Mansions

by Whitney Bianca

  Believe me, I've looked.

  My body sags beneath him as the pleasure ebbs and the pain comes back in a rush, like a fist punching me in the back of the head. As I'm falling, I feel his body stiffen against me. He thrusts one last, devastating time. He pulls out before he comes, and I feel his release shoot across my back. Then he leans over me and I moan pitifully as he jerks and rolls his hips against me. My tingling clit is stimulated with every movement he makes, winding my battered body up again. He stills on top of me, but doesn't enter me again. Instead he bites down on my earlobe, waking me up out of my stupor.

  “I'm never letting you go,” he whispers. I can feel something wet dripping down my shoulder and trickling down my arm and I wonder if I'm bleeding. I can feel his come drying on my back. I feel more sticky wetness where we're joined and a shiver runs up my spine.

  He's a nasty motherfucker, nastier than I ever gave him credit for.

  But so am I.

  *****

  I disentangle myself from the woman who just made all my dreams come true, anxious to see what I've done to her. My bite mark on her shoulder still oozes and her blood and my come is smeared on my chest. I run my fingers through the mess and bring it to my lips. I want her taste on my tongue as I look. I hinge my hips upward and prop myself up on my elbows. I'm treated to a beautiful sight as I look down at myself. Sure enough, bright red is painted all over her soft flesh and my dick.

  I should be disgusted. I should be horrified.

  But I feel warmth spreading through my ribs and a smile curling over my lips.

  She belongs to me. I know it now more than ever.

  Not able to resist, I dip my cock back into her for another taste. Her body is more open to me now and it eases my entry, but I still shove into her roughly. She jerks against me, her body tightening against my intrusion.

  “I can't,” she moans and her words send a spike of lust through me. “I can't take it.”

  “Yes you can,” I say, dragging my teeth across her shoulder again. “You can take more.”

  “Dorian,” she whispers raggedly and her tone sends a rush of blood through my brain. I brush her hair off of her cheek and brush my lips across her temple. “Untie me,” she says, her voice still little more than a breath.

  “Not yet, ma petite,” I respond, then thrust into her again. I take a deep breath, breathing in her pain like a man possessed. I can smell the iron from her blood, as well as the sweet smell of her arousal and the salty smell of my come. This is everything I wanted. Everything I've been waiting for. I snake my hand down her body, finding her pussy. She's wet and my fingers slide easily inside of her.

  “I can't.” She writhes against me but I don't give a shit. I finger-fuck her and tease her clit as I roll my hips against her ass. “Untie me,” she growls, the pleasure bringing her back to life.

  “No,” I say, smiling as I hold myself still. I don't thrust in and out of her like I want to. I just wait. The more I tease her, the more she clenches around me. I can feel my fingers pumping inside of her. I slip another finger in and she makes a strangled sound. “You feel how hard you make me?”

  “Fuck,” she gasps but I don't stop. “It's too much.” I chuckle at her fierceness, knowing that another climax is within my grasp. I want her to choke my cock with her orgasm again. The feeling was heavenly. She struggles against her bindings again as I torture her, even though she knows it's useless.

  “You feel every inch of me buried in you?” I grip her hair again, turning her face my way. Her eyes are closed and sweat drips from the tip of her nose. “You feel how big I am?”

  “Yes,” she says, her voice strong and pleading.

  “It feels pretty magnificent, wouldn't you say?” I can't resist teasing her and she slits open her eyes but she doesn't look at me. I dart my tongue out and catch the sweat that runs down her face.

  “Dorian Armstrong, I hate you,” she declares in a hissed whisper and then her whole body trembles and her eyelids flutter. Her second orgasm takes us both by surprise and we both moan in tandem. She tries to pull away from me but I don't stop working her clit as I fuck her, slow and wet, until I come again as well.

  Second orgasms are always sweeter than the first.

