I open and taste myself on his fingers, circling it as my body jolts from the aftershocks from my orgasm.
“Calm, Isa. Learn to control yourself, control your needs. Embrace what the fuck it feels like to be fucked, get fucked, and do the fucking. ‘Cuz in here, baby, there are no. Limits.” I want to blurt out how no limits is what turned me into a murderer, but I get the feeling right now isn’t the time to be sassy.
I swallow, the taste of my arousal now clinging to the back of my throat.
“Understood?” he demands my answer.
“Yes, understood.”
“Good,” he answers, his weight pressing down on me. Unlatching the handcuffs from their links, he presses the head of his cock to my entrance. “Leave the blindfold on until I say.” He sinks into me, my pussy stretching to accommodate him as he circles and thrusts against me. Pulling out, he then dives back into me with a hiss escaping between his teeth. His hand flies up to my throat and clamps down on it so tightly, I will definitely pass out if he doesn’t loosen it. Like my own personal collar.
“Holy shit.” I let out a throaty groan, my head digging into the mattress from his weight pounding into me. He continues to ride my body expertly.
“You like that, baby. What do you want?”
“What?” I ask breathlessly, locked in my own world of pleasure.
“Tell me what you want, Isa, use your words.”
“No, I can’t use shit right now.” What am I? A toddler.
He stops. His weight suddenly disappearing off of me causing the rude as fuck air to invade the space between our bodies.
“What are you doing!” I yell, reaching for the blindfold and ripping it off.
Bryant’s shoulders straighten, his jaw clenches and his eyes remain dead as though they’re peering straight through me. “I said use your words, Isa. Now…” he begins, walking back toward the bedside dresser slowly. He pulls it open and takes out a riding crop, the thick leather belts on either the end running over his olive skin as each muscle on his body flexes with fluid movements. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll hit you once. Don’t tell me what you want?” He grins, coming back toward the bed where I’m now crawling up like a scared little kitten. He takes hold of my ankles and drags me back down the bed until they’re hanging off and my face is directly under his. Stepping between my legs, he places each fist on either side of my head and tilts his head. “You’ll get two.”
“Two?” Shit.
He nods, a dark smirk displaying across his face. “Yeah, babe, because either way, I’m getting your ass red tonight.” It’s as though he loves to inflict pain, like he almost needs to inflict pain to get off. It’s hot, to a point. That point not being until I’m bleeding out on a bed, half fucked and half cut open, a dead man lying on top of me with a knife slit in his throat.
“I want…” I search for the right words. “I want you, inside me.” Bryant flips me over until my stomach is pressing into the mattress.
“Not good enough, Isa. You can do better than that.” With a loud slap, he belts down on my ass cheek and I screech out in pain, the shards of the sting pricking over the point of impact.
“Fuck!” I exclaim. “That hurts.”
“Try again, Isa.”
“I want your fucking tongue inside me until I come all over your face.” I slam my mouth closed when I realize what I’ve said.
“Much fucking better.” Gripping my hip bones, he yanks me up onto all fours, presses my head down into the mattress with his other hand and I feel the scruff of his beard brush over the flesh of my inner thighs. I pause, watching, waiting, until something or anything comes. His mouth covers my pussy from behind, his tongue flicking over my clit before dragging down, and in one push, it slips inside of me, circling my walls and hitting a spot deep inside perfectly.
“Yes,” I groan, grinding against his mouth. His fingers come up to my ass until he’s pressing one inside roughly, pushing it deeper until his tongue is fucking me and his finger is smashing my ass. My orgasm tips over the edge from all the sensations that are engulfing me. He pulls back once I come down from my second orgasm and sinks back inside me, grabbing a fistful of my hair and tugging on it roughly until I feel the strands of my hair being torn out of their sockets. He slams into me relentlessly, as if he hates me and wants to kill me by shattering my cervix fucking open. His grip doesn’t let up and I arch my back, feeling yet another orgasm build inside of me. A loud slap stings my left ass check as he continues to, pound into me. “Don’t come.”
“What!” I yell out through ragged breaths.
His cock pulses inside of me, throbbing against my walls and I collapse onto the bed like a starfish laying on my stomach. “Holy shit,” I groan into the silk sheets, my body starting to pound with pain. With heavy eyes and sleep threatening to surface, Bryant flops down beside me and tosses the sheet over both of us. I don’t move to accommodate him. I’m not moving for anyone.
He clears his throat. “I hate that I can’t really blame you.”
Before I can question what he means, I fall asleep.
7
“What do you mean you’re getting married?” Devon scoffs, following me around my room as I begin to gather all of my belongings. After leaving Bryant’s place this morning, he told me to go home and pack a bag. I don’t know what he expects me to do to be honest because those who know me know that I would never just pack up my life over a male.
“Yes, I am.” I ignore his pleading stare and walk across the room and into the closet where I start taking clothes off the hooks.
“How the fuck can that happen?” Do I just tell him? He is my best friend. I’ve never hidden anything from him in my entire life. But if I tell him, I’d have to tell him the whole story—including me being a murderer. I’m not ready for my best friend to look at me as a murderer. I pause, clutching my bathrobe in my hand. I need to tell him something, though, or he won’t believe me otherwise. Devon knows me. He knows that there’s no way in hell I’d ever be on board to marry anyone let alone some hotshot I met after one night.
“Fuck.” My hands falling in defeat before I turn to face him, my eyes coming to his worried ones. “You cannot say anything, Devon. This is serious and it involves a lot of people. Do you understand?”
“Goddammit, Isa!” He growls, walking toward me, every muscle on his chest flinching with his movements. He comes nose to nose with me, reaching up and clutching my face with his hands. Searching my eyes, he whispers, “I fucking love you, Isa. Tell me what’s going on.”
I exhale. “My dad, he, he sort of has to do with this. I’m… I owe him, and in order for me to get out of this rut he has put me in, I must marry Bryant Royal.”
“—What rut? And—hold the fuck up!” He pauses, his face stilling and his hands dropping from my face. “Bryant Saint?” He looks back down at me, his eyes searching mine, waiting for me to answer.
“Yes…”
“No!” He shakes his head, stepping backward and tugging on his hair. “No, fuck that, Isa!”
“Fuck… what?” I reply, confused while matching his retreating steps. Dropping my robe to the ground, I slowly make my way toward him. “What does ‘fuck that’
mean?”
He drops down onto the bed, his hair still dripping wet from his shower, then he stares off blankly in front of himself. “Nothing.”
“Right, okay, well now that you know, can you stop asking me questions?” I raise my eyebrows, about to throw out a sassy joke about how hot Bryant is when I see Devon’s distressed stare. “Earth to Devon?” I wave my hand in front of him, but he still doesn’t flinch.