Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Yana
His mouth claims mine with bruising force, cutting off whatever protest was rising in my throat. I stiffen instantly. My hands are shoved at his chest, trying to twist away.
But his arms are like forged iron. How the hell is he this strong after being paralyzed only hours ago?
The muscle relaxant should have left him trembling, yet every inch of him radiates raw power.
His lips are firm, demanding, parting mine with relentless pressure.
Then his tongue pushes inside me. It’s a possessive slide that sends an unwanted jolt straight down my spine.
I taste whiskey and salt and the faint taste of blood on him.
The heat of his breath fans across my cheek.
My heart slams against my ribs as I fight the invasion, my tongue trying to push his back and my teeth grazing in warning, but he only growls into my mouth and deepens the kiss, fucking my mouth with his tongue with thrusts that mimic something far more intimate.
“Wait!” I gasp.
His hands hold me captive. “I can’t wait,” he says into my mouth.
I feel myself getting wet. My hands stop pushing, and my fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, then slide higher, wrapping around his neck as my body softens against my will.
He lifts me, his hands gripping my ass as my legs wrap around his waist on pure instinct. The torn dress rides up my hips. I feel the hard ridge of his cock pressing against my core through his pants as he carries me across the room, never breaking the kiss.
I hit his back, and he laughs. He doesn’t even stumble.
How is he this strong?
“Let me down!” I gasp, pulling away from his mouth.
He grins. “But I don’t want to.” His mouth covers mine again, and this time, my resistance is nonexistent.
Each step grinds us together. My nipples rub against the ruined fabric and his chest. By the time my ass hits the edge of the vanity table, I’m dizzy. My lips are swollen and tingling, my breathing ragged.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. His eyes are black with lust, that arrogant smirk playing in his mouth.
“You seem excited,” he says.
I want to snarl at him, to snap his neck with my bare hands, but my body is humming with need. I hate how much I like what his hands and his mouth are doing to me. Every time he has touched me, I have loved every touch. I finally admit this to myself.
“Go to hell,” I tell him. I will never admit it to him.
He grabs my jaw, his fingers digging in possessively, and he kisses me again, biting my lower lip hard enough to send sparks of sharp pleasure-pain shooting through me.
The sting from the car earlier flares back to life under his teeth, and I moan before I can stop myself.
I like it. I like the bite too much. The tang of my own blood mixes with his taste as he soothes the bite with his tongue.
“Say my name,” he gasps. I don’t respond.
His hands move to my chest. With a yank, he rips the neckline of my dress completely open.
“Say my name!” His voice is more forceful.
The air rushes over my bare breasts, making my nipples get hard immediately. His large palms cover them, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh with just enough pressure to make me arch. His thumbs drag over my sensitive nipples in circles.
“Say it!” he pinches hard.
I press my lips, but it can’t be helped. He pulls his name out of my mouth. “Giovanni!”
He pinches them until I’m gasping into his mouth.
Then his head dips. His mouth is scorching, and he latches onto my right breast, sucking the nipple between his lips.
His breathing is heavy. The heat of his tongue swirls, and my toes curl, sending electric shocks straight to my clit.
He groans against my skin, the vibration traveling through my breast and tightening everything inside me.
“You like this, don’t you?”
“Shut up!”
He switches to the left, sucking harder, teeth grazing the sensitive areola before his tongue soothes it in maddening strokes. Every pull of his mouth sends throbs of pleasure to my pussy, making my pussy clench and leak.
“Fuck!” I cry.
I haven’t felt anything like this. This is madness. His mouth is driving me insane.
His open-mouthed kisses go down, and he licks down my stomach, tongue dipping into my navel.
In one motion, he yanks my pants and my soaked panties down my legs.
Before I can protest, his fingers grip my chin, prying my mouth open.
He stuffs the damp fabric of my own panties between my lips.
The taste of my arousal floods my tongue.
My eyes widen in shock, a muffled sound escaping around the gag.
“Be a good girl and let your body do the talking.”
He pushes me back against the vanity mirror, and the cold glass shocks my heated skin. He grips my thighs, and he spreads me wide open, hooking my legs over his shoulders. My pussy is exposed and aching.
“Here is your reward,” he says.
