“Step out.”
I do.
“Legs wider. And down on your elbows.”
“Damian—”
He puts one hand between my shoulder blades and pushes me down using his knee to wedge my legs wider.
My breathing is coming in short gasps. I can’t make sense of the upheaval inside me, my belly, my core. Heat and panic and want. I’m turned on. I’m so fucking turned on.
His hands are on my hips then and I look up. I hadn’t paid attention to the mirror behind the bed, but I see us. I see him, tall and dominant. And I see me, naked and bent over and submitting to him.
His.
Just like he said I was.
He meets my gaze in the reflection at the same time as he cups my ass with both hands.
I lick my lips in anticipation, tensing when he pulls my cheeks apart. He holds my gaze for too long before dragging his down to look at me and I know he sees all of me and why the fuck am I so aroused? Why do I feel wetness trickle down the inside of my thigh?
God. Does he see it, too?
I try to close my legs but he makes a tsk sound and I stop. And if I wasn’t sure if he saw my arousal, I am when he traces his fingers up along the line of my thigh and makes a moaning sound from somewhere inside his chest.
A wet finger comes to rest on my asshole and it takes me a full minute to register the unexpected sensation. The knowledge of where he’s touching me.
I try to squeeze my cheeks tight and when I move to straighten he presses his hand between my shoulder blades once again and pushes me back down.
“Did you hear me tell you to get up?” he asks, not moving his hand.
“Damian—”
“Did you hear me give you permission to rise?”
He presses a finger against my asshole and I’m aroused and humiliated at once.
“Cristina?” he draws my name out, taking his hand from my back because I’m not moving. “Answer me.”
I shake my head. “No.” My voice sounds so small.
“Correct.” He leans over me. “You’ll stay down while I decide your punishment,” he says, his breath on the back of my neck making me shudder.
He straightens, rubs his finger over my asshole, presses his erection against my hip.
“I should fuck you in the ass. Put you in your place.”
I whimper as he pushes his finger against me.
“You have a big mouth. And you do need to be put in your place.”
He circles the tight ring and I can’t reconcile what I should be feeling with what I am feeling. But when he penetrates, my entire body tenses, my hands fisting, eyes wide in panic as he moves his finger inside me, in and out, deeper and deeper.
“Please, Damian.”
Once he’s finger is fully inside me, he holds it there for what feels like an eternity.
“Please what? Please fuck you?” He leans over me again. “Let me tell you something, sweetheart. My dick in your ass will feel very different than my finger does,” he whispers.
I swallow hard. “Da—”
“But there are better ways,” he says, and I know exactly what he means when he draws his finger out, slips his palm down to my pussy and rubs and I moan because I’m wet. So wet.
He leans down over me to close his mouth over the curve of my neck and bites.
I gasp. The sensation of pain and arousal and fuck, him dominating me, kissing me, mouth wet and hot, teeth sharp, hard cock pressing against me, fingers working my clit, I want him. I hate myself for it, but I want him.
“Stop,” I say weakly. I turn my head a little when he draws his face back inches from mine.
“You don’t want me to stop. Don’t you know I see it?” He licks the shell of my ear. “Smell it? You want me to fuck you, Cristina. You want my cock inside you. You want my cum inside you.”
I close my eyes, whimpering as he rubs my clit and I’m close. So close. I bite my lip and arch my back to press my ass into him because he’s right.
He groans against my neck and what he’s doing feels good. It feels so good.
“Do you want me to make you come, sweetheart?”
His watch is hard and cold against my belly while his fingers work me into a frenzy. I moan because yes, god yes, I want him to make me come.
“Say it.”
When I don’t, he takes my clit between two fingers and squeezes, and I fist my hands and shut my eyes. I’m seconds away from coming, and I don’t even care.
“Say it,” he hisses.
“Yes! God. Yes.” I don’t say it. I scream it. “Make me come! Please!”
And as soon as the words are out, he chuckles and pulls his hand away.