“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes tracing over the curves of my body. Fucker is lucky I’m wearing my black lace set tonight.
He doesn’t fucking deserve it, either.
He leans over me again, his mouth kissing the last bruise he left on my shoulder.
“Do you know what these mean?” he whispers, kissing another spot. I shudder beneath his touch, electricity sprouting from the point of contact and dancing across my skin.
I don’t answer, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“They mean that I own you. Marked you as mine.”
The tip of his tongue darts out, trailing my flesh as he moves down towards my breasts.
“Don’t—”
His teeth pierce the swell of my left breast before I can finish my pointless demand. I gasp, squeezing my eyes shut as he leaves another mark on my skin.
Once he’s satisfied, he renews his path with his mouth, leaving hickeys on both of my tits and several across my stomach. And all I can do is just take it. Because that gun in his hand is keeping me pliant—just like he planned.
When my body is well and abused from his teeth and tongue, he lifts up and forces my thighs open. I strain against him, but it only hurts me in the end. He’s too strong.
His pointer finger curls in the edge of my thong, tracing the lining from the juncture of my thigh, down towards my center. Before he reaches my clit, he pulls the material out and runs his finger up and down the fabric, his finger a mere inch from my pussy.
I want to cover my face because I know he’s feeling my body’s betrayal.
“These are soaked,” he rasps out, his lips still wet from his saliva.
“That’s called discharge,” I snap, hoping my lie turns him off. He smiles in response.
“As much as I hate to say this to you, I’m no stranger to a woman’s pussy and what it feels like when it weeps for me.”
I curl my lip in disgust. “Last time I checked, most girls weep because they’re upset. Take a hint.”
He chuckles. “Little mouse, that’s exactly what I’m doing.” He then pulls my thong to the side, baring my pussy to him, and the arousal glistening from within. He mutters a curse under his breath as his eyes devour every inch of me. Another tremble of my lips has me biting down on the traitorous flesh.
Keeping one finger hooked in my underwear, he points the gun in my face with the other. I recoil, pinching my eyes shut and letting loose a startled yelp.
“Relax, I just want you to suck on it.”
It takes several seconds for his words to process. To process that he didn’t pull the trigger, and I’m not dead. When they do, my eyes snap open, and I glare at him.
“Why the fuc—” He taps the tip of the gun on my mouth, effectively cutting me off. The rest of my words dissipate as he slides the gun across my lips, as if he’s painting them with lipstick.
“Suck,” he orders, his tone deepening with finality. Closing my eyes against more tears, I open my mouth and let him guide the gun between my teeth. I squeeze my lids tighter as I twirl my tongue over the cold metal, cringing from the nasty taste.
“Such a good girl,” he says, pulling the dripping gun out, a trail of saliva following until it snaps.
My entire body locks when I feel the cool metal slide against my clit. I flinch against the foreign touch of an incredibly dangerous weapon.
Pure terror washes over me, and it takes all of my strength to keep from full on sobbing. Holding a gun to my head is far less intimidating than it being held between my legs. A gunshot to the head is instant death, but this? This would be slow and painful. Torturous.
He leans down, close enough for his hot breath to fan across my core. I lift up for a better view just as he looks up at me through long, thick lashes, his mismatched eyes sparkling with delight. Right when I open my mouth to ask what he's doing, he sticks out his tongue, saliva pooling to the tip and dripping off onto my pussy.
"Can never be too wet, can you, little mouse?"
Sitting up, he circles my entrance with the tip of the gun, the metal slipping against my skin.
“Oh my God, please do—” This time, my words are cut off from the feel of him dipping the gun past my folds. Just the tip, but enough to close my throat, only allowing a startled squeak to escape.
He laughs cruelly. “You even sound like a mouse.”
I’d snap at him if I wasn’t frozen solid. I can’t look away. I just watch him push the gun inside me, my rounded eyes barely processing what I’m seeing. What I’m feeling.
Slowly, he works the gun inside me, drawing out both pleasure and pain. I clench my jaw, shuddering from his ministrations but refusing to make a sound. I won’t give him that satisfaction.
He works the weapon halfway in before the gun retreats to the very tip. I’m allowed a moment’s breath before he buries the entire barrel inside me. I suck in a sharp gasp and let my head fall back, no longer having the strength to watch.
This is so, so fucked up. Beyond fucked up.
But when the gun pulls out and sinks back in again, a noise does slip through as a wave of pleasure rocks through me.
“Good girl,” he breathes. “Open wider, baby.” The hand still holding my thong to the side nudges against my thigh. Without thought, my thighs instinctively fall further apart.
Another praise, but I barely hear it over the beating of my heart.
“I can feel how tight your pussy is. The way it grips onto my gun when I slide it out—so fucking pretty.”
I bite my lip, but it isn’t enough to hold in the next moan. Or the one after that. I can hear the suctioning and slurping noises as he fucks me with his gun, and shame fills me in response.
The embarrassment nearly overrides the fear. But neither of them is more potent than the pleasure my body is being forced to succumb to.
When he angles the gun in a particular way, he hits a spot inside me that sends my eyes to the back of my head and an unchecked moan to slip free.
He growls in response, my back arching as he continues to hit that spot. My thong grows impossibly tight, biting into my flesh before it’s ripped away from my body, the sound getting lost in another cry.
The tattered fabric is tossed aside, freeing his hand to grip my thigh in a bruising hold.
My heart jumps when he leans down, but he only clamps his teeth on my inner thigh. I cry out from the sharp bite, but it quickly morphs into pleasure when he hits that spot again.
His mouth sucks and his movements quicken until I feel the beginnings of an orgasm settle low in the pit of my stomach.
“Please,” I beg, but I don’t know what for. He tears his mouth away just to clamp down again, lower this time, but still far away from my center.
Too far away.
“Tell me what you learned, Adeline,” he demands, looking up at me, his mouth wet from his biting. The sight makes my heart drop deep into my belly, right to where the gun is driving into me.
“Not to bite your cheek?” I guess, my voice trembling.
He answers by biting my thigh in a punishing grip. I cry out, the pain blinding. He loosens his jaw, allowing the pain to bleed into pleasure. A primal noise slips out as he pushes the gun deep.
“Are you going to make me ask again?”
I open my mouth, but no answer comes out. My silence allows for me to hear his warning loud and clear. He cocks the gun.
“Okay, okay, fuck,” I relent on a terrified hush. “I-I learned not to let another man touch me.”
Those words bring tears to my eyes. Because saying them out loud makes me feel well and truly trapped by this man.