A Vow So Soulless, page 25
A shuddering sigh escapes me. His skin is blissfully cool, kissed by the winter air outside. No hint of returning fever.
“What is it?” I ask again, because he’s still holding me in a way that makes me feel like something’s wrong.
“Nothing,” he bites out after a long pause. “Just learned some shit today I wish I hadn’t.”
Before I can ask him more about that, I hear Doctor Morelli addressing Elio in Italian from behind me.
“I’m good,” Elio replies in English. “It was good to get out there. Stretch my legs a little. Already feel even better than I did this morning.”
“Good,” I say, yanking myself out of his arms. “Now that I know you’re alright, I can be mad at you.”
Elio’s brows rise, an expression of dark amusement shaping his mouth.
“Oh?”
“Yes! Why did you tell Doctor Morelli I can’t go on birth control?”
His brows fly even higher before crashing down.
“I don’t recall specifically telling him that,” he says with a frown.
“He said he needs to get your permission before he can give it to me!”
“Yes,” Elio says, slowly, as if explaining something to a child. “Everything that happens to you happens by my say-so, Songbird. And Doctor Morelli reports to me, not to you.”
My hands curl into fists at my side, as if I can punch some good sense into this man.
“So, what?” I hiss through gritted teeth. “If something happened to me and you weren’t here, what then? What if I was on the brink of death? He wouldn’t be allowed to even give me a fucking bandage without calling you first? He’d just let me bleed out on the floor, then?”
A look so black and thunderous contorts Elio’s face that, for the first time in a long time, I feel a frisson of fear when I look at him.
“Do not,” he bites out, “even fucking joke about that, Deirdre.”
“Who says that I’m joking?”
Doctor Morelli, clever guy that he is, makes himself suddenly scarce as Elio locks his uninjured hand around my wrist. Elio starts walking, dragging me along with him. “We’ll talk about this somewhere else.”
I expect him to try to pull me up the stairs, but he doesn’t. It’s as if the bedrooms are too far away and he wants to hash this out right here, right now. Fine by me. He opens the door to his office, shoves me inside, then slams the door behind us.
I stumble, then spin around to face him, already sucking in a huge breath to tell him off. But that breath stutters right out of me when Elio wraps his fingers around my throat and slams his mouth to mine.
Surprise, anger, and desire all melt together until I can’t tell them apart. Elio’s mouth is hot and urgent on mine, and there’s no way I can remain closed to him. My lips part under the onslaught, and he doesn’t hesitate even for a moment before shoving his tongue inside. Claiming.
His hand slides down from my throat to my waist, and before I can react I’m being turned towards the desk. The cool leather of Elio’s hand finds the back of my neck, exerting a gentle warning of pressure.
“Bend over.”
“No,” I seethe. But even as I say it, even as furious as I am, there’s terrible, wanton warmth blooming between my legs. I try to buck out of his grip, but he’s right behind me, his massive body caging me in against the desk. The wood chews into my hipbones and something else hard grinds against my ass. I gasp and moan, then slam my treacherous mouth shut.
“Watch yourself, Songbird,” Elio murmurs against the sensitive skin of my ear. “Just because I only have one good hand doesn’t mean that I can’t punish you exactly the way you need right now. Now bend the fuck over or I will make you.”
His fingers massage the base of my skull, exerting tender tension that I know can turn hard and brutal any moment.
He can make me bend over. He can make me do anything he wants to.
Even make me care about him. And that’s the most damning part.
Breathing heavily but trying to hide it, I hinge at the hips until my breasts and belly are mashed against the smooth wood of the desk. Needing something to hold onto, I grip the far edge of the desk, my knuckles white with pressure.
“Fuck. Love seeing you wear that ring,” Elio groans as he tugs my leggings and panties down to my knees. I raise my eyes, chin hitting wood, to see the sparkle of it against my curled fist. I’m suddenly reminded of my second night with Elio, when he took me to the gala and made me wear a literal collar of diamonds. This is a type of collar too. An even more permanent and meaningful one.
