“Push back, Chloe. Take my cock.” His voice is soft, but rough and full of that natural command that makes him so hard to resist.
He’s not even going to do me the favor of letting me pretend this is against my will. He’s going to make me push back, fuck myself on him. He’s going to make absolutely certain that I have no recourse—and I’m already doing as he says. My inner walls begin to spread, their hot wet grip tight around his thick cock. He is big. My hips slide back slowly, pushing my pussy onto him. I hear myself whimper as I submit to this moment, to this sexual charge that has driven me utterly lust drunk.
It’s slow. I don’t know who I am torturing more, myself or him. Every extra inch brings with it a sense of fullness and completion, a stretching tightness that tries to battle against the invading force that I am responsible for inviting in.
“Yess…” I hear him hiss in triumph a moment before he growls, grips my hips, and pushes the rest of the way in.
My scream echoes around the room as he starts to fuck me with rough, savage strokes. He fucks me like he knows me. I have no idea who he is, but there’s something about the way he draws me down on his cock that is utterly personal.
He bounces me on his dick, his thick rod throbbing inside me, making my tight pussy spread wide. He pins me down and fucks me like he means it. My toes curl, my knees tremble. An orgasmic quivering starts to move through me, starting where his cock plunges in and out of me, spreading to every part of my body, my extremities tingling.
I come, screaming at the top of my lungs. My orgasm is ripped from me with every rough thrust of his cock, my pleasure coming at his command, his every touch an inexorable order. I have never been taken like this before. Men have been rough with me, but it has never had this effect. I feel as though I am intoxicated as climax renders me soft and pliable around his rampant erection.
“That’s it. Good little toy,” he praises, dragging me back further off the desk so he can fuck me even more deeply. His dick pushes all the way inside me, stretching me to the very limits of my capacity. “You take your fucking really nicely, Chloe.”
His praise makes me glow, though I don’t know why. I should hate him—I do hate him. Don’t I?
Yes. Of course I fucking do. It’s just shock and grief and impending orgasm that lets me think any differently. I haven’t felt good in literally any way since my father died. Food has been tasteless. My usually active sex drive has been nil. I have been a shadow of myself, barely existing in the world. But this man just forced me back into life.
And he’s still fucking me.
He takes me with those brutal strokes, stirring my wet sex to another climax and then another. Orgasm becomes a rippling continuum taking place at the urging of his cock and fingers that wrap around my hip and find my clit, strumming that little bud with ruthless intensity until I shake and shout at the top of my lungs, sounding more animal than human.
I can hear his grunts and his growls. I know he’s close. Is he going to come inside me? The thought sparks another one of those mini-climaxes that race through my exhausted nervous system, just as he pulls out, drops me down to my knees, fists his hand in my hair and tilts my head back so his cum can splash over my face, hot thick ropes of masculine-scented seed claiming my skin.
“Oh, fuck!” I splutter, turning my head away, but it is too late. I am soaked in cum.
He lets out a dark, breathless chuckle and pulls me up to my feet.
“Come on,” he says. “Time to go.”
I am marched naked through what used to be my home, but doesn’t feel like it anymore, all the way up to the roof where a helicopter stands waiting. It’s not one of mine. It is jet black and the golden logo emblazoned across the doors and nose is a stylized lion. Suddenly, my brain starts working again. I don’t recognize the man holding me, but I sure as hell recognize that brand.
“You work for Darko Lijander?”
That name has been on everyone’s lips for months. A billionaire out of Eastern Europe, there are rumors flying about how he made his money in poor war-torn nations. He has been the subject of many, many conversations, but the man himself never made an appearance at any of our functions, or any of those I’ve attended.
My captor’s lips quirk. “Something like that. Get in.”