He looks at me with disbelief. “What are you doing?”
“Reacting naturally to your very inappropriate actions.”
He chuckles. “In here or out there? Because that k**s felt very much initiated by you.”
“In here started out there, which was very much initiated by you.”
He takes a step toward me. “So it’s my fault my fi**gers were drenched.”
“What was bet**en my legs was none of your business.”
“Then you shouldn’t have spread your legs for me like a greedy little slut.” His next two steps are quick, and then he’s got me in his hold, my arms pinned behind me at the base of my spine. He spins me around and walks me backward until I’m against the door as he talks. “I could smell your arousal all through dinner, Brystin. I reacted naturally.”
I shake my head, unable to look him in the eye. He’s manipulating me, but this is on both of us. I had my rules for a reason. What did I expect would happen when we broke them?
Who am I kidding? This thing bet**en us was already out of control before that. “Let me go,” I whisper, meaning as much metaphorically as literally.
He doesn’t budge. “Tell me you need to be f**ked.”
“You don’t know what I need.”
Leaning forward, he p**sses his forehead against mine. “Tell me the truth, honeybee. I heard you all night, charming those men, telling them that truth was essential. So tell me the truth. Tell me you need to be f**ked.”
I could turn the demand back on him. Tell me the truth, Hadrian. Tell me that I mean something to you.
But I’m not sure that I’m not just hopelessly romantic. He doesn’t know my true relationship with Elvis because I haven’t told him. Because the truth is embarrassing, but also incomprehensible. Who could grasp why I’m so loyal for so little in return?
Yet, part of me feels like he does know, at some level, and if he does, and if he can still treat me like this, then I’m not just a hopeless romantic—I’m delusional.
And I still want him.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, stalling the inevitable.
He brings his mouth to my chin, ghosts his l*ps along my jawline. “I can make it better, Brystin. As soon as you say it. Let me make it better.”
I open my mouth, and let the plea escape. “I need you to f**k me.”
Because that’s all I dare ask for. Because that’s all I dare believe I’m worth.
“Yeah, you do. I need that too.” Instantly, his hands are on me, cupping my br***ts as I undo his pants. He moves me toward the bench, turning me to face it when we get there. “Put your foot up.”
He helps me gather my sk**t around my waist, then comes up behind me, nudging his c**k inside me with hardly any warning. He’s big, but I’m so w*t, he slides in easily. All the way, and for a brief beat in time, I feel the relief of him. The relief of having such a heavy want met. It’s euphoric, and he only just got inside.
But then he’s pumping, fast and frantic, and the relief is forgotten as another need starts to build, one more p**ssing and urgent and heavy. I’m all hushed m**ns and swallowed whimpers while Hadrian speaks dirty at my ear.
“Your cunt is so greedy. Eating my c**k up like you’re a starving woman. Like you’re a hungry little cum slut. Is that what you are, Brystin? Tell me you’re my cum slut.”
“I’m a cum slut.” I’m surprised at how turned on saying it makes me. Almost as turned on as it is to hear it.
“No. You’re my cum slut. Say it.”
“I’m your cum slut.”
“Yes. Yes.” He feels harder all of a sudden, bigger. “Say you live for this c**k inside you. That you can’t stop thinking about it. That you get yourself off every night thinking about how empty you are without it. Say that I’m the one who owns your p**sy, Brystin. Say it.”
I close my eyes, and lights form against the back of my lids. Words aren’t possible anymore, but they’re all true. All the things he wants to hear—every word honest.
He does get me.
He gets me, and brutally takes advantage of me.
And I let him.
And I love it.
I can’t help the cry that rips from my throat when my orgasm smacks through me. Hadrian claps his hand over my mouth to silence me, then a few rapid pumps, and he joins me, collapsing against me.
The feel of him p**ssed at my back, our breaths in tandem…this is the moment that never lasts long enough. I’d stretch this part forever, the part where I feel warm and held and wanted. It’s my favorite part of sex when it’s happening.
But then it passes—it always passes—and when I can think rationally again, I’m disgusted. With myself more than him. Disgusted that I’d still fall back into his arms if he invited me to.
Which means I need to get out of here. Now.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.
Leave a Reply