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The tip of him presses against my entrance. It feels big and hard and I don’t know if he’ll fit. He rocks in place, coating himself in my wetness as I continue playing with my clit, my breathing getting out of control.
“I’m close to coming,” I say, my fingers still moving.
“Stop touching yourself.”
With all the self control in my entire being, I manage to still my hand, moaning with frustration as he pushes his cock an inch inside me. He rocks gently in place, his hands on my ass, pulling my buttocks apart. I know what he’s doing. He’s staring at my asshole. The sight makes his cock twitch. I like doing that to him, making his breathing change like that. Even his voice is turning deeper, more primal.
“Good girl,” he says. “Now touch yourself again. When you come, I want you to say, I’m coming, Sir.”
I return to my clit as he thrusts all the way into me, burying himself deep in me. The intense connection we have is now all encompassing. How could I ever not want this? How could I ever have doubted this was right?
“Come for me,” he says. “Come for me while I fuck you. Make me want to come inside you. Show me how you look when you come. Do it, Anna. Make yourself come for me. Be my good girl.”
My fingers are frantic on my clit. My breath catches in my throat as he senses I’m on the edge, slamming hard and fast into me.
“Do it,” he says again, his voice a snarl. “Come for me, Anna.”
“Oh God,” I cry out. “I’m coming, Sir.” The words do it, like a command from myself. “I’m coming.”
It builds in my clit and then it hits as he continues to slam into me. This is an orgasm so powerful I almost pass out. I forget how to breath, how to think, how to do anything but feel. The intensity of it brings tears to my eyes. My limbs shake. The only thing holding me in place is his cock. I’m impaled on it as he keeps thrusting for another few seconds.
“Good girl,” he says. “My good wife.” With those words he buries himself all the way in me and I feel his cock twitching. He spurts deep into me, filling me completely.
I’ve been on the pill for years, but he never even asked. I guess he doesn’t care. Why would he?
He thrusts again, more gushing from him and spraying into my pussy. My own climax is still fading, my muscles contracting as I lose grip of the world, sliding down into nothingness.
He grabs me, easing himself from me, turning me around and looking like he’s about to kiss me.
That’s when the phone on his desk barks into life. He reaches across me and picks it up, saying nothing. “I’ll be there shortly,” he says at last before listening again. “Of course.” He puts it down again a few seconds later.
“I need to leave,” he says, sliding his cock back into his pants. “If I don’t return tonight, you are to make yourself dinner. Make sure there are vegetables on your plate.”
“Uh huh,” I say, still in a daze from what just happened.
He leans over and kisses my forehead. “You did good,” he says quietly as I still feel the tingle from where his lips touched me. “See what comes from telling me the truth?”
With that question lingering in the air, he walks out of the study, leaving me with my pants and panties around one ankle, his cum inside me, about to drip down my thighs, and a sense that maybe being married to him might not be so bad after all.
I want to tell myself I had no choice, that he forced me to do that, intimidated me into thinking I had no other option.
It’s not true. I wanted it. I enjoyed it. That’s the part of this I hate the most. I enjoyed it. Makes it hard to accept when I know he kidnapped me and brought me here against my will.
I need to shut down these positive feelings. Let them bed in and they might take hold of me, might make me want to stay here. Which would be the stupidest thing I could possibly do.
I don’t belong here. I don’t belong in this world. I belong with Fleur, digging up bones, and having nothing to do with men like Leonardo Barone.
I enjoyed the things he did to me, even the sting of the crop on my ass, and that tells me something. My world has shrunk to this place – tohim– so it wouldn’t be surprising if I have a serious case of Stockholm Syndrome. Having real feelings for him under these circumstances would be even more insane.
The image of him with someone else crashes through my mind, bringing a wave of nausea with it. I don’t know why I give a shit. It’s not as though this could work out, even if I wanted it to.
13
Anna
He’s gone by the time I emerge from the study. Out the front door like nothing happened. This time he takes the helicopter. That means the boat is still down by the beach.
I think about leaving but I reject the idea at once. Who knows what would happen this time. I might end up in the hands of Giorgio Amato, a man I’ve never met yet who still terrifies me.
