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“No,” I cry out, shaking my head roughly because there’s no way I’ll survive his mouth on my pussy. My hate will barely survive his big cock in my mouth again. Last time, it took me days to crawl my way back to the status quo.
He pushes my panties lower and lets out another groan. His eyes dilate and he licks his lips, but before he has a chance to touch my clit with his tongue, I quickly drop to my knees. With my hands bound behind me, there’s no way to snatch my skirt up and keep it off the floor, but I don’t care. So what if I get patches of dirt on this pristine dress? Anything is better than going to the altar knowing he’s made me come. He wants me to orgasm on his tongue, he’s told me enough times, but I’ve never let him. There’s no return from a surrender like that.
I gaze up at him, pleading with him to let me, but Marku’s no fool. He knows I’m thwarting him again, and he lets me know by saying, “Bad girls who deny me don’t get to come.”
His dark words almost make my eyes roll back in my head, but hoping that’s a yes, I pitch forward and nuzzle my nose along the hard outline of his cock against the fabric of his tux. Excitement thrums through me like the beat of a drum, pounding louder in my skull with each second that goes by.
He takes a step back, keeping himself just beyond my reach.
Biting my bottom lip, I glance up at him and beg, “Please, Marku.”
“Fuck,” he mutters as he tears open his trousers and pulls out his long, hard cock.
I should be terrified. The last time we did this, I was aroused for weeks. It was all-consuming. I felt like he’d devoured my soul and gotten me hooked on him like a drug. The guy’s got vampire skills like you wouldn’t believe.
But it’s too late. I’ve asked and now I’m going to receive.
He towers over me, looking so exquisitely dangerous and male. The column of his thick throat, with the tat peeking above the collar of his shirt, makes him menacing, Meanwhile, the fire sparking from his dark eyes burns a path over every inch of me.
His jacket is off, and the bulges of his muscles are outlined against the translucent cotton of his shirt. They shimmer darkly beneath the pure white of his shirt. Unlike any other Romanian made man, he has tats all over his body.
Fuck, he’s so damn sexy. I can barely think straight, and with my wrists shackled from behind, my choice has been taken away. Granting me relief from questioning the sanity of what I’m doing here.
So by the time he says, “Now be a good girl and open for me,” I’m impatient to part my lips for the crown of his cock.
He yanks at my neckline, tearing it to expose my breasts. He fondles one, tweaking my nipple harshly, making me twitch in need as he pushes his hips forward, moving past my tongue to my throat. His musky taste suffuses my mouth, the corresponding scent fills my nostrils. He surrounds me everywhere with his taste, his smell, his cock.
“This won’t be like the first time. You’ll swallow the whole of it today,” he commands.
I should be scared because his cock is big, even I know that from the little porn I’ve watched.
I gurgle around it and he grasps my hair, undoing the elaborately made chignon, forcing me to take more. I moan as saliva gathers at the corners of my swollen mouth. This is already way more intense than last time.
I suck in a draught of air through my nostrils as he keeps going and going. Fisting my hair, he forces my head back and plunges deep until the very tip of my nose grazes his abdomen.
Holy shit.
“Such a good girl. Tight throat, tight pussy, and an even tighter ass. One day soon, I’m going to take all three and you’re going to love it.”
A powerful surge of desire whips through me because I am his good girl. Abruptly, tears sprout from the corners of my eyes, marring my perfectly applied mascara. He does this to me every time. Gets under my skin with dark words that breed even darker fantasies. Fantasies I haven’t even put words or images to until he conjures them up like a wicked genie.
“Eyes on me. I want you to watch the moment I come down your throat,” he says, his voice unexpectedly vulnerable.
My eyes snap to his and then he’s thrusting hard into my mouth. I tilt my head back farther, softening my throat even further, and then he comes with a bellow. My mouth is flooded and I’m gulping semen down as fast as he spills it.
It tastes like salt and man and Marku.
He pulls out and swipes a thumb over my bottom lip before bending over and claiming my mouth in a brutal kiss, leaving my swollen lips feel bruised. Breathless, I’m left stunned and disorientated.
“Damn, that wedding lipstick looks so pretty around my cock,” he muses as he tucks himself away.
I caught it, too. Another jolt of arousal. Another flood of my pussy.
Struggling to get up, I stumble to a standing position. Shutting down the pride I feel at my success, at the intimacy of the moment, I lie, “Ugh, you’re disgusting. You force me to do these things and then you have the audacity to gloat about it after. Release my hands already.”
I turn around and wiggle my hands at him to take off the belt. Once I’m free, I rub the marks around my wrist and take in a breath. No one will notice them, not even my mother, considering how rushed this bullshit marriage is. Taking in a bracing breath, I tug my panties up, slap at the skirt of my wedding dress, and fling the door open. Sprinting down the aisle to the priest is my only option to cut off the intensity between us, the tortured rightness of us. Because there is nous, I remind myself. He killed that a long time ago and there is no coming back from what he did.
The priest’s eyes flare in surprise at my appearance. Hairdo ruined, mascara running down my cheeks, lipstick smeared around my lips. I look godawful, from the torn neckline of my wedding dress to the dark smudges at my knees.
