“The Lamborghini wasn’t enough romance for you?”
On the verge of spiralling, I still managed to whisper, “Humour me.”
“On our wedding night, I’m going to rip every stitch of clothing off this sexy body,” he rasped. The barrel of the gun feathered over my lips, smearing a bit of my rouge. “You’re going to get on all fours and take my cock righthere.” He gently thrust the barrel past the seam of my mouth and I whimpered, while he clenched my neck tighter. Not enough to cut my air supply, but enough to pound the final nail in the coffin—I was sick for liking this. “Just like you did that night at Chaleur, you’re going to deep throat me like I’m paying you by the hour. My pockets are deep, baby, so I expect you to fuck it like it’s your profession.”
This moment tasted like a cherry martini, smelled like an expensive spicy cologne, and felt like the darkness of a room with a glass floor. His commands doused over my skin with a crackling intensity, lighting me from the inside with pure aliveness.
This was what I was missing my whole life.
This was what all those boys were unable to fulfill.
Degradation.
Praise.
I’d been waiting for a man of Zeno Gianni De la Croix’s calibre to lather my existence with his smoky words, sinful touch, and shameless demeanour.
Zeno moved the gun down to my right breast, circling my nipple. “Then I’m going to suck these until you’re squirming, close to coming with your master’s name on that insolent mouth. Maybe I’ll even fuck your tits if you need extra disciplining.” His shark grin sculpted against my jaw as dark, mischievous eyes met mine in the mirror. “I’ll fuck them so good, you’ll give me a chapter in your book, Darla.”
Heat licked every nerve ending, the knob in my core twisting tighter with each honeyed threat against my flushed skin.
I threaded my fingers at the nape of his neck and whispered, “Go on.”
It was supposed to be gentle, soft. Instead, it came out confident, coquettish.
He journeyed the gun down my torso. “I’ll kiss my way down here. I’m going to bite and suck and not leave one single inch of your skin unmarked.” He teasingly drew the butt of the gun over my crotch. “Then I’m going to lick you here like a starved motherfucker.”
Zeno hooked a hand beneath my right knee and lifted it before settling my heel-strapped foot on the wooden bench against the mirror. The gesture spread me open so suggestively, I blushed.
If he weren’t standing behind me like a pillar, I might have toppled over with the hot tension suffusing the atmosphere.
My future husband’s chin settled in the curve where my shoulder met my neck. The look on his face could only be described as possessive. “I’m so hungry for you. You’ve made me wait so long, you better be prepared to receive the brunt of my fucking, Darla.”
His expression made me feel bold, like a femme fatale. I taunted back, “Bring it. I don’t want gentle. I want you to fuck me like the animal you are,mon amour.”
Zeno jerked.
I jolted and realized my slip too late.
Mon amour.
I called him my love.
And judging by the way he slapped my pussy two more times, he hated it as much as he liked it.
A lot.
Zeno used the gun to tuck my lacy white thong to the side. “Prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen in my life.” My sopping flesh was met with cool air and I moaned when he kissed my neck. “You’ve been this wet the whole time?”
“I usually am when you’re in my vicinity.”
My honesty pleased him as much as it displeased him too. He traced the barrel of the gun over my soaked slit. I huffed, eyes widening in shock. This was so wrong and I loved it. “Zeno…”
Zeno couldn’t strive for indifference. Not when his clenching jaw gave him away. He too was struggling with this intangible pull between us, being yanked by the universe from the second we crossed paths.
Somehow this moment felt like the most blasphemous thing that ever occurred between us. Not our night at Chaleur. Not our afternoon tryst in my bedroom.
Thismoment right here would be debossed in my mind forever.