One that, ultimately, I have chosen.
My whole body jolts with painfully needy awareness when the smooth, naked tip of Elio’s cock slides against my pussy.
“You’re already wet,” he breathes heavily from behind me. I hold my breath, scrunching my eyes shut in shameful anticipation. I don’t even mean to, but I rise up on the balls of my feet, already trying to angle myself for him to enter me.
“Oh, Songbird,” Elio coos darkly, swirling his tip against me, soaking himself with my wetness. “I’ve been neglecting this pretty, greedy little pussy, haven’t I?” Gloveless fingers reach beneath his cock and between my legs from behind, circling my clit until I’m shaking.
“Tell me,” he says, his voice going hard and rough, “did you want me while I was stuck in bed? Did you pet this sweet little pussy while imagining my cock sliding into you?”
I can’t hold my breath anymore. It whooshes out of me, shaped sloppily around the word no.
Elio’s hand instantly withdraws from my clit and I want to fucking scream.
It returns to me, though, in the form of a crisp slap against my ass.
“Don’t lie to me.”
I hate that he even knows I’m lying now. Because I did, I fucking did touch myself, angling myself away from the camera in the bathroom while I showered. Or sometimes even right beside him while he slept.
“Tell me what you did.”
When I don’t answer immediately, another slap rings out and makes my flesh jump. He’s never spanked me without his leather glove on. It feels different, oddly intimate, and makes every nerve buzz with stinging arousal.
He follows that up with one more crisp smack, then rubs my throbbing skin.
“Tell. Me.”
“I… touched myself,” I choke out, not feeling an ounce of relief with the admission, only horror and shame. Elio doesn’t seem horrified, though. I can literally feel his cock jerk against my pussy at my words, and his breath hitches.
“Where?” he demands.
“You know where!” I cry. “Between my legs, where else?”
That earns me a quick, smart slap to the ass. Tears fill my eyes, but not because I’m sad or scared. And it isn’t even just a physical response to the shock of the spanking, either. It’s like something inside me is breaking down. Some lever of control starting to crack and falter. I’ve been so scared with Elio sick in bed. So worried about maintaining control of the rapidly deteriorating situation. Giving it up now, submitting to Elio who’s so strong and healthy and fucking alive, feels like the darkest sort of salvation.
“Did you touch yourself here?” His hand skims from my smarting ass to my clit, thrumming a quick, demanding rhythm that has me convinced I’m already about to come. “Or here?” He slides his fingers back and dips two of them into my quivering pussy.
“Yes,” I whisper shakily. I’m gripping the desk so hard it hurts. My nipples ache against the wood. My hips are arching back towards him, seeking more than just his fingers.
He curses softly, withdrawing his hand until I whimper.
“If I hadn’t been fucked up in bed for so long,” he says raggedly, “if I hadn’t been lying there for two fucking weeks wanting you, I would make you wait a little longer. Spank you until you were falling apart and fucking begging for it. But as it is…”
My heart stutters and slams when he suddenly pushes his hard cock into me. A nudge at first, and then a dizzyingly powerful thrust that sends him deep inside.
He never finishes his sentence from before. He just makes a gruff sound.
Meanwhile, I don’t make a single sound at all. I’m too overwhelmed by him. There’s no bright, bloody pain like the first two times he was inside me. But there’s an incredible, searing stretch as he seats himself fully that steals every breath out of my lungs.
Everything inside me tightens around his shaft, like no matter what my brain thinks about it, my body wants to hold onto him, to draw him even deeper somehow. Not that I think that’s physically possible at this point. This angle is new, and I feel him in places I didn’t even know he could reach.
I don’t realize I’ve started holding my breath again until Elio grabs my braid, wraps it around his fist, and yanks my head back, forcing me to draw a quaking breath.
