19. Isabela #2
"God, you taste amazing," he growls as he catches my wrist, pressing a kiss to my palm.
Then he stands at the edge of the bed and strips off his suit jacket, then yanks at his tie and shirt.
Buttons fly as he tears the fabric open.
I watch every movement, my body still buzzing as he shoves his pants and boxers down, kicking them aside.
He's like an animal stalking prey as he flips me over onto my stomach, pulling my hips up so I'm on my knees. His hand smooths down my back possessively. "Look at you," he growls quietly. "Ass up for me like you were made for this. Such a good girl when you stop fighting."
I moan into the sheets, pushing back against his touch as he spreads my cheeks, one finger circling my tight entrance before he presses inside. The stretch burns in the best way. He works it deeper, adding a second finger, scissoring gently as he stretches me open.
"Oh, shit," I groan and pant. It's so intense, I can't decide if it's the most pleasure I've ever had or if it borders on pain.
"Fuck, you're tight here," he growls, pumping his fingers steadily. "This ass is mine too. Every hole belongs to me. Say it."
"Please," I whimper, rocking back onto his hand. "Oh, God."
"Say you're mine, Milaya… Tell me who owns you." He curls his fingers, stretching me wider, his other hand gripping my hip to hold me still. "Beg better than that. Tell me who owns this body. Tell me you want me to use every inch of you."
"I’m yours," I gasp as my voice cracks. "Oh, God, yes…"
He adds a third finger, working me open while driving the pleasure higher, and the fullness makes me tremble, pleasure mixing with the burn. I push back desperately, chasing the sensation.
"That's right," he says with satisfaction. "Keep begging. This tight little ass is going to take everything I give it. You're mine to fuck, mine to stretch, mine to break however I want."
I moan louder, clawing at the sheets. "Yes. Oh, my God."
Demin keeps fingering my ass, stretching me little by little, and I touch my clit to make the pleasure stronger.
Then he pulls his fingers out and spits on my ass, rubbing it over my entrance with his cock before he pushes the head in.
The stretch burns as he works himself deeper, inch by inch, making me moan into the sheets, pushing back to take more of him.
"Fuck," I gasp. "You're so fucking huge."
He sinks all the way in until his hips press against my ass. Then he starts thrusting into me. He fucks my ass with deep strokes, one hand fisted in my hair while the other holds my hip.
"God, you feel incredible," he growls, pounding into me. "You're gonna make me explode, Isabela."
I groan with every thrust and rub my clit faster.
He fucks me harder, driving deep again and again as my moans turn broken and desperate.
Every thought of anything other than his dick inside me is gone, vanished in the pleasure of what he's doing to me.
I want this. I want to feel him consume me and own me, and I want to feel it again and again, not just today.
The orgasm hits me suddenly. My walls clench hard around nothing while my ass squeezes tight around his cock in strong, rhythmic pulses.
Pleasure floods through me in rolling waves, shaking my whole body as my thighs tremble, toes curling as the spasms lock every muscle.
Wave after wave crashes over me, making it harder to breathe, and my moans turn raw.
It leaves me gasping and shuddering as the contractions drag on and on.
"Demin," I whimper, hips bucking helplessly. "Shit."
But he's in his own world, thrusting so roughly I have to claw the sheets to stay upright. It's overwhelming to feel him so deep, and his dick is so thick it feels like it might be tearing me, but it's too much—too incredible to stop.
"Fuck, Isabela. So tight around my cock."
Demin's thrusts grow erratic and he pushes as deep as he can as he comes with a low groan.
His dick throbs and pulses, hot thick spurts filling me with every jerk of his hips.
He thrusts through it, grinding into me as wave after wave washes over us both, his body shaking with the force.
The contractions of his release drag on, his hips still moving, milking every last drop until he finally slows, still buried deep inside me, breathing hard against my back.
I collapse forward onto the bed, trembling, with his dick still twitching inside me. It's the most incredible sex I've ever had. I'm breathless and limp as he pulls out, making me wince before flopping to the bed and pulling me into his side.
I hate how good he made me feel, and I hate that I still want him, but he makes me feel safe. I believe him when he says Sergei will never touch me again. I believe Demin can make that happen.
"I will kill any man who even thinks of touching you." His hand is possessive on my hip first before it drifts up to brush a hair off my face. I'm tucked against his side, his arm heavy over me, my cheek against his chest where I can feel his heart still coming down from wherever we just were.
It doesn’t matter how good the sex is or how safe I feel with this man, however. What matters is making sure my father is cared for. He's not a young man anymore. He needs me to watch out for him, and if I just cave in to my fleshly desires and act selfishly, bad things could happen to him.
"I'm scared he's going to die in here." I speak quietly because I don't want him to be upset with me, but I'm afraid.
And right now, being vulnerable with him feels like the right thing.
"My father won't bend. You don't know him like I do.
" I swallow. "He'd rather die a free man than cook one more batch for anybody, and I'm afraid you're going to push and push, and one day, he'll just—he'll let you kill him. "
I wait for him to tell me he won't let it come to that or to threaten me and remind me that's exactly why I'm here, that my father's stubbornness is a thing he intends to break.
But Demin surprises me when his hand comes up and starts moving through my wet hair almost gently, his fingers combing it back from my face.
He's never touched me like this before. This touch isn't for him.
He's getting nothing out of it at all. It's for me, the way he's comforting me and making me feel treasured.
"Everyone kneels eventually."
"Not him." I turn my face up toward his. "Push him hard enough and he won't cook. He'll make you shoot him instead."
Demin is quiet like he's being thoughtful about this, but I'm not sure how to even read him.
He acts like he owns me now, but I don't know what that even means in this world.
Is he the sort of man who will treasure me and care for me?
Or is this just some arrangement so he can get his rocks off and not let other men touch me?
If I'm nothing more than his whore, I don't want this. But if he's the type of guy who can see my heart and take care of it, then I know he'll do the right thing.
"He'll say yes."
"Demin…" I'm frustrated. This isn't an answer. I feel exposed and weak, like I need him to reassure me that he won't let my Papa die over something so stupid as making his meth. "Promise you won't kill him…"
He tenses, but his grip doesn't tighten. Instead, he presses a soft kiss to my cheek and says, "I can't and I won't make promises I can't keep."
Then he gets up, leaving me lying in that bed where he just owned me, feeling like letting my heart believe he could really want me is the biggest mistake of my life.
He's not going to hold himself back for a single second. If Papa doesn't do what he wants, they're going to kill him.
What have I done bringing him here?