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It’s sensory overload. I don’t know if I’m feeling pain or pleasure the strongest, but all of it is mixing up, and I want it to stop.
Lucian doesn’t notice any of it, fucking my ass until it hurts. But then the buzzing in my pussy pushes me closer to another orgasm while his thrusts shove me forward and into what I think might be a nail, not a splinter. A bent nail that’s scratching my skin, pricking it, pressing into my knee.
“Such a tight little ass.” Lucian smacks me hard with his palm, and I squeal. I might be coming again, but I’m starting to go numb down there. “My ass. Only mine.” Another smack, even harder. I realize I’m crying. This has to stop.
Every time he thrusts into me, he pushes me harder and makes the nail dig deeper into my skin. I raise my head from the mattress and shout as loud as I can. “Please, stop! Stop, I’m hurt!” All I get for it is a slap on the ass that doesn’t hurt as much as my leg does. “Lucian, stop!”
“Oh, no… you don’t get to do that…” He wraps my hair around his fist and pulls my head back, leaning in to bite the side of my neck, then growls in my ear, “You’re my slut. You do what I want.”
“You’re hurting me!” A sudden, sharper pain blasts through my leg, and I know the nail or whatever it is went into my knee. “Fuck, no! Stop!” I can barely hear myself over the squeak of the bed and the way he’s grunting like a rutting pig every time our bodies crash together.
Then I remember. “Red! Red, red!” He has to stop now. He’ll stop now. I brace myself and wait for it.
It doesn’t come. He’s not stopping. I can barely breathe, I’m crying so hard, and tears are soaking into the sheet under me. I suck in some air and scream, “Red!”
“So close.” He yanks my hair again and breathes in my ear. “You’re going to make me come, Rowan.” I barely register this over the screaming in my head and the sickening beat of my heart.
He didn’t stop. He’s not stopping. I trusted him, but he’s not stopping.
What else is this man capable of?
18
Lucian
She’s perfection. Nothing less than that. The fulfillment of my every fantasy come to life. Like she was made just for me.
I come with a roar, filling her cunt until my cum drips from her when I withdraw my cock. There’s a sense of satisfaction in that, in watching my seed drip from her. Because I’ve claimed her pussy. I’ve claimed her ass. She’s mine.
With a sigh of satisfaction, I collapse at her side. I’m spent, truly and completely, a blank slate. As if every ounce of tension, concern, anxiety over every mundane, everyday bullshit has fallen away. There are no accounts to balance, no clientele to satisfy, no palms to grease. Just peace and quiet and stillness; it’s euphoric, and it’s all thanks to Rowan.
It takes a minute for me to come back to my senses, for my breathing to slow down, my thoughts to clear. I’m exhausted down to my bones. The evening’s activities have left me spent—but happily spent.
It doesn’t take long for me to realize I’m the only one who’s happy at the moment. Once the pounding of my heart settles, and I can hear more than the rush of blood in my ears, the sound of broken sobbing makes its way into my consciousness.
I lift my head, rolling to the side toward Rowan. She’s worked her way onto the bed, facing away from me, still bound as I left her. And sobs wrack her body, a gust of emotion that shakes the entire bed. How can something so small be so powerful? For a moment, I’m afraid she’s having a seizure—but when I reach for her, my fingers barely grazing her skin, she jerks away like my touch is fire. So she is conscious, at least.
“Rowan. Look at me.” All she does is shake her head, and her sobbing gets louder. This isn’t put on. This isn’t a show. This is the sound of a woman weeping for all she’s worth, weeping like her heart has been broken.
For a moment, I consider letting her cry herself out, letting her get it out of her system before questioning her again. To try to talk to her right now would be a waste of time, anyway—she’s in no condition.
I can’t just leave her that way, though. Knowing there’s something wrong. “Did I hurt you?”
All that question does is cause her to curl into a ball, bringing her knees up to her chest. I’m starting to become irritated, and she doesn’t want that. “Can you talk to me?” Finally, after receiving nothing in response but fresh tears, I’ve had enough.