“None of that now,” he chides. He gives another firm tug on my hair, pulling until I’m lifting off of the desk, bending my spine towards him. My fingers uncurl from the far edge of the desk as I move, my hands sliding towards my hips before planting themselves flat.
“You don’t stop breathing,” Elio adds with a grinding thrust, “unless I tell you to.”
He releases my hair, but before I can slump forward his palm slams into place at the front of my throat. His fingers dig into the side of my neck, his thumb pressing possessively into the pulse-point beneath my jaw. At the same moment, he draws his cock all the way out and then slams mercilessly back in.
Scars and skin. Blood and heat. All I’m aware of is him. Inside my body. Around my throat. Going harder, harder, until stars spark in front of my eyes and pleasure coils in my pelvis. My breathing is reduced to a reedy whistle, dizzying, disastrous. My head feels oddly light, like it could float upwards, but ultimately can’t, because my whole body is anchored by the possessive plunge of Elio’s cock.
The room ahead blurs. I can’t tell if it’s from tears or reduced oxygen. I let them slide closed, and when I do, every sensation in my body moves down, down to the place Elio is rutting so deep inside. The powerful pulses of his hips send my clit bumping against the wooden edge of the desk. I can’t make a sound like this, with that leather cage of fingers at my throat.
In silence I stagger and fall apart. My insides go taut as my mind unspools. Elio groans, giving a throb inside, before loosening his grip on my throat. Oxygen rushes in, flooding my brain until I’m flung over the edge of another orgasm that instantly follows the first. My eyes flare wildly open, my fingers curl and claw at the desk. Elio doesn’t give me a moment of reprieve. He maintains a vicious rhythm, his breathing tight.
“Merda,” he bites out. “I’ve been waiting to feel this needy pussy come all over my cock again.”
I moan, feeling my throat vibrate beneath the solidness of his yet-lingering hand. And then, like I’ve just been dragged from a dream and thrust into the harsh light of day, I flinch and gasp.
He’s not wearing a condom. And we haven’t sorted out the birth control situation, either.
I try to pull away from him but there’s nowhere to go. The solid wood desk is before me, Elio behind.
“Don’t…” I pant raggedly, panic clawing at me. “Don’t come.”
Elio’s thrusting hitches slightly, losing its tempo, before resuming with even more intensity. His fingers twitch at my throat, then move away, returning to my body with a breathtaking smack on my ass. Now that he’s not holding me up, I collapse forward onto my elbows, bent over for him at a lurid near-90-degree angle. It’s the perfect position for him to spank me again, which he does. Waves of prickling fire undulate across my skin, moving inward, inward, until it feels like he’s slapped my clit.
“You don’t tell me when to come,” he growls, giving me another tight smack. “I tell you when to come.” Another collision of his hand on my ass. Another pathetic mewl ripping itself from my throat. “And I want you to do it right-” smack “fucking-” smack “now.”
I have to disobey. I have to. I’ve given so much to him that I can at least resist this. Can’t I?
The answer comes to me with a quaking in my core. Elio is hitting some deep, delicious, terrible place inside me that makes me feel like I might come or pee or maybe both at the same time. There’s no stopping this riptide of pulsating pleasure, so intense and raw that it almost borders on pain.
“I said now, Songbird.”
The quaking inside ceases, and I clamp down on Elio so hard that I can tell he’s affected by it. By me.
He slams forward and gives a broken-sounding groan, his hand seizing on my hip to draw me even closer to him, even though my raw, red ass is already right up against his groin. Anxiety spikes, fear that he’s going to lose control and come, or maybe come inside me just because he wants to, to send me a message, remind me who I belong to. But that quiver of distress only sends my arousal shamefully higher. Every nerve inside me is splayed and screaming for him, and I hate, I hate, that a part of me wants him not to pull out.
But he does, so suddenly that I jerk with the shock of it, almost like I’ve been hit.
And the emptiness he leaves behind feels just like a bruise.
