floor plan. I stare at him, ready to tell him to go to hell, but he gives a sharp wave for me to go ahead of him.
“I’m not?—”
“Now,” he insists, and my back snaps straight as I obey him and walk ahead.
I step into the dark room with questions poised on the tip of my tongue. They fall off into an abyss when he flicks the light on, and we’re inside a janitor’s closet. Cleaning chemicals line the shelves, rolls of toilet paper, and gallons of pink soap that I already know smell like elementary school. Why would he bring me here?
“What are we doing?” I ask over my shoulder, but a hand tight around the back of my neck draws me up short. Fingers dig into my skin and twist into my hair, stopping my breath.
“Stop there,” he says even though his grip has me doing whatever he wants.
“What are we doing here?” My voice raises, but he only squeezes harder.
“Shut up, Maeve.”
My head spins, trying to figure out where his anger is coming from and when this shift in tone happened, but I’ve felt it somewhere beneath the surface since last night. He steps closer to me, squeezing even tighter, and I squeal as his chest presses heat through both our clothes.
He cages me against the cleaning supplies, and his voice is low in my ear. “Don’t cause a scene.” I flinch at the unexpected mocking in his tone.
His tone turns me on, but his anger finally spreads to me, a ball of it forming in my stomach at being told to keep quiet. My whole life I’ve been told to behave, to sit down—that’s why I steal the damn cars, to spit in the face of the limits placed on me, and here he is to place more.
“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want, Diego.”
His free palm comes to my shoulder. It’s almost tender, if not restricting me even more. He brushes my hair back.
“No, it’s time for you to play my game. Dance for me. ”
I try to turn around and push him off me. I’m not doing this with him, whatever the fuck it is. He doesn’t budge an inch, and the harder I fight, the more his hands aim to punish me with his grip.
“You have a lot of people looking for you. Be quiet before they hear you.”
How the hell does he know that?
“I never told you that.” Fear slips into my voice, revealing how exposed and unsure I feel.
“I know a lot of things you’ve never told me, and so many ways I can hurt you if you don’t give me exactly what I want.”
What the fuck does that mean?
I don’t have time to ask. The hand caressing my shoulder switches tact, fingers digging into my skin and shoving me forward, head aimed in a collision toward one of the shelves. My hands shoot out to catch my weight rather than allowing my face to hit it.
“Shit, Diego.” I’m shaking, but he’s already adjusting my hips until I’m standing the way he wants me. He yanks until I’m up on my toes, the position I use to practice en point when I’m in sneakers.
“Don’t let go,” he grunts.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demand, but keep my voice quiet this time. “What did I do to piss you off?”
“This.”
He smacks my jean-covered ass hard enough to sting.
His hips connect with my ass, pressing his hard cock against the shape his palm made. I’m not sure why he’s so angry, but there’s no doubt he wants me. I wonder what this marriage will look like with him constantly angry and ready to shove his cock in me. He said he’ll kill for me.
“Diego, what did I do?” I try again.
“Keep your mouth shut, Mrs. Rodrigues .”
Speaking my new name sends chills all over my body. I grip the cold metal bars so I don’t fall over, but a part of me wants to see where this goes. Just like last night, I want him even when it feels wrong, when I don’t know if he wants me or wants to wring my neck.
His fingers flex on the back of my neck before leaving me and finding the button of my jeans. He shoves my jeans roughly over my hips, fingers and fabric scraping on the way down. He leaves them just above my knees so I’m trapped and even more at his mercy.
Hazelnut and chocolate, my brain spits off because of course it couldn’t find anything more helpful.
Should I move or scream for him to stop? Do I even want him to? Why is my shame making me hot?
His hands slide up my thighs, and I feel it right in my pussy. I stare at the bottle of bleach in front of me, trying to make sense of all this intensity and why it’s left me dripping. I’m fake marrying him, right? How long will it stay fake if he gives me head and we screw?
“What are you doing?” I try again, but his fingers are in the band of my panties, pulling them down and exposing my ass and pussy to him.