  I roll over onto my back and close my eyes, the feeling as close to a drug-induced high as I've ever experienced. Drugs have never been my interest; sex is. It makes me happy, I don't know how else to describe it. This is how we were meant to be. Fucking. Bleeding. Screaming. Red hot. After awhile ,I push myself up and off the bed. Standing, I find my pants and pull them on. I smooth my hand over my hair, which is still wet from the shower and the sweat. I feel her eyes on me as I grab my shirt off the floor.

  “What are you doing?” she asks. I ignore her and put my cellphone to my ear. It rings twice and then the other line picks up.

  “Come to her room,” I say and then hang up unceremoniously. I drop the phone on the table and I sit in the leather wing-back chair facing her. I wince as the fabric of my pants rubs against my sensitive cock. I have no idea when I'll be ready to fuck her again, but I'm definitely looking forward to it.

  “Untie me, Dorian,” she says, her voice level but her amber eyes flashing with anger. A low knock rings through the room and she jumps. The head nurse opens the door and freezes on the threshold. The younger, strawberry blond nurse stops behind her.

  “Tend to her.” I lean back in the chair, as cool and as calm as can be, like I didn't just fuck Adrienne half to death.

  “God save her,” the head nurse says in Ukrainian. I barely know the language, but I can glean that much.

  “God can't save her from me,” I say and the nurse looks at me like I'm a monster. And I am.

  “What have you done to her?” she says accusingly as she reaches Adrienne's side. The little strawberry blond moves alongside her, keeping her eyes on Adrienne. She doesn't look at me, not once. Adrienne closes her eyes and presses her face against her arm. She knows what they see. They think she's been misused and brutalized. What they think isn't so far from the truth.

  Adrienne's ashamed. I'm not. That's the difference between us.

  The head nurse frees Adrienne, tossing my tie onto the pillow. Adrienne flattens herself to the mattress like she wishes she could disappear, but angles her face so that one eye stares at me over her arm. The nurses bustle around her, examining her and cleaning her up. Adrienne blinks as they touch her, but doesn't move or make a sound. I light a cigarette, basking in my afterglow. I run my eyes up and down her prone body, still in awe of her.

  I still can't believe she's mine. It's like a dream.

  “She needs rest. She is weak. Her blood is thin, that is why she bleeds so much,” the head nurse declares when all the blood is wiped away, her face hard.

  “Does she need stitches?” I ask.

  “No. But she needs time to heal.” Her eyes accuse me from across the room, like she thinks I'll fuck Adrienne's abused ass again tonight, like I have no self control. Again, she's not so far off, but I don't want to permanently damage Adrienne. I want to hurt her, but I don't want to ruin her completely.

  She's too perfect to ruin.

  “Get out,” I say.

  “She needs pain medication,” the nurse says, lifting a vial of morphine and plunging a needle into it. Adrienne's eye widens and I nod, getting the message loud and clear.

  “No. No more morphine.” I shake my head, taking a long drag from my cigarette.

  “The lady has very bad pain,” the head nurse says, furrowing her brow.

  “No more morphine,” I repeat.

  “You hire me to take care of her. Let me do my job.” She's angry now and I stand. I glare at her and to her credit, she doesn't back down right away.

  “Now you want to do your fucking job?” I say lazily, blowing out a cloud of smoke. Her face reddens. “If I see another vial of morphine in this room...” I trail off, letting my silence speak the rest. She narrows her watery gray eyes, but doesn't reply. “Lea
ve us,” I say, not able to resist touching Adrienne. I prop my cigarette between my lips and close the gap between us. The strawberry blond nurse takes a step back from the bed, but the tough broad beside her doesn't back down. She pulls the sheet over Adrienne, as if that's going to shield her from me. I run my hand down Adrienne's shoulder to her back and she lets out a little sigh, like she likes that I touch her.

  “She needs rest,” the head nurse repeats. I raise my eyes to hers and give her a cold stare. Luckily for her, she gets the message. She purses her lips and bustles out of the room. The little strawberry blond mouse follows her silently.

  “You,” I say as she's about to close the door. “Breakfast tomorrow at 7:00 a.m. Not a minute later.” She nods furtively and finally makes her escape. She closes the door behind her, none too softly. I take another long drag on the cigarette, dropping my gaze back to Adrienne. I brush my knuckles across the ridge of her shoulder blade. She stares up at me silently as I trace the round burn at the center of her back again. I take the cigarette from my mouth, rolling it in my fingers. Then I hold it out for her.

