Chapter Seven #4
“You don’t need to.” He kissed me then, hard and deep, swallowing the rest of my protest.
His tongue stroked against mine the same way his cock stroked inside me, claiming, owning, relentless.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine and his voice dropped, cold.
“Feel me. That is all that matters. This is the only cock you will ever experience. The only one that gets to fill this pussy. Your body understands.”
The soft words did something the hard ones hadn’t.
Something cracked open in my chest even as fear coiled tight in my stomach.
My bound hands flexed uselessly above my head.
I turned my face into his neck and breathed him in, expensive cologne and hot sweat and the faint metallic edge of power, and let the next wave build against every instinct I had left.
He felt the change. His rhythm shifted again, becoming almost gentle for a few thrusts, then hard again, then gentle, never letting me find a steady place to hide.
One of his hands slid down between us and circled my clit with devastating precision.
The other stayed tangled with my chained wrists, his thumb stroking the inside of my palm in a gesture that was unexpectedly controlled.
Still turning me on while the entire room watched and touched themselves to the sight of it.
Don Esposito’s voice came from somewhere around us as he spoke,“Finish it properly, Ventura.”
Matteo laughed dark and breathlessly, and then switched to an angle that made my whole body jerk.
“That’s it,” he growled against my ear. “Let them hear you. Let them see who owns this pussy now.”
The second orgasm was deeper, longer, almost violent in its intensity. My walls clenched and fluttered and milked him in rhythmic waves that finally pulled a raw, low sound from his chest as I dug my nails into his shoulder.
He fucked me through it, never slowing, never giving me a second to recover, until the pleasure tipped into something almost painful and then back into pleasure again.
I was sobbing. I was begging. I was coming apart in front of every powerful man in the city while they watched and stroked and groaned, and some dark, secret part of me loved and admired how thoroughly a stranger had forced it from me.
Only then did Matteo chase his own release.
His rhythm turned brutal, deep, punishing strokes that forced broken cries out of me with every thrust. His hand left my clit and gripped my hip hard enough to bruise, holding me so he could bury himself as deep as possible.
His forehead dropped to mine. His breath was hot and ragged against my lips, the first real crack in the cold control.
“Fuck.”
He buried himself to the root and came with a low, guttural groan that seemed to vibrate through my entire body. Hot pulses flooded me, thick and endless. I felt every spurt, every throb, the wet heat of a complete stranger claiming the deepest part of me while the entire room watched.
He stayed locked inside me for long seconds afterward, breathing hard against my neck, one hand pinning my wrists, the other sliding up to rest possessively over my lower belly like he was imagining what he had just started.
When he finally pulled out, the loss was sudden and filthy.
Cum immediately leaked down the cleft of my ass onto the black platform in a thick, slow trickle.
He looked down at the mess he had made of me, swollen, used, marked, and something almost soft flickered across his face before the cold mask slid fully back into place.
Matteo tucked himself away with hands that were almost steady again, then reached down and lifted me into his arms as if I were something he had simply finished inspecting. My head fell against his shoulder. I was too wrecked to hold it up.
The chains clinked softly between us. Cum continued to drip down my thighs with every step he took.
Don Esposito’s voice carried across the sudden hush. “The union is consummated. The seat is yours. Welcome to the table.”
Dark, scattered applause rose. Matteo did not acknowledge it.
He simply carried me off the stage, past the hungry, still-flushed eyes of the men who had watched and touched themselves to the sight of us, past Dario’s stunned and furious face, and into the private hallway that led to the back exit. I covered my face with my hands.
His coat settled around my naked body a moment later, heavy and smelling of expensive wool and him and sex.
He did not speak. He just held me tighter against his chest and walked toward the black car waiting at the curb, one hand splayed possessively over the small of my back, the other cradling the back of my head.
I closed my eyes and felt the heavy gold ring on my finger, the deep, sweet ache between my legs, the warm wetness of a complete stranger leaking out of me with every step, and the terrible, unavoidable truth settling into my bones.
I belonged to a man who I did not even know. And the entire underworld had just watched him force my body to prove it.