Zeno, uncontrolled.
Zeno, taking me like a brute.
“Naughty girls get their mouths crammed full of cock every time they play games with their masters,” he growled. Those sadistic tendencies of his flared and the hand holding my necklace tightened. I choked even more. “Shh. Shh. We need to train you, baby. You may be my trophy wife, but you still have marital duties to fulfill. Whether it’s getting on your knees to have your throat fucked, or sitting on my face so I can tongue-fuck that hot little cunt, you always do as I say. Understood, Darla?”
I nodded, blinking hard, my throat cruelly stretched by his girthy shaft.
God, I loved it.
“Good girl.” He eased his dick out and I gasped, saliva cascading out of me like a waterfall. Down my chin. Down my neck. “Now relax and breathe for me.”
I did.
Zeno rammed back inside and I cried, digging my claws into his thighs.
Then my beautiful husband face-fucked me in a vicious tempo.
The room spun, filled with my cries, his masculine grunts, and the sloshing sound of his cock pistoning in my mouth.
“Mon Dieu, comme tu es parfaite.” Every balls-deep thrust caused me to cry harder. “And you’re mine. My cock down your throat says it. My ring on your finger says it. And your horny pussy dripping cum over my shoe says it. Don’t you ever forget it.” Zeno’s face twisted ferally as he dangled close to the edge. My throat muscles flexed, raw from his assault. “I’d drain every cent to my name if it meant having you every goddamn night at my mercy.” He pinched my nose, snatching my ability to breathe, and pounded into me like I was nothing but a sex toy to slake his sexual appetite. “And you love it—you love that I own you, Darla.” He groaned raggedly and the sound ricocheted in my core. “Nowthisis how you apologize.”
Zeno’s cock pulsed and cum ribbons shot down my throat.
My body thrummed to his melody and I swallowed as much as I could. Some of his essence dribbled out, but my husband dragged his fingers over my chin and fed me every drop of cum—the same way Hades fed Persephone his pomegranate seeds.
I was boneless, sinking to the ground, overstimulated from the beginning of our tryst, when Zeno grabbed me under my arms and hoisted me onto his lap. He kissed my neck, almost reverently, and I slowly calmed down. “I don’t really want to tame you, Darla. In fact, I like your bratty side. It makes me so fucking hard to dish out your punishment, knowing you’re just as eager for it.”
“A-Am I forgiven?”
“Not yet.” He smirked sardonically, cupping my chin.
My mascara ran down my face and my lipstick was smudged. I must look like a fiend, but my husband gazed at me like I was a goddess. “You’re my queen in front of the world.” He seized the crown from my head and dropped it on the floor recklessly. “But behind closed doors, you’ll always be my pretty little whore, Darla.”
“Yes.” I sighed at the reminder.
And when he tenderly cleaned my face with tissues, my heart suffered another fissure.
His tall body unfolded from the throne and he walked us towards the four-poster bed lined with red silk sheets and sheer drapes, giving the false illusion of paradise on Earth. A place where time wasn’t of the essence, and the only thing that mattered was the pleasure of flesh.
My husband threw me on the bed. I landed on my back and my breasts bounced. His eyes glazed over with a new kind of hunger and he licked his lips.
Zeno propped my heeled foot against his chest and slowly undid the clasp of my stiletto. He repeated the process on my other foot without breaking eye contact and I swore it was one of the sexiest things I’d ever experienced in my life.
When my shoes were discarded on the ground, he stripped the remainder of his clothing and climbed onto the bed with the grace of a feline. The mattress depressed under his six-foot-three frame.
At Chaleur, I’d only caught glimpses of him in the dark room. Now as I drank in his entire beauty, I was entranced.
Zeno Gianni De la Croix was a work of art. A renaissance sculpture filled with secrets and promises, crafted from the finest marble to showcase his splendor. His body was honed with big, taut muscles and his tanned skin—lightly dusted with fine black hair—was marred with battle scars and decorated with tattoos. I roamed my gaze over his left inked sleeve. He had a black raven on his shoulder. It spanned close to his collarbone and perched on a row of skulls spilling down his upper arm and melding into various haunting images on his forearm. Roses, a king card, and the wordsdevotion,honour,andloyaltywere etched in the design. But it was the Italian proverb on his right pec that drew my attention.Senza tentazioni, senza onore. Where there is no temptation, there is no glory, it stated. The gold cross around his neck gleamed like a mockery and it was ironic because my husband was more devil than saint. In our firelit chamber, he appeared larger than life, and I wanted nothing more than to succumb to a realm where a shadowy king ruled and asphodel fields thrived.
Zeno split my thighs—still clad in white stockings—and dined on the sight of my cunt, sticky with arousal and swollen with need. “Deep throating my cock gets you this hot, wife?”
There was no point in lying. “Oui.”
His nostrils flared and he lowered himself to his stomach between my legs, his throat rifling up and down like he couldn’t wait to eat. He inhaled my most intimate flesh, before his tongue flicked out against my slit. I squirmed, accidentally pushing him away. “Zeno!”
“MasterZeno,” he corrected, slapping my pussy.
I moaned and writhed beneath him.