“Relax, my pretty little pet. I’ll save that for another night.” His hands shift as they part my ass cheeks further, and then his cock shoves forcefully inside my pussy, filling me to my limit once more.
His hands travel over the raw flesh of my ass, and I can still feel where the whip struck me, though his touch is light. His fingers grip the bend of my hips, bracing me as he starts to rock in and out of me, the force of his thrusts growing in intensity every time. Pounding into my pussy, Nicolo fucks me hard, our skin slapping every time we come together as he rocks the bed with each thrust.
The pain is almost as unbearable as the pleasure building inside me as he hammers against some hidden spot of ecstasy deep within my core. Despite how raw and abused my pussy feels, I barrel toward another orgasm, the silk sheets singing my nipples as he pulls me back onto his cock at the same time as he shoves forward with his hips.
I can’t help the scream that tears from my throat, an involuntary release of the overwhelming sensations waging war inside me. Pain and pleasure, shame and earth-shattering relief. My orgasm this time blinds me, sending black dots exploding across my vision as my pulse roars in my ears. Back arching as my muscles tense, I cling to my nylon manacles, trying to find something to keep me rooted in reality as I topple into an abyss of euphoria.
Nicolo groans; his thrusts are growing erratic as my pussy clamps down around him, begging him to push further into me as my traitorous body. Nicolo shoves deep inside me, and I feel his cock pulse as he comes inside my pussy. The sensation intensifies my own orgasm, prolonging the throbbing release as I grip his length, again and again, shuddering with the intensity of my pleasure.
Though I know he’s wearing a condom, through the haze of my unadulterated lust, I think about the last time we had sex and how I got pregnant. Anxiety constricts my throat even as my body continues to shudder with the last of my tingling aftershocks.
Nicolo stills inside me as he comes down from his own release. Then he slides out of me, rolling off the bed in one catlike move. For a split second, I think he might leave me here, tied to the bed to prolong my shame. But he bends over me, the scent of his masculine cologne filling my nose as he loosens the nylon straps binding me to the headboard.
As soon as my hands are free, Nicolo stands to his full height and turns away. I sit up, crossing my ankles and pulling my knees against my chest as I attempt to cover myself now that he’s finished with me. I watch his perfectly muscled body as he strides nonchalantly across the room.
“Be ready for me again tomorrow,” Nicolo commands as he removes his condom, tossing it casually in the trash before he starts to dress again. “I’m not done with you yet.”
He glances over as he shrugs his suit jacket back on, observing my pathetic attempt at modesty as I remain on the bed, and a smile curls the corners of his lips. Pulling a money clip from his pocket, Nicolo counts out a considerable stack of hundred-dollar bills and approaches the bed.
Mortification burns in my cheeks as he tosses the money at my feet.
“Get an IUD or some kind of birth control, so I don’t have to think about it. I don’t want to have to wear condoms every time I fuck you. You can use whatever money is left over to buy yourself some new dance clothes–some that aren’t so grungy.” Nicolo strolls toward the door as he shoves his money clip back into his pocket. Hand on the handle, he turns around to look at me once more. “My driver will take you home when you’re ready,” he adds.
Then he steps out into the hall, leaving me in the room as the door clicks gently closed. Tears spill down my cheeks as soon as I’m alone, and I bury my face in my knees as deep sobs rack my body.
Nicolo has done something worse to me than he did even in high school. I never thought that was possible, but it’s true.
He’s made me his whore.
20
ANYA
As I step through the doors of my first class on Monday, I’m intensely aware of how sore I am from my time with Nicolo this weekend. My body isn’t used to the rough handling, and the space between my thighs aches even as I walk. Anxiety kept me up most of the weekend, too, so my eyes feel puffy, my lids tired as I make my way stiffly to the cubbies in the dance studio to stash my bag and change my shoes.
Stress knots my stomach as I think about Nicolo and how he used me so thoroughly this weekend. I haven’t told a single soul about our deal. I couldn’t look my aunt in the eye if I did–she thinks I’ve found a temporary part-time job–and I don’t want to risk Nicolo hurting my friends by talking to them. Still, the burden of what’s happened makes my limbs heavy, and my breathing feel labored. Forcing Nicolo from my mind despite the constant reminder of him in my sore body, I attempt to put on a more cheerful expression as I straighten from putting on my dance shoes.
Paige, Whitney, and Logan are already stretching when I step onto the black mats to join them, and when I catch sight of myself in the mirrors lining the wall, I realize I look as ragged as I feel. My typically tidy hair has curls already falling loose from my braid, and purple bags color the skin beneath my eyes, making me look gaunt.
“Morning,” I say, turning my attention from the pathetic image to give my friends a weak smile. I sink onto the mats to stretch with them.
Their open, happy expressions shift as soon as I join their circle, and the silence that follows is awkward as their eyes follow me down to the floor. Paige’s eyes narrow, and Logan’s lips purse in unmistakable expressions of contempt.
“Morning,” Whitney says, finally breaking the tension.
I meet her eyes, grateful that she’s willing to talk to me at least. A hint of concern flickers in her gaze. The silence resumes as I stretch my legs, spreading them wide and leaning forward to rest my elbows on the mats in the same way as Whitney.
“How was everyone’s weekend?” I ask in the hopes that we can move past whatever has them upset. I wonder if they spoke to Fin and held me responsible for his broken arm.
I know Fin does. Though he told me he doesn’t blame me for what Nicolo did when I visited Fin in the hospital, he hasn’t returned any of my calls or texts since. I can’t say I blame him. It is my fault, even if I didn’t intend for Fin to suffer the brunt of my punishment. And I can’t let that happen again.
“I went to see Fin this weekend,” Logan says coldly, confirming my suspicions.
“How is he?” I ask tentatively.
“He’s out of the hospital, at least. But he won’t be back to class for a while.”
The resentment in Logan’s eyes cuts like a barb, and I swallow back tears as I nod.