Sold to Moretti Mafia

Elena

His stormy blue eyes are lifeless, his features sharper like the edge of a knife pressed against my throat, he’s going to slice me open and watch the blood drain onto the floor.

Reaching for his belt, he quickly undoes it, and then his pants, shoving them down to the floor. He’s completely nude beneath, and his steel-hard penis rises like a skyscraper between us. How can he be turned on after hurting me?

“Julian…” His name falls off my lips like a prayer. What I’m praying for, I don’t know. More? Less? Both?

“Bite me, and I will hurt Marie.” The warning is clear, blinking in bright red neon back at me. I swallow the bile and fear rising in my throat.

“Please,” I whimper, my eyes dropping down to the head of his penis. It’s swollen, and a bead of white liquid glistens against it. He strokes himself eagerly, and releases my chin, moving his hand into my hair.

He fists the strands, and my scalp burns as he tugs my head forward.

“Open up,” he orders gruffly.

My lips tremble, but I do as he says, afraid of what may come next if I don’t. Holding my head in place by my hair, he guides himself to my mouth.

His eyes are trained on my mouth, my lips, watching intently as the mushroom head disappears past my lips.

Fear and arousal mix together and spark like gasoline, meeting a match. His soft flesh glides over my tongue, and even though I shouldn’t, my lips close around the head, and I suck. I’m not sure what to do. I’m simply following my gut instinct. Pleasing him isn’t my priority, and yet, I want to please him so badly it’s all I feel.

“Fuck,” he groans and tightens his hold on my hair.

He slides forward, pushing deeper into my mouth and in seconds, he’s at the back of my throat. I gag around his length, trying to squirm away, feeling as if he’s going to suffocate me, but a second later, he pulls back, giving me a chance to breathe, and I gulp fresh air into my lungs.

Tears leak from my eyes, and he performs the same action again, this time a little faster than the first time.

“I’m going to fuck your throat, hard and fast,” he warns, frightening me, making me shake. He pulls out briefly, giving me a chance to say something.

“I don’t know if I can…” I whine, trying to shake my head, but he doesn’t listen.

“You can, trust me.” He pushes back into my mouth, his thrusts hard and fast, making it hard for me to breathe but not restricting me completely. I gag around his length and feel saliva dribbling out the side of my mouth and down my chin. He uses my mouth and throat savagely but keeps his eyes on me, and somehow, I feel more connected to him, tethered to him.

Heat blooms in my core, and I rub my thighs together, hoping for the tiniest bit of friction. I hate that I want him to touch me right now, to bring me pleasure like I know my mouth is bringing him.

“Such a warm little mouth,” he grunts, “you look so fucking pretty with my cock in it.”

“Mmm,” I say, around his length, my body reacting without thought.

Julian smiles like the devil he is. “I bet your pussy is throbbing and wet, begging for my fingers to be inside of it. Isn’t it?” His thrusts are faster now, his balls slapping against my chin. My own arousal coats my thighs, and I’m ashamed of how badly I want him.

“You’re soaked, I know it. Even if you don’t want to be, you’re enjoying this. Your body knows I would never take more than you could give me.”

He is right, even with as terrified as I am, I know deep down, he will not take more than I can give him, and that’s the sick twisted part of all of this.

I shouldn’t want this punishment, but a dark hidden part of me does.

“Suck,” he orders, and I hollow out my cheeks, sucking on him like he’s a popsicle.

His head tips back, and his entire body vibrates, all the perfectly sculpted muscles in his body tightening, locking up with pleasure.

Erupting in my mouth, I try to swallow his salty release, but there is too much, and I gag. Gently, he pulls out of my mouth.

“Swallow the rest,” he growls, releasing my hair and grasping my chin. I do as he says, and his eyes gleam with joy as he watches my throat work. He studies my features and using his thumbs, wipes away the tears from my eyes.

Licking the side of my mouth, his teeth nip at my bottom lip.

My insides twist and a sob rips from my throat as it all comes back to me, the lustful fog lifting from my eyes. I didn’t want this to happen, not really, and it did. I let him use me, let him take and punish me, and worst of all, I enjoyed it.

“Please, let me go,” I whisper, wanting to curl in on myself. I don’t know what to feel or think, only that this is wrong. What we did, the thoughts swirling around in my head, it’s all wrong.

Something reflects in his eyes and back at me. He looks sorry, but that can’t be right. He wanted this, wanted me in pain. He wanted to punish me, and he liked it, and part of me liked it too.

Before I can grasp onto the look, his face goes blank again, and he does just as I ask. He lifts me up and deposits me on the bed.

I let myself fall back onto the mattress and curl into a ball. Crawling onto the bed, he takes me into his arms even as I flinch at his touch. His chest is bare now. He kisses my damp forehead and soothes me, holding me tight, and that only makes me hate him a little bit more.

His masculine scent overpowers me, calming me. How can he do this? Hurt me one second, and soothe me another?Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“Shhh, you’re okay.”

“I’m not,” I blubber into his bare chest, the warmth of his skin radiating through me. I feel like an iceberg, slowly melting into the abyss.

“I didn’t hurt you. I punished you, and I know that you enjoyed it as well.” He reminds me again of my treacherous body’s reaction to him. His thick fingers run through my hair, making my scalp tingle.

“I hate you,” I whisper.

“Sometimes, I hate myself too. You’ll be okay.”

He holds me for a while longer, whispering sweet nothings into my hair, and I let him. Let him soothe me, hold me, even after what he did. He doesn’t let go of me until the last sob has wracked my body.

Setting me back down on the mattress, he climbs off the bed and digs back into the drawer, setting a second pair of handcuffs down next to me. I don’t speak or even look at him as he rolls me onto my belly, uncuffs one hand, rolls me back onto my back and brings my arms up above my head, fastening one end of the cuff to the headboard, then repeating the action with the other cuff, and attaching it to my free wrist.

I sag against the pillows as best as I can, my wrists already ache from the position, and my ass cheeks burn against the sheets, but I refuse to let him know that.

We’re enemies now, and he doesn’t deserve to know how I’m feeling anymore. All he deserves is my hate and anger, which is all he’ll get from me.

Ignoring me completely, he walks into the closet and comes out fully dressed a short time later. I pretend to be asleep and hold in the tears that threaten to fall until I hear the door close behind him. Then, I close my eyes, letting the tears fall, wishing things could be different.