by J, Bella
Saint snarled and grabbed my chin, digging his fingers into my flesh. “You tempt me too much, woman,” he gritted out, and my heart kicked into high gear, my chest rising and falling rapidly with every breath. “Your fight, your defiance, it turns me the fuck on.”
Flashes of last night bombarded my thoughts. His touch. His words. The release. It was all there as if it happened a second ago, yet my body hungered for it as if a millennium had passed since then. It was wrong for me to want that again. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it, about how good it felt to be defenseless and unable to stop him forcing pleasure into my body.
I didn’t attempt to jerk free from his grasp, and he continued to stare down at me. My lips parted, and a rumble ripped from his chest a split-second before he crashed his lips to mine with such force my feet faltered, but his arm was around my waist the same instant his tongue darted into my mouth.
Growling, he kissed me as if he was an addict and I was his last fix, the last he’d ever experience. His tongue was ruthless as it assaulted my mouth, his kiss chaotic and frenzied.
I moaned and tried to claw at his neck, but he only kissed me harder, his tongue slipping in deeper. As if someone had lit a match inside my core, flames erupted, and my clawing hands turned into a desperate embrace as I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer. The sound of our lips smacking resounded around us as we fought to devour each other. There was nothing delicate or sensual about the way we kissed. It was primal instincts and feral hunger that fueled us. We were all hands, and lips, and desperate tongues, our bodies ravaged for one another.
Saint let go of my chin and pulled me up. Without a single moment of hesitation, my legs wrapped around his waist, my mind void of everything other than the need that tightened my core with anticipation.
He carried me across the room, and I couldn’t get myself to try to stop him. I didn’t want to stop him. I was the prey that willingly offered its throat to be slaughtered, not caring that its body would be drained of blood. Of life. Because right now, at the cruel hand of the devil, I had never felt more alive.
I was still lost in his kiss when he let go and dropped me onto the bed, my back hitting the mattress.
“Turn around.”
“Wh—”
“I said,” he grabbed my ankles and effortlessly forced me onto my stomach, “turn the fuck around.”
“What are you doing?”
“Showing you how it’s done. How to really mark someone.”
I tried to scramble up the bed, but his hands were on my hips and under my dress as he yanked my panties down. He grabbed my ankles and forced me from the top of the bed.
He jerked my legs apart and spread my thighs wide. Something cold bit into my skin, and I twisted so I could glance back, only to see a chain around my ankle, tied to the post of the bed, glinting with evil intent. Suddenly, I no longer felt so self-assured as to what it was I wanted—what my body wanted.
“Saint, I don’t like this.” I tried to kick and pull my leg free, but he merely tightened the chain. “Stop, please.”
He grabbed my other ankle and forced it toward the other post, but I managed to jerk it free from his grasp.
“You’re only making this more fun for me by fighting, Mila.”
“Stop!” I yelled. I screamed, but his strong hand wrapped around my ankle once more. This time, I couldn’t free it.
“Scream again, and I’ll shove your panties down your goddamn throat so deep you’ll suffocate.”
Chains bit into my skin, and I pushed myself up on my hands and knees when I heard the rip of a belt as he pulled it from around his waist.
“Saint, please.” The first lash struck, and I cried out, the skin on my thighs seared with the painful bite of leather.
“Lay back down, or I’ll only strike harder.”
“Please.”
I heard the belt cut through air, followed by a merciless crack as it slashed against my flesh. This time, it brought tears to my eyes, the burn spreading down my legs. I bit my tongue to stop the scream from tearing up my throat.
“Lay back down, Mila. I won’t ask again.”
The pain was so intense, as if he had lit a match on my skin—burning with a raging fire. Unable to keep myself up, I sagged back down, my stomach flat against the bed. I clenched my jaw, biting back tears and willing the pain to dissipate.
“Good girl.”
I took rapid breaths, and sweat beaded behind my neck. His heavy footsteps were almost as loud as my heartbeat, and I heard him circle the bed. Starting at my ankle, he traced his fingers across my skin with slow strokes, as if he tried to make the moment last. He stroked the burning flesh on my thigh. “I knew it would look beautiful. Your skin blushing for me.”
I swallowed.
“I thought about it on the plane when I had your tit in my hand, your cheeks flushed the prettiest pink. After that, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”
“You’re sick.”
“Am I?” He dipped his hand between my legs, and I couldn’t stop the moan that fell from my lips. “If I’m sick,” he dipped a finger through my slit, “and your pussy is this wet, what does that make you?”
I bit my lip and shut my eyes. “A masochist.”
A groan rumbled from his chest. “God, I love that word.”
He kept his finger between my sensitive folds, and I clawed at the silk sheets when I heard the sound of his pants zipper.
“Did it feel good when you fucked my finger last night?”
I refused to answer, refused to play his sick game.
He pulled his hands from between my legs, and I heard the slice of leather as it struck my naked ass. I gasped and whimpered, but it wasn’t nearly as painful as the whips against my thighs.
“Tell me,” he ordered, his voice nothing but pure conviction. “Did it. Feel. Good?”