  A peace offering.

  She lifts her hand and takes it. She shifts her hips with a pained wince, turning over onto her side slowly as she takes a long drag. I undo my pants and let them drop to the floor.

  “I quit,” she murmurs, a tendril of smoke escaping her nose.

  “Me, too,” I say as I slide into bed next to her. I make a mental note to have the sheets changed tomorrow, but for now, I'm fine with laying in our filth. I want to smell like her when I wake up in the morning. I want to see her blood on my skin. She holds out the cigarette for me and I take the last drag and then drop it in the cold tea still sitting on the tray beside the bed. She rolls onto her stomach, turning her face away from me.

  “No more morphine,” she says, her voice already thick with fatigue.

  “How bad is it?” I ask, leaning over to press the tip of my nose to her back. “The pain?”

  “It's good,” she mumbles. “It's quiet.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I awake to agony. I grit my teeth to keep from screaming, hoping it will pass. The room is dark, but I can feel his body beside mine. I can hear his heartbeat in the still air. My stomach cramps and I curl up in the fetal position. Unfortunately, moving only makes the pain more intense. I can't stop moving though. I can't be still. I curl and uncurl my body and my head throbs and my vision goes blurry. I try to focus on his heartbeat and the rhythm of his breathing, but it's lost in the white electric buzz of the pain.

  When his hand presses against my back, I jump as if burned. He wraps his big body around mine and all of my nerve endings crackle with the electricity. I press my face into the down pillow to muffle my scream.

  “Roll over,” he says in my ear, his smooth, deep voice giving me an anchor. He pulls me back from the brink and I let him guide me over onto my back. I squeeze my eyes shut as a sharp pain cuts through my guts. My lower half crackles with pain. The lack of morphine is like a special form of torture. I moan angrily, tossing my head to the side on the pillow, trying to find a cool spot. “Shh,” he murmurs. He drops his hands to my thighs, slowly kneading the tight muscles. I lift my arms and find his face in the low light. I drag my fingers over his cheekbones, finding stubble there. The prickly stubble distracts and excites me. I want to see him not perfect. I want to see him raw and unclean. I continue my exploration, running my hands through his hair. I pull on the strands, letting them drop down onto his forehead. He lets out a low growl and rolls his head in my hands, letting my fingers explore all of him.

  His cheekbones are sharp and his skin is warm. I drop my thumb to his bottom lip and trace the soft skin there. He opens his mouth and I dip my finger inside, running the pad of my thumb over the line of his straight teeth. He bites down on my fingertip and a sharp thrill runs straight down the center of me. His hands roam as well. His drags them up my hips to the dip of my waist, tracing the parts of me that are still intact. I hiss when his fingers brush the bottoms of my breasts. My nipples pinch immediately, begging for his attention without my permission. I want his mouth on me, I realize. I want the pleasure of his hot, wet mouth to mingle with the pain that throbs through me.

  I know that pain is nothing but a reaction of the tangle of nerves under my skin. Maybe someday, I'll learn to be a master of pain and only feel it when I want to. Maybe I'll be able to harness the power of agony and use it for my own gain. Use it to make the pleasure purer and cleaner and more powerful.

  I want to be clean and pure and powerful. With all of my heart.

  I've had men ever since I lost my virginity at fifteen. I had them because they wanted me and I wanted a release, an escape. I rarely wanted them. But Dorian Armstrong is not like the others. He's like no one I've ever met. Like he can read my mind, he drops his face to my left breast. As his big hands knead the soft weight of my tits, he brushes his lips and then his nose across my sensitive nipple. Teasing me. Taunting me.

  He slides between my legs and I grit my teeth as I adjust myself under his warm weight. I wait for the pain to subside as he nips and laps at me like he wants me just as much as I want him. His fingers tweak my right nipple as he sucks my left tit deep into his mouth. His tongue swirls around my sensitive skin and I squeeze my eyes shut, clenching my fists in his thick, beautiful hair. He makes love to my breasts with his mouth and I wonder how long he's been wanting to do it.