“Getting it out of my system, fucking you.”
The crass words hurt my heart in a way I didn’t expect. What was his mouth on me last night if this is him getting me out of his system?
A hard smack lands across my bare ass this time. The pain is entirely different, and I squeal loudly at the impact.
“The louder you are, the more likely someone will hear you.”
I’ve never been physically punished, never felt much physical pain at all aside from the endurance of dancing ballet and his slap on my clit the night before. I’m shocked at how it ripples through me, dancing over my skin and lighting up all my senses. The pain doesn’t register as pain . The shape of his hand is more like a warm brand.
Then there’s another.
“Fuck, that’s good,” I groan, loving the sensation.
“Bullshit, you don’t like this.”
Strong hands grip my panties, and a sharp tearing sound fills the space as he rips them off my body. The fabric drags against my skin as it fails, leaving something like a friction burn that turns me on too.
“I said quiet, Maeve.”
He takes the fist balled with my panties and shoves them against my open mouth. I start to gag as his fingers shove them in. The wet taste of my own pussy is thick on my tongue as he slaps his hand over my mouth for good measure.
I’m so shocked by having my mouth stuffed with my own panties that it takes me a second to realize his cock is already out. He plays over my slit, getting himself wet with my arousal, and again, I’m flooded with a forbidden thrill. I can’t stop myself from being turned on, no matter how shameful it is.
His palm is rough with the next hit. He’s good, always aiming at the same place and layering the pain until it finally stings so bad it aches.
I moan and grunt into the panties, liberated in a way I scarcely expected. Diego chuckles. It’s low and carries a manic edge, so different from how he sounded before I said I do. I don’t have time to think too deeply on it because he lines his cock up with my entrance.
Something cold and hard teases my clit as he slides it up and down. It takes my brain a second to make sense of the sensation, and before I can find the word piercing , he’s sinking inside me, and another cold point of metal teases my insides.
The scream leaving my throat begs to be silenced, the panties now a convenience more than a hindrance. He’s larger than I’ve ever had, stretching me and burning inside just as much as he’s pleasuring me, and fuck, he feels good inside me too.
He pushes another inch farther, and another spot of metal teases my insides. I wish I could turn around and see what his cock looks like, make sense of the weapon he’s using to destroy my insides and my chances of ever saying no to him again. I’ve never fucked a cock with piercings, and the experience is otherworldly, intense, hot, and a little painful.
Diego’s fingers carve my sides, and I know he’s going to leave several bruises when he’s done with me. I guess our union is fully consummated. He pushes my hips back and forth, using me like a sex toy and dragging his piercings over my G-spot with the most delicious pressure. The confusion and pleasure have morphed into a single entity raging through my system. He slaps me again, and the tears gather in the corners of my eyes.
I don’t know why. It’s not the pain making me cry, nor the emotion. The sensation is too much, too fast, yet my body is somehow begging for more. I’m going to come harder than I ever have in my life.
“Oh fuck, you’re really trying to drain my balls, aren’t you?”
I nod. I’m so close to my orgasm I can feel it everywhere. This is my first time getting this close with penetrative sex, but I know it’s coming. I relax into him, trusting him to take my body the rest of the way. To let me come on his cock like he knows I want to deep down.
The wave takes over, but right when I’m at the edge, he rips his cock out so quickly I almost lose my balance. The movement of the piercings throws me over the edge, and I’m once again painfully at the moment of orgasm with nothing to finish me off. This time, he doesn’t slap my clit. He lets me fall.
I’m hollow, empty. It’s agony.
The curses are on the tip of my tongue. I remove my hand from the shelf to take the panties out of my mouth, but he slaps his hand back over my mouth before I have a chance.
“Not one fucking word,” he grits. “Stay still like a good whore.”
His command works too well on me, and I remain in the same spot, looking at the bleach label as he jerks his cock a few times, drawing his orgasm out. Thick ropes of cum splash all over my ass and the back of my shaking legs.
Fuck, this hurts.