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A few slender fingers seek out their own pleasure. Pumping with abandonment, she groans, “Vic, please put your cock back in my mouth.”
“No.” I snatch her up to eye level with one hand and grab her cheeks. “What sort of bloke do you take me for, Luxury?Why would I bless your impudence?”
With a scoff, I place Luxury on her abdomen across my lap and claim a seat. My open handthwacksher arse. Hissing sharply, she welcomes the painful correction. A lovely peach hue flushes across her tender brown skin. No remorse. I concentrate on a permanent branding—something to leave her with—a marking of sorts. Whimpers fade, and an erotic-soaked sound soon follows. I alternate from the well-deserved thrashing to pressing my tongue over the lips perked between the apex of her thighs.
A smack.
A sensual lick.
A cuff.
Then an invigorated stiff tongue traces the nectar dripping down her thighs.
I’m breathless. She’s ragged. My chest strains. Her back sags.
“You will hold position.” I stop coddling Luxury. It’s all harsh spankings that give rise to more pitiful sobs. When my palm falls on her arse cheek, a current of whimpers carries away her cries. The hot rush of blood beneath her skin warms the inside of my hand. I then brush my fingers over the lasting proof of her arousal. From pain derives great pleasure.
“Alright, Luxury?”
Her breath whispers against my thigh. “Yes.”
“Are you not happy?”
“More than that, Victor. I’m elated when you’re near.”
My lips pull into a smile. “Can you stand?”
“I believe so.”
“Very well then.” I command, “Listen carefully. When I saygo, you will arise. You will not give me any lip. Youwilltouch those cutesy toes of yours. Nod if you understand.”
A quick bob prompts my growl, “Go.”
Luxury struggles to an erect position, planting her feet wide. Slowly her fingertips descend to the floor, capturing sultry red-glossed toes. Clasping her hips, I relish the slick heat of her while diving all the way to the hilt. I’ve venture so deep, her pussy massages my cock with an orgasmic wave.
“Oh, Vic, ohhhh!”
Her body shakes violently beneath my palms as I continue to plow into her. We move to the floor, back to standing, sitting on the bed, and up against the window. With each location is a new position for my cock to torment and possess her body. All night long, a staccato of screams has my Little One’s mind in a blur. While I have grown fond of her muddled, drowsy musings after sex, I cannot relent, not tonight. I cannot leave this enduring creature with anything but a lascivious satisfaction. I’ll fuck Luxury Whitson until she forgets the madness. I must satisfy her because I cannot possibly return her affections.
30
LUXURY
Day Twenty-five
As the sun washed over our bodies this morning, I fell into the same sinful trap as last night. Victor drew me against his naked hardness, and I transcended to heaven. Breasts crushed against a chest that epitomized valor, body embraced between the arms of ecstasy, and lips pressed against dominance, I murmured, “I’m in love with you, Dr. Victor Finch.” I received the same heart-shattering silence he offered last night. The only difference was,A, I should’ve known better, andB, a glint reflected in his eyes, one which clutched my soul like a nightmare.
He would never in a million years return my affection.
Shame on me for the abrupt slipup. I was still wrapped in an explosion of wrought emotions. However, when Victor was washing my hair last night, anyone would’ve said the words too. I know it. The way he sensually touches me, I won’t believe our short-lived relationship wasn’t fostered around affection. I can’t.
After not even knowing him a whole month, I would be a fool to lay my cards on the table. However, Iwasa fool, twice.
From the deepest part of my heart, I’ve fallen head over heels. In my defense, it’s been a pretty intense few weeks. And Victor’s Dr. Jekyll-Mr. Hyde persona—caring, controlling, caring, controlling—hasn’t exactly helped. It was entirely too soon to shed my soul. Nevertheless, matters of the heart do not abide by logic.
Now, I glance out the window as people powerwalk past his car, stalled in traffic. A thick tension has taken over, creating an imaginary barrier. Victor obliterates the barricade, reaching over and taking my hand. I untwine my fingers from his grasp.
“Luxury,” Victor utters in a suggestive, throaty voice.
