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He wants me even if he thinks he can’t have me permanently. He’s been warring with himself this whole time, telling me what he wants, knowing it’s not gonna happen because he won’t allow it.
“I’m here,” I say, peering up at him through my lashes. “And I know what you do. I’m not that unattainable.”
His lips begin to form a smile before they droop into a frown. He shakes his head. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
“Don’t think about that. Just do something to me,” I say with a grin.
Vicente’s hand goes to my neck, curling around the base of my skull, his fingers threading through my thick locks.
“You’re going to end up hating me,” he says, attempting to scare me off.
“Let me deal with that,” I say, inching up on my tiptoes. “But if you want to disrespect me in the bedroom, then you’re going to have to respect me out of it.”
He leans down, his lips a hair's breadth from mine. “What if I want to disrespect you in this kitchen?”
“You can do that,” I reply. “If you kiss me.”
His lips land on mine in a brutal kiss, his tongue plundering my mouth and robbing me of my breath. If I thought I was needy and curious to know what he tastes like, he must’ve been downright desperate and at the end of his rope. He kisses me like he’s been fighting doing it since we met—like he hasn’t kissed anyone in years. He’s rough, grabbing me and holding my body tightly against his as he growls and groans into my mouth. His tongue explores mine before he sucks my bottom lip between his teeth.
I cling to him like if I let go I’ll plummet to my death, forgetting that I’m only ever close to death when I’m around him. He’s a murderer. He has murderous enemies. I put myself at risk falling for him, but I can’t help it.
“On your knees,” he says with a rasp.
I drop down, my heels touching the cabinets behind me. He undoes his pants, pulling his cock out through the slit in his boxers before he steps forward and plunges into my waiting mouth.
Even with his hands gripping my hair, he fucks my mouth with such vigor that the back my of head bangs against the cabinet door.
“That’s it. You’re so pretty taking my cock. Look up at me.”
I lift my gaze to his face as his hips continue to rock. He puts a hand at the back of my head, forcing me to take him even deeper. My nose brushes the neatly trimmed hair around his cock, and I gag.
“Good girl. You like when I fuck your mouth, don’t you?”
I murmur around him, attempting to agree. I bring my hand to his shaft, stroking it while licking and sucking his crown. His fingers reach down and brush over the VM on my wrist, perfectly placed for him to read them clearly from his POV.
I realize he did this for both of us, and something about that makes my stomach clench and my pussy throb with desire.
I’m all about being a feminist. I love being a woman. I love other women. I want nothing but the best for us and think we deserve the world. We should one-hundred percent be treated as equals. But, in the bedroom, there’s something about being completely used and dominated by a powerful man. I want to relinquish all control. I want to be treated like I’m only there for his pleasure. Because that’s how I get my own.
When the sex is over, I can go back to equal footing, but while it’s happening, I prefer to be on my knees.
Vicente steps back and puts his cock away. I wipe the spit from around my mouth, but I stay on my knees even though the floor is causing them pain, and I wait for his next command.
He reaches for the forgotten tie before beginning to create a knot. “Get undressed.”
I stand long enough to remove my clothes, and when he gives me a look with an arched brow, I get back to my knees.
He crouches in front of me, slipping the tie around my neck and tightening it. He tugs the material to the side, holding onto the end.
“Crawl.”
I hesitate briefly. Making me crawl is definitely a dehumanizing tactic. Animals crawl. Babies who are incapable of taking care of themselves crawl. Grown women don’t. Unless, of course, they’re being told to by a man who knows this is probably a deep, dark desire regardless of how difficult it may be to admit.
I place my hands on the floor and begin to crawl. He walks me around the island in the kitchen, and I can’t help but wonder how I look to him.
He drops the material and moves out of sight, standing behind me.
“Crawl to the living room.”
