Earlier, I hadn’t really had time to look at him, but the moment he shrugged his shirt open, my fingers stopped working. Staring openly as the sun kissed torso, all I wanted to do right then was run my fingers down every dip and plane of the muscular wall of his chest. Unlike the few boys I had messed around with, there was a light smatter of hair over his pecs that centered down past his belly button, trailing even lower to somewhere much more exciting.
Lord.
No doubt about it.
This was the body of a man.
It was only when my eyes glanced over the reddened bandage at his shoulder, did I feel a short-lived pang of guilt.
Ettore wasn’t having my sudden change of mood. Impatient, he lightly smacked my hands away and reached for his belt, undoing it quickly. Deft fingers lowered his zipper. He separated the flaps of his black dress pants, reached inside, and pulled it out. His thick, angry looking cock sprang free and my lips parted.
My mouth watered at the sight of it. As if he could read my mind, he stroked the crown of my head, taking my hair between his fingers and pulling lightly, causing a yelp to escape me.
Holding a handful of my hair, he pulled hard enough to make my neck crane, exposing my throat and then, he brought his forehead to mine. “You said you were sorry. Did you mean it?”
My expression crumbled. “Yes. I’m sorry.” I was sure I sounded desperate. “I’m so sorry.”
His face darkened. His lip curled. And then, he pressed his parted lips to the apple of my cheek and spoke against it. “Prove it.”
With a stiff yank, I buckled forward over his throbbing cock. I lowered my face until the head of his dick touched my lips. I widened my mouth, sliding it over and sucked.
I found it strange. His skin was hot, but smooth. He tasted clean, but mildly salty.
A small sound of feminine satisfaction escaped me as I quickly became an addict for him, nuzzling into his crotch like a sex-starved nympho.
He hissed in a breath as I began to bob my head, taking in as much of him as I could. His brows lowered and his lips pursed as he watched closely while I desperately sucked his cock in the back of a limo on our disastrous wedding night. On my knees, with my small hand wrapped around the thick length of him, jerking lightly as I tried to take all of it, but gagged until threads of saliva coated his straining, rock-hard dick.
My husband, it would seem, liked that, because as I puffed and panted, desperate to breathe, he rocked his hips, forcing more of him into my throat until I was red-faced, choking on his cock.
I took it. Dare I say, part of me even enjoyed being used in this way. And when he pulled back and I sat there, open mouthed and gasping for air, he pulled me up on shaking legs, reached under my dress and yanked down my panties before having me settle in across his lap. My knees on either sides of his thighs, there was no time for modesty when he lifted my skirt and found my weeping pussy. Taking his cock in hand, he swiped the head of him through my wet folds and when he was satisfied that I was as ready as he was, he lined us up and took my hips in his large hands. I settled one hand on his stomach and the other on his uninjured shoulder. Then, as the tip of his dick kissed my needy hole, he looked me dead in the eye and muttered, “You’re going to have to beg harder than that.” He pulled me down as he threw his hips upwards.
He filled me until I felt stretched in a way I had never felt before and I cried out in shock, gasping loudly, collapsing into him and bringing my forehead to his. And then, he fucked me. His hips pumped relentlessly and all I could do was whine like a bitch in heat and hold on for the ride.
He was angry, I could tell. He needed this, and I gave it to him as reparation.
A hand reached under my skirt. Roughly, he grabbed the place where ass met hip and squeezed hard enough to make me wince. The obscene sound of sex, of wet squelching and skin slapping skin echoed throughout the small space and when I closed my eyes, a light slap to my cheek startled me.
His eyes bore into mine. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Don’t you fucking close your eyes. I won’t let you pretend I’m somebody else. I want you to see it all. See me. Watch what I’m doing to you. Hate me for it.”
My pussy fluttered then throbbed. Ettore Scala fucked me like a whore in a back alley behind a bar, and I loved it.
His wild eyes bore into mine as his hips slammed against me in the crudest way.
Slap. “You really,”Slap, “should have,”Slap, “killed me,topolina.”Slap, slap, slap.
Oh God. That was so hot. What was wrong with me?
The rougher he got, the better it felt. My head swam.
His gravelly voice cut through this fever dream. “You belong to me, Vittoria. I own you now. I can do whatever I want to you and nobody will care. You know what that means, don’t you?” He paused for dramatic effect, and I hate to say it, but it might have worked when I heard him say the stony words. “You’re fucked.”
Ettore pressed a rough kiss to my mouth, taking his teeth and biting into my lip. Holding it there as he pistoned crudely up into my delicate body. Weak bodied, I pushed at his chest and groaned, craving the something that was brewing.
He laughed darkly, pulling down on my hips until the base of his dick met my sore, brutalized pussy. My lips parted and my expression became faraway. I was stretched wide, full of him. And then he squeezed my hips between his large hands and began to pushed back and forth, dragging me over his lap, and I was forced to grind on him.
I moaned loudly, “Oh God.”
“Shhh,” he lifted a hand, running his fingers down my cheek. “No, baby. Don’t do that. Don’t pray now. Do you really want Him to see you like this?” His fingers gripped my chin and held me still as he punished me with another cruel and devastating kiss. “Taking it hard like a good little slut?”