Then his mouth is inside me. The first long stroke of his hot tongue through my vagina folds pulls a muffled cry from my throat.
He licks me like he’s savoring every drop, from my entrance up to my swollen clit then back down, teasing my dripping hole.
His lips seal around my clit, and he sucks gently at first then it grows more intense.
Pleasure crashes through me in heavy waves.
“Fuck, you taste so good,” he heaves as he eats me.
My hips jerk against his face, but his strong hands pin me down, one pressing firmly on my lower belly to intensify every sensation, the other gripping my thigh hard enough to leave marks.
My muffled moans turn frantic.
I grab his hair and press him down as he sends me to places I have never been.
He pushes his tongue inside me, thrusting deep, fucking me with it, and rubbing against my inner walls.
I can feel every texture of his tongue and voice.
He is breathing heavily and groaning as he eats me.
His groans send pleasure through my legs.
Then two of his fingers slide into my pussy, curling upward to stroke that sensitive spot inside me. The dual sensation is overwhelming — his mouth and his fingers. My walls flutter and clench around him.
I’m panting around the panties in my mouth, sweat slipping down my chin, tears of overwhelming pleasure pricking my eyes. The orgasm starts with painful intensity. He senses it and sucks harder. His tongue starts fluttering wildly over my clit, his fingers thrust faster, curling perfectly.
It hits me like a freight train.
My entire body seizes. A scream tears through me, brutally muffled by the gag.
My back arches violently off the vanity, pressing my breasts upward.
My thighs clamp around his head like a vice as wave after wave of pleasure rips through me.
My pussy spasms around his fingers, gushing wetly against his mouth.
He keeps licking and sucking through every shuddering contraction, drawing it out, wringing every last pulse of ecstasy from my body until I’m whimpering.
Even then, he doesn’t stop immediately. His tongue slows down to soothing strokes, cleaning me, savoring the aftermath while my body twitches with aftershocks.
My mind is fogged.
He looks up at me with a smirk. “I hope you like your reward.”
I hate him!
But as his dark eyes meet mine over my spread legs, a terrifying truth settles in my chest:
I want more.
* * *
When I wake up, the first thing I feel is the soreness in my thighs, the base of my spine, and the small muscles at the side of my neck where his mouth had been. I lie still for a moment with my eyes closed, and I take inventory of my body. I am not restrained.
I open my eyes, and everything is unfamiliar.
Where am I? The light is different, the mattress is too soft, the sheets are too elegant, and there is the smell of him in the pillow under my cheek.
I am in his bed, I remember. I sit up slowly to see that the room is empty. I am wearing a white t-shirt that stops at mid-thigh. It is not mine, and it smells like him, too.
I draw the sheet up to my chest, and I look at the room.
There is a note pinned to the corner of the vanity mirror. I do not get out of bed for it. I sit, I look at the room, and I let my body catch up to what happened last night — his mouth and his finger and what they did to me.
I let him, and I enjoyed it. I wanted more.
I let him do all of it. I told myself I would not, and then I did.
Stop! Not now! I scold myself.
I push the sheet back, and I get out of bed. My legs don’t give way as I go to the mirror and pull the note from the corner.
The handwriting is clean and unhurried.
Get some rest. I’ll see you later.
I read it twice before I crumple it in my fist and drop it on the vanity.
The door opens, and a maid steps in with a tray. She does not look at me or speak. She enters the room, sets the tray on the small table near the window, and turns to leave.
“What is this?”
She pauses at the door. “Breakfast.”
“I don’t want it.”
She does not answer, but she closes the door behind her. I stand in the middle of the room looking at the tray sitting on the table.
I do not want to eat anything that comes out of this kitchen that I haven’t made myself. I have cooked everything that goes into my mouth myself since the bowl of poison from two days ago. I haven’t forgotten any of it.
I go to the table. I look at the food. It’s bread, eggs, fruit, a small jug of coffee, and water in a covered jug beside it.
I sit, and I eat.
Would he poison me after last night?
I eat carefully and slowly. I drink the water before I touch the coffee. By the time I am done, the shaking I didn’t realize I was doing at first is gone, and I can think again.
I pull on the soft pants folded at the foot of the bed because the t-shirt by itself is not enough to walk in this house, and I go to the door. The corridor is empty.