11. Isabela #3
I whimper, rocking my hips to meet him. "Demin… yes."
He fucks me harder against the wall, hips snapping faster and faster. Water streams down our joined bodies as short, broken whimpers slip out of me every time he pushes in.
"God… fuck… take it." His mouth claims mine in a messy kiss, tongues sliding desperately as he pounds into me. It's as if he's forgotten entirely that he's been wounded, or the drive to consume me is greater than the knowledge of that pain. He's an animal, devouring me ferally and completely.
I pant and moan, "More… yes…" and I don't have to coach him at all. It's like he knows what my body needs before my mouth expresses it. It's magic, the way he fills me and draws pleasure sounds from my lips.
He shifts his angle slightly and drives even deeper, grinding against me with each thrust. My walls clench around his thick length as heat builds again in my core. I whimper and moan, nails raking down his back while my breasts press against his chest. "Harder," I breathe. "Yes… fuck me harder."
"So good," he mutters, but now his voice sounds strained, as if he's holding back. "Shit… perfect… fuck."
The pleasure coils tighter with every relentless thrust. He grips my thighs harder, pulling me down onto his cock as he fucks me and I lose it. "Demin… coming," I manage, but barely. The first convulsion is so hard, I can't breathe.
He groans again, thrusts turning erratic and deeper. "Now… with me… fuck."
My orgasm crashes over me. Intense waves surge through my body, my walls pulsing and squeezing him in strong, rhythmic contractions.
Pleasure floods every nerve ending as my core flutters and spasms around his thickness in deep, rolling pulses that drag on and on.
My thighs shake, toes curling as I moan and pant through the powerful release, lost in the overwhelming sensations.
Demin buries himself to the hilt and comes with a deep groan.
His cock throbs and pulses as he spills hot, thick seed, filling me with every jerk of his hips.
He mutters broken words against my neck, "Yes…
mine… fuck," and his body tenses against mine.
His hips keep grinding deep through the long, shuddering release as wave after wave pumps into me until the final pulses slowly fade.
After he's let me down to the shower, he silently washes my body, almost reverently, like he's worshiping me.
His fingers are tender as he touches my delicate folds, then rinses me off.
He washes my hair and massages the shampoo into my scalp, then kisses my neck and shoulders as the flow of water carries the soap away, and when he's finished, and still visibly bleeding, he turns the water off and hands me a towel.
I haven't forgotten about my father, but after that moment, I am content to trust that Papa is being treated with some modicum of respect. I leave the topic for later as we dry off. Though, I have no clean clothes to put on right now.
"You'll sleep in my bed tonight," he says coldly. I don't catch his eye in the mirror, but I don't protest either. Whatever he has planned for me, if it's more of that, I'm not shying away.
"What will you do?" I ask him as I follow him into the bedroom. His dick is still mostly hard as he pulls out boxers and pants to dress. But he's also still bleeding lightly. That strain busted open the scab, and I grimace at how the blood soaks into his slacks as he reaches for a shirt.
Meanwhile, I stand in a towel looking around the room, wondering what I should do for clothing.
"I have some work," he says, buttoning up. Then he walks over to me, pressing a kiss to my temple. "I'll have Danya bring you some clothing in the morning…"
"And for pajamas?" I ask, waiting. His answer sends a ripple of excitement through me.
"Sleep naked… I'll be coming to bed before too long."
It's like there is this understanding between us right now that something has changed. He has claimed me as his own object, but with the way he's treating me right now, I don't mind one bit. Should he stick to his stubborn behavior about me seeing my father, I may change my mind.
"Work?" I ask, touching the blood on his hip.
Demin pauses and touches the underside of my chin, catching my eye. "I have to make sure my new chemist is taken care of. My men need orders for his room and some dinner. And I'm sure the doctor will want to dress this," he says, gesturing. "Get some sleep, Milaya, I'll—"
"What's that mean?" I mumble, cutting him off. I don’t mean to, but he doesn't seem upset.
"It means you’re mine…" His eyes are dark and possessive, but I don't feel afraid.
"What does it really mean?" Holding his gaze, I let my hand trail across his bare stomach under the hem of his shirt.
"It means sweetheart, or dear… darling."
An explosion goes off inside my chest as he pulls away. He called me darling?
All I can do is stare as he grabs his shoes and socks and walks out, not even bothering to lock the door. What the hell does it mean when the man who claims to own you calls you darling?
Do I even want to find out?