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t answer him because the truth felt wrong. It tipped the scales from what was normal to something that was completely fucked-up.
He clutched my hair as he jerked my head up. “Answer me.”
My pressed lips denied him the reply he seemed to desperately want.
He let go of my hair, and my cheek fell against the sheet. “You shouldn’t test me.”
His belt struck my ass twice in quick succession. The pain was excruciating, and I tasted my own blood as I bit into my tongue, struggling to keep the screams from twisting through my insides.
I inhaled deeply and hoped air in my lungs would settle the pain some.
“Think about it, Mila. Think about how your cunt sucked my finger inside you, how your body took control.”
I shook my head and refused to let his words remind me what it felt like—the confusion of finding pleasure in something I thought I didn’t want.
There was a swoosh of air, a strike of leather, and the agony of marred skin that burned all the way to achy bones.
He leaned down, his lips hovering above the side of my face. “I can do this for hours,” he said softly. “The more your skin burns for me, the harder my cock gets.” He brushed his palm across my ass, his touch stinging as if needles had pricked my skin.
I closed my eyes when he straightened, still biting my tongue, anticipating the next blow. But instead, he dragged the cruel leather up between my legs, over my ass.
“I’m going to ask you one more time. How did it feel when you came around my finger?”
Every muscle in my body was pulled taut, and the more he brushed the belt over my skin, the more I convinced myself I wouldn’t be able to take any more. I couldn’t.
“Good,” I whispered with a trembling voice.
“Louder.”
I clutched the sheets tighter. “It felt…good.”
“Louder!” His belt came down hard and fast, a harsh punishment that had me arching my back.
“Good!” I screamed. “It felt good.”
“There. Was that so fucking hard?”
Humiliation once
again crept across my cheeks, burning hotter than the seared flesh of my ass.
I heard the distinct sound of the belt buckle clatter as he dropped it on the ground. A whimper rushed from my lips when he cupped me between my legs, finger massaging my clit with leisurely strokes. Pleasure started to seep through the pain, desire extinguishing the burn on my flesh only to ignite it in my belly.
“See? Your cunt likes my touch.” His soft lips found my punished skin, and I shivered when he dragged his tongue all along my ass, down the side of my thigh.
Round and round, he teased a finger around my clit and awoke an array of lecherous cravings I never thought I’d have. My inhibitions oxidized with every expert stroke of his fingers, pain and pleasure fused together, pushing my body higher and higher.
I had no control over it. Like last night, my body took over, and I started to squirm on top of the covers, desperate and aching.
The mattress dipped, and his naked thighs brushed against mine as he moved in between my legs. I no longer felt the heat of my burning flesh, or the pain of his belt, but rather an all-consuming ache for release of the tension that threatened to snap my body in half. I didn’t know what was happening or why I cared about a goddamn orgasm when he just whipped me as if I was nothing more than a petulant child. All I knew was I wanted more. I didn’t just want my skin to burn; I wanted my body to turn into nothing but ash.
He palmed my ass, gripping the flesh between his fingers, spreading my pussy wide. My nails tore through the sheets when I felt his breath against my heat, the warm air brushing against my sensitive sex.
“Where’s that fight of yours now, Mila?” He shifted deeper between my legs until I could no longer spread them any wider. “Did it die so quickly? So fucking easily?”
“Screw you,” I whispered, but he heard me loud and clear, and I jerked when his cruel hand came down hard on my ass. But it was nowhere near as painful as his belt.
“Is that any way to speak to your husband?”
I glanced over my shoulder. “Is this any way to treat your wife?”
“If she deserves it.”
“I only did as you told me. Showed them I desired you as a wife should desire her husband. And now you punish me for it?”
“Don’t bullshit me. It was a fucking pissing contest for you.”
“And what do you call this?” I swallowed. “Is this not your way of showing me control? Of showing me that you own me?”
“This is me showing you not to fuck with me, and to never forget who or what I am.”
“A monster?”
He lifted himself on his knees, and I let out a rush of air when he dragged the tip of his cock up and down the slit of my ass. “I’m the monster your pussy weeps for, segreto.”
He nudged at my entrance with his cock, and my body primed to take him. It ached to be stretched and filled, like an itch in desperate need to be scratched. It was starting to fuck with my head, my mind a mess of thoughts that made no sense. I couldn’t think straight while he held his cock between my legs, and I waited for the moment he would thrust into me. But he didn’t. He just kept teasing me, slipping his dick up and down my wet slit.
I pushed down, an involuntary move of a body about to break in half if it didn’t find release from the throbbing ache.
“Look at that.” He sounded amused. “First you fight me, and now you want my cock?”
“That’s where this is leading, anyway, isn’t it? You fucking me.”
He shifted, and his cock was gone, and this time I wanted to scream even more than when he whipped me.
Saint got onto the bed in front of me, on his knees, his length erect and girth swollen. He took my chin in his hand, forcing me to look up at him. Dark pupils and iced irises were heavy with lechery, malignant desires swirling within the slate circles. “Even though the idea of feeling your cunt around my cock is very tempting, I think this dirty little mouth of yours needs to get fucked first.”
