AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She speaks as if she doesn’t quite believe me, as if she thinks I’m one of those men who bet high, hoping nobody will find out they’re holding losing cards.
She speaks as if she’s anything more than a broken, needy slut in the back of my limo.
“I wonder who failed to show you love as a little girl,” I muse, finger inching higher between her thighs, finding the smooth silk of her panties. The fabric is satisfyingly hot and sodden—more satisfying still is the spark that flares and dies in her eyes when she hears my words. “Your mother or your father?”
The corner of her mouth tilts in a half-smile. The movement sends a fresh droplet of blood blossoming over her bruised lip.
“Free therapy and a fuck?” she replies in a husky tone. “Must be my lucky night.”
Her eyes are locked onto mine with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. A warning shiver, sent by the same instinct that would tell me to lunge back to avoid an opponent’s strike on the piste.
“You’re not here to be fixed, remember?” I speak with the gentleness of a doctor preparing the surgical knife. “You’re here to be ruined.”
Her half-smile stretches. “Try.”
4
Black Vortex
Luca
“Take off the wings,”I command Sasha, settling myself into an armchair once we get to her hotel room. “The dress, too.” I wave careless fingers in her direction. “Keep the boots and gloves.”
She obeys me without hesitation. First, unbuckling the wings, then unzipping the tiny dress. She lets them all drop to her feet like red pools of lava.
Underneath, she’s wearing a delicate lingerie set of red lace; it holds no interest to me. No article of clothing, no matter how revealing, could ever whip my excitement as much as a tight collar or a necklace of bruises.
Besides, the gossamer lace lingerie is far less interesting than its wearer. Sasha doesn’t seem shy or nervous. Her body is pretty without being exceptional. She’s of medium build, slim, moremuscular than I imagined. She has a smattering of tattoos. Her breasts are small, so is her waist. She has the body of a dancer but not the fragility.
“Get on your knees.”
She lets out a little huff of mocking laughter, as though she expected me to say that. It sends a flare of irritation through me. Irritation is a sign of weakness, a symptom of the sickness of letting someone get under your skin. I take a deep breath, steeling myself as she drops to her knees in the centre of the blue carpet.
“What now?” she says, leaning forward on her hands so that she’s on all fours, back arched. “Shall I bark like a cute little dog? Coo like a sexy baby? What’s your kink,Luca?”
She throws my name at my face like an insult, like adare. I lick my lips and sit back in my chair, one arm hanging off the armrest, keeping my eyes on her without letting any emotion ripple across my expression.
“Crawl to me. Not like a dog or a baby. Crawl like the needy, desperate slut you are.”
“Yes…” She speaks in a half-sigh, half-hiss. She crawls forward to me, slowly, sensually, back arching, eyes raised pleadingly to me like a pornstar working for her faceful of cum. “Yes, I’m your desperate slut. I’m a disgusting, dirty little whore, and I need to be punished. Isn’t that what you want to do? Punish me?”
No, I don’t want to punish her. That would be too easy, too obvious.
What I want to do is erase the half-smile from her bloodied lips, extinguish the glitter out of her eyes, suffocate the arrogance out of her voice. I want to make sure she only ever speaks my name again in fear and regret. I want to crush her like the dark, exotic flower she is, crush her in my hand and watch the limp petals of her fall at my feet for me to carelessly tread on my way out.
“Closer,” I command her in a murmur. “Come closer.”
She crawls all the way to me in that slow, seductive undulation. She stops right in front of me, kneeling at my feet, eyes lifted up to me.
“Open your mouth.”
She does so—she’s ever so obedient in her actions, and yet her eyes tell the truth of her nature. There’s no warmth there, no interest. She doesn’t seem fascinated by me—she doesn’t even seem excited. She seemsamused. All that desire and seduction is just a game she’s playing.
One she’s not likely to win.
Keeping my gloves on, I slide my leather-covered fingers in her mouth. She doesn’t seem to mind that I’ve not removed my glove. Maybe she knows about my hatred for germs and bacteria—maybe she’s read about it in the same tabloids she got the rest of her information from.
She keeps her eyes on me as I push my fingers deeper into her mouth. She doesn’t try to suck them; she doesn’t move a fraction. Obedient as a piece of well-programmed machinery, she waits on her knees with her mouth open. When I push my fingers knuckle-deep into her throat, her body convulses, and her eyes glimmer with welling tears.