Chapter 30
Elio
The amount of control it takes to pull out of Deirdre’s sweet, pulsing little pussy should earn me the title of a fucking god among men. I wrench my cock out of her, staggering backwards until my legs hit my office chair and I fall heavily into it. My pants are tangled around my ankles, and I kick them off and to the side with a grunt.
Leaning back, I grip the arm of the chair with my unsplinted hand, chest heaving, cock wet and twitching, and I stare at Deirdre’s perfect, reddened ass. She’s still bent over, nearly boneless, her legs shaking, her pussy glistening. Fuck me, from this angle I can literally see the aftershocks of her orgasm drawing the muscles around her cunt tight, over and over again, like the throb of a heartbeat.
“How does it feel to squeeze around nothing?” I groan. “How does it feel to keep coming like that, without my cock inside you?” I take my shaft in a stiff grip. I’m not sure if I want to stroke it and give into the battering need to come, or if I want to clench my fist around it and gain back some semblance of control.
“I…” she stammers between heavy breaths, “I feel so… empty.”
I just about come on the fucking spot.
I hiss through clenched teeth, squeezing myself so hard it hurts and scrunching up my face.
She needs me. She feels empty without me.
I can find another way to fill her.
“Get over here,” I grit out, cracking my eyes open to make sure that she obeys.
And she does, but so fucking slowly I want to grab her by the fucking hair again. It’s as if her muscles aren’t working quite right in the aftermath. She gets her hands under her on the desk, pushing upwards until most of her weight is on her wobbly legs, before she haltingly turns around.
There isn’t a lot of space between us. My chair wasn’t that far away from the desk. But the distance yawns like a fucking chasm, because she isn’t with me yet and if I can’t touch her then even one single step is a step too fucking far.
“Closer,” I rasp. I use my splinted hand to gesture to the place on the floor between my feet. “On your knees.”
She hesitates, that beautiful, damning, arousing disobedience flashing in her big blue eyes.
“Deirdre,” I warn, my voice lowering dangerously, “I am going to come inside you. And if it’s not inside your cunt then it will be inside your mouth or your ass. Your choice. Now fucking make it.”
At my words she shivers so hard I see it happen from here. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and I’m this fucking close to shoving her down on that desk again and burying myself in the pulsing paradise of her pussy.
Look. I shot my own father in the fucking head. That doesn’t exactly make a man keen on producing his own spawn. I doubt that I’m prime papà material and until today I haven’t even thought about bringing a baby into this equation. But the thought of coming inside the wet, fertile channel of Deirdre’s body, seeing her get all big and swollen with my baby in her belly, makes me burn so hot with lust that it’s like there’s fire in my veins, fire that won’t ebb or cool or let me go until I literally fuck it out of me.
Cristo Santo. Fuck.
I’ve literally never felt like this before. So mindless with electric need that I’m prepared to throw all reason out the fucking window. Hell, I haven’t even shot my load in another woman without a condom in more than ten goddamn years.
But everything’s different with Deirdre. Everything.
Including me.
Dio help me, I’m going to take her by the throat, then shove until she’s flat on her fucking back on my desk, splayed entirely open for me.
And then I’m going to rut her like a fucking animal in heat.
My legs tense, preparing for me to rise up out of the chair.
But at that exact moment, Deirdre makes her choice and steps forward. The soft press of her hands on my thighs as she lowers herself to her knees is all it fucking takes to freeze me there.
She kneels between my legs, and it’s a beautiful fucking sight. Her wide gaze moves from the iron-hard rod of my cock to my face and then back down.
“I don’t…”
Jesus fucking fuck. I can feel her breath on my damp skin as she speaks.
“I don’t know what to… I’ve never done this before,” she admits. I ease my fingers away from my cock and grasp her chin firmly, my thumb pressing against her lower lip.
“Open your mouth.”
She swallows, her throat bobbing, and for a second I lose myself imagining what that mouth, that throat, are going to feel like from the inside.