  How long has he waited to touch me like this? Since that first day, at my mother's funeral all those years ago, when he touched me without my permission? Or maybe at my father's funeral, when he looked at me with those icy eyes and gripped my hand and said my name and made me think bad thoughts. I felt guilty then for thinking of hard, mind-numbing fucking at my beloved father's funeral. I had felt so guilty that I'd gone in search of punishment afterwards. I hated the man that incited the feelings, but I found someone else, someone good enough.

  Now, there is nowhere to run. There's no one else to run to.

  My hatred for Dorian only makes me want him more.

  He moans deep in his throat as he releases my nipple from his mouth and then drags his tongue across my chest to attack the right. My left nipple throbs and tingles, wanting his attention back, but he ignores its silent cry. He scores his hand back down my body and through the damp curls between my legs. I shiver and open my mouth, wanting him to fill me. Every hole.

  He obliges me without me even having to ask. He slides three fingers inside of me, his mouth never slowing on my breast. I press my palms to my face, breathing in the scent of his hair and his scalp as his fingers and mouth work in tandem. His scent is spicy and intoxicating. I can smell his sweat and his skin all around me, musky and pungent. I can smell my own as well. I shove my fingers into my mouth, sucking them as he makes love to me.

  He drags his teeth up the valley of my breasts, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. Then he grabs my wrists and flings my hands away from my mouth.

  “Don't,” he says simply, his eyes never leaving mine as he pushes himself down my body. I can see his saliva on my tits, glistening in the low light. I push up on my elbows to watch him. He's beautiful as he puts his mouth to my clit. He thrusts his fingers slowly into me as he flicks his wet tongue over my most sensitive spot. His fingers make a slippery sound as he fucks me with them. It's hard to keep myself propped up, but I can't look away as he buries his face in my pussy.

  It's the sexiest thing I've ever seen.

  No other man has looked as good between my thighs. He curls his fingers inside of me as he rolls my clit between his teeth, then sucks on me. When he pulls his mouth away, I can see me all over his face.

  “You taste...” he trails off, his eyelids drooping lazily like he's high on a drug.

  “How do I taste?” I whisper, rolling my heavy head to the side to rest on my shoulder. He doesn't answer; instead, he dips his head back down and samples me again, running his tongue up and down my slit. He pumps his hand against m
e and I can feel how wet I am. My thighs are slick and I can feel my juices dripping down my ass. Finally, when I can't take anymore, I drop onto my back and clench my teeth against the pain of the movement. He senses my muscles tense and he flicks my clit until I moan. My back begins to arch and my fingers tangle in the sheet. I feel his name on my lips and I try to stop myself but it's hopeless.

  “Dorian...” I murmur and the word curls around my brain. “Dorian,” I say again, because I'm a glutton for punishment. I know it will make him arrogant to know how much I want him, but I can't stop. Thinking of his arrogant, vile mouth on my sopping wet pussy is too much. The reality of him is too much.

  I can almost feel my missing toes curl.

  The orgasm is not gentle. It's a violent wave that crashes into me and I lose the ability to stop myself from being swept up in it. I drop my head back on the pillow, my hair tangling in my face and teasing my sensitive skin. A creeping heat spreads all over my body as I jerk and moan into him. He's making noises, too – low, rough noises in his throat – as he sucks and licks me through my climax.

  The pain and pleasure throbs through me and roars in my ears as he pulls his fingers out of me. I shake my head no, wanting him back, and suddenly, he looms over me. I raise my head and press it into his chest, running my nose all over him. I want his scent, his real scent. The earthy smell of his skin underneath the rich cologne and the expensive soap. His wet hands find my mouth and he shoves them inside. I taste myself on them and I moan, fresh arousal blooming in my belly. I suck them hard as he hinges up and begins stroking his cock in my face. I remember how it felt last night, hot and heavy on my tongue. A bead of pre-come drips from the tip and I moan, wanting to taste it.