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I loved how obsessed he was with me.
“Please,” I begged him.
Zeno plucked the knife sitting in my thigh holster and sliced my dress down the middle, exposing my flushed skin for his perusal. He guided my tied hands down, silently ordering me to play with myself.
No protests escaped me as my fingers massaged the folds of my femininity, sticky with my husband’s favourite dessert. I brought it to his mouth for a taste, feeding him the same way he fed me. He was so greedy, so selfish, that he dived for more, stuffing two fingers into my pussy. Zeno fucked me until my legs quivered, my stomach dipped, my breasts trembled, and my heels scored the fabric of his sofa.
“Oh, God. Oh,God. Oh, God.”
He clamped a hand over my mouth so Frank didn’t hear me losing it.
My noises grew in volume as Zeno fingered me like a brute, finding my spot and abusing it with his fingers until I came, my muffled scream resounding in time with the music’s crescendo.
I rode the aftershocks of my orgasm and Zeno withdrew his digits, slapping my pussy like a job well done. I listened half-haphazardly to him thanking Frank for doing business.
The call ended.
He thrust his wet fingers into my mouth. “Clean your mess.”
I licked and choked as he shoved those fingers far down my throat with a smug smirk. “Good girl.”
I loved that he didn’t treat me like glass.
Pulling his fingers out, he wiped them down my neck before slapping my left and right breasts in successive swats. I whined and he watched his handprint bloom with a satisfied gleam.
“I need you,” I whispered, heaving. “Please, I can’t take it anymore.”
The gears shifted with my plea and my husband’s restraint snapped.
A rough noise tumbled from his mouth. He yanked open his belt buckle and unfastened his pants until his engorged length sprang free from the confinements of his black briefs. Angry and swollen, he smacked it once, twice, thrice on my mouth, his pearly essence dripping over my red lips like the finishing coat of a shiny gloss. “Succhiarlo, baby. Take my cock in that filthy mouth.”
God, I loved this man.
I turned my face to take him. My tongue licked his tip and roved over the underside of his stunning dick. He cursed and undid the buttons of his dress shirt with frantic fingers.
Jaw relaxed and cheeks hollowed, my head bobbed as I took him deeper, faster. I had mastered the art of fucking my husband with my mouth just the way he liked.
Zeno ripped off his suit jacket and dress shirt, throwing them on the floor with my torn dress. His hands threaded in my hair and he panted, expression dark. His hips shifted and drove himself farther down my throat until I was forced to swallow him whole.
I whimpered, lips stretched around his thickness, blinking up at him coyly.
He face-fucked me for a few seconds with no mercy, while my bound hands played with his balls. “Fuck, there’s nothing like your mouth.Mi fai impazzire.” He moaned throatily. “You like wearing your husband’s cum on this beautiful face, baby?”
“I do,” I gasped when he fisted my hair and slid out of my mouth with apop. “But I need you inside of me right now,mon amour. Don’t hold back. I want all of you.”
“I wanted to fuck you slow tonight while you gazed at the stars, but that’s not going to happen, is it?” he snarled, nabbing my throat and tugging me into an upright position. Tonguing my mouth in a heated, animalistic kiss. “You’re too impatient, too horny. You couldn’t even wait twenty goddamn minutes.” Recklessly, he threw me aside on the sofa like I was a mere doll for his pleasure and stood up, stepping out of his slacks and shoes. “So I’m going to fuck you rough and hard. The only way you deserve.”
Hurt me. Debase me. Ruin me.“I’ll only come crawling to you for more.”
“I know you will,” he purred, towering above me while giving his wet cock a couple of strokes. “You love to lose control and I love to see you snap. Make sure to say your master’s name when you come, Darla.”
Zeno Gianni De la Croix, indestructible in front of the world, a God in his right, but a mere mortal in my hands. His face alone was worthy of a hundred poems, chiseled to perfection like a Michelangelo, and his body was an artist’s dream. Shredded with the kind of bulging muscles that just made you want to sink your teeth into his flesh while he pounded in you savagely. With faded scars and ink splashed over his frame, he was danger wrapped in a perfect red bow.
I loved every smirk that was stitched with playfulness, every raspy word that echoed with eminence, and every kiss that was laced with devotion. Zeno was an acquired taste, and he sat on my palate like a prominent philter, an aphrodisiac that I would consume whole like a gourmand.
He was created solely for me.
“Thank you for my birthday gift, Zeno.”
