Page 39 of Savage Ambition

Frustration overrode my usual calculated responses. “I want you to fuck me hard enough that I’ll feel you tomorrow when I’m with someone else.”

Something possessive flashed in his golden eyes. He pulled back to the edge of emptiness, then drove forward with a savage force that shoved me up the bed. “You think anyone else will ever satisfy you now?”

Each thrust punctuated his words, his cock splitting me open in the most exquisite way. The bed protested beneath us.

“Answer me,” he commanded, his authoritative tone going straight to my balls.

The truth spilled out from somewhere deep inside me. “No one else will compare.”

His smile was victorious, predatory. “Good boy.”

The praise shouldn’t have affected me. I’d heard it from countless clients, all thinking they were the first to discover what made me tick. But with Renato, it felt earned rather than purchased.

His words staked a claim on territory no one had ever claimed before, though many had tried. I shouted as he increased both the pace of his hips and his hand, my body moving frantically against his in search of the ultimate high.

The sounds of our coupling filled the room. Flesh colliding with punishing force. The obscene squelch of lube between us. My ragged breathing punctuated by involuntary gasps. The air grew thick with the musk of sex and sweat, Renato’s intoxicating scent mingling with my own.

His control slipped, his pace growing erratic as he chased his own release. The tendons in his neck stood out in sharp relief, sweat glistening on his skin.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, the admission sounding torn from him. “So tight around me. So perfect.”

My muscles contracted against my will as pleasure built to impossible levels. My lungs seized, throat closing as the pressure mounted at the base of my spine, spreading outward.

“You’re close again, aren’t you?” Renato taunted, his voice rough with exertion. “I can feel you squeezing me. Your body begging for it even when you can’t speak.”

My mouth opened to protest, but no sound emerged. Only silent gasps escaped as my diaphragm spasmed. The sensation unmade and remade my body with each precise drag of Renato’s cock, rewriting my understanding of sexual ecstasy.

The pleasure bordered on agony as my nerves were overstimulated. Too much. Not enough. I clawed at his back, nails leaving half-moon indentations in his perfect skin. My cock throbbed between us, untouched but achingly hard, leaking a steady stream of precum onto my stomach.

“Let go,” Renato commanded, grinding against me in a way that made my vision blur. “Stop fighting it.”

I hadn’t realized I was fighting anything until he said it. But he was right. Part of me was terrified of what might happen if I surrendered completely and let myself be that vulnerable with someone Salvatore had hand-selected.

But all I knew was how to fight, how to struggle. Letting go and being free to feel things was something I had very little experience with.

A bead of sweat rolled down his neck, and I couldn’t resist the urge to lick it away. The taste bypassed my brain, shooting straight to my nervous system, where it short-circuited every defense mechanism I’d built over years of selling my body.

My orgasm detonated a nuclear explosion, obliterating thought, reason, and identity. The intensity transcended pleasure, becoming something else entirely. A religious experience. A near-death one. All my defenses crumbled as my muscles convulsed, clamping down on Renato’s cock with such force that he cursed in surprise. My untouched dick jerked between us, painting my chest and stomach with thick ropes of cum that seemed endless.

I’d come thousands of times in that room, but never with my control so thoroughly shattered, my defenses so completely breached.

But it wasn’t over yet. Renato drove into me with renewed force, each thrust harder than the last. His fingers dug into my hips, his nails biting into my skin as he held me in place and used my body for his delight. The pain mingled with the aftershocks of my orgasm, creating a feedback loop of sensation that kept me riding the edge.

“I’m going to fill you up,” he promised, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. “Mark you from the inside. Make you mine.”

His possessiveness should have repulsed me. I belonged to one man against my will and had fought too hard for what little autonomy I had. But in that moment, with his cock buried inside me and his scent filling my lungs, I wanted nothing more than to be claimed by him.

“Do it,” I urged, the words a challenge and a plea. “Show me what you’ve got.”

His control snapped, his hips pistoning with brutal force. I watched his face as he approached the edge, fascinated by the vulnerability that cracked his perfect mask. His lips parted as pleasure overtook him, a flush spreading from his chest up his neck, staining his olive skin with patches of red.

When he came, it was with a feral sound. I felt each throb, each spurt of heat, as if the thin condom barrier didn’t exist. His hips jerked with uncontrolled movements, grinding against me as if trying to push impossibly deeper.

His cocky confidence stripped away to reveal something genuine beneath. It was that glimpse of the real man behind the performance that undid me more than anything physical.

A strange, unwelcome thought flashed through my mind of what it would feel like to hear him say my name. Not Dragon, the stage name Salvatore had given me, but Dante. My real name, which I kept guarded as the last piece of myself that still belonged to me. The thought of those syllables in his mouth, shaped by his accent that reminded me of home, made my heart stutter in my chest.

The longing for it was sudden and fierce, catching me off guard with its intensity. I’d never wanted a client to know me, the real me. But Renato wasn’t a client, and the rules I’d lived by for years suddenly seemed fragile and arbitrary. The realization I was in danger with him did nothing to lessen my intense afterglow.