There was no warning as he plunged his cock past the barrier of my lips and into my mouth. He gave me no time to adjust, no time to prepare as he fisted my hair at the back of my head, forcing me to take every inch of him all the way to the back of my throat. I gagged, my eyes teared up, and spit lapped out of my mouth. I tried to push him away, but he let go of my hair, grabbed my wrists, and pinned them down on either side of him.
“If you don’t want to throw up, stop gagging and start sucking.” He withdrew and lunged back in, reaching the back of my throat. I had no choice but to lap my tongue along his length. My cheeks hollowed, and I tried to slack my jaw to better accommodate him. But he was too hard, too rough, as he continued to thrust. His taste invaded my mouth, filling every corner and caressing every taste bud. As vile as the act was, his taste was the exact opposite, and it settled in my core with blazing heat. I lapped my tongue and brushed the tip against the head of his cock before dragging it along the ridges of his girth.
A groan ripped from his chest, a low, guttural growl echoing from his throat. The sound had me squirming once again, the silk sheets soft against my aching sex. The longer he stayed in my mouth, the harder I tried to rock my body against the mattress.
Saint let go of my wrist and grabbed my hair. “You want to see what it’s like to really mark someone, Mila?”
He wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock and pumped with the rhythm of my mouth. “This is how you mark someone.” He came, hard and heavy, ribbons of his release bursting into my mouth, and I was forced to swallow. An act I always thought of as disgusting and degrading now suddenly had me rocking my body and flexing my hips in search of my own release. It was torture to taste his pleasure on my tongue while the need throbbed between my legs.
Saint moaned out loud and sucked air through his teeth, slipping his dick into my mouth a few more times, making sure I milked every last drop of his orgasm. He pulled out and sat back, spit dangling down my chin. “God, such a sight you are with my cum in your mouth.”
He leaned forward and placed a kiss on my forehead. “Are you aching for me?”
“Yes.” I breathed. There was no use denying it. I wasn’t strong enough to fight it anymore.
“Do you want to come for me?”
I nodded, and my eyes rolled closed.
“Put your hands behind your back,” he whispered, and I willing obeyed.
Saint got up, and I sagged into the mattress as he tied my wrists with his belt, too exhausted and sore to object. All I cared about was finding relief. All I wanted was to be pushed over the edge.
He tightened the belt. The leather bit into my skin, and he leaned over me, his lips hovering above my cheek. “I’ll make you come. But first I want you to lie here and think about all the times you defied me, fought me, disrespected me,” he bit out with clenched teeth, “and then I want you to decide whether it was really worth it.”
No. No. No.
“Saint, what are you doing?”
I tugged at the restraints, and he straightened, a glint of malicious intent in his eye. “I had to tie your arms and make sure you don’t finish it yourself.” He shot me a sly grin. “Behave while I’m gone.”
“Saint, please.”
He pulled on his pants and winked at me before he walked out and closed the door behind him. I called after him, screamed his name, but he ignored me like I was nothing.
I squirmed. I wiggled. I flexed my hips out of desperation for release. But I couldn’t. My body needed more—so much more than a mere silk fucking sheet.
Spent, and tired, every taut muscle about to snap and break, I buried my face into the mattress. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry again. I vowed to never let him take another tear, but I couldn’t stop it. The pain was too much…so I cried.
20
Saint
I poured myself a glass of bourbon and snapped my fingers toward one of the crew to remove Anete’s lipstick-stained cocktail glass. After that morning, I was a hundred and ten percent sure Mario would never make the mist
ake of having Anete—or anyone else, for that matter—accompany him to one of our meetings without my permission. I gave him more than just a piece of my mind and reminded him how crucial discretion was whenever it came to my business. Without my generous paycheck every month, Mario wouldn’t even have a bucket to piss in.
Anete wasn’t worth labeling as a complication, but the way Mila acted, doing a complete one-eighty and kissing me as if I was the air she needed—now, that was a complication. And one I couldn’t afford.
I could taste the desperation on her tongue, feel her desire linger on her heated lips. Within the span of five seconds, it was strong enough to fucking drive me insane, my dick all but ready to rip from my goddamn pants. It took the last shred of my self-control to not fuck her right there and then in front of Mario and his slut of a daughter. And that was what pissed me off—the fact that Mila’s kiss, her little act of jealousy, was powerful enough to make me lose my grip in front of others. And for that, she needed to be taught a lesson. She needed to understand if she so much as looked at me in a way that would make me want to lose control, she’d have to carry the consequences. As a man, losing control meant weakness. As a Russo, weakness meant defeat. Especially now while I was so close to getting what I wanted.
I swallowed a mouthful of bourbon and felt far from satiated. Even though I just came down Mila’s throat, my cock still throbbed to feel her walls close in around me. And knowing she was in my bedroom, bound and aching for me, was driving me insane. Not even the sting of alcohol could calm the simmering blood in my veins.