He grabs my hand off the fake dick and wraps it around his real one. “It’s a replica. Don’t you see the resemblance?”
Tightening my grasp, I explore the hot rigid contours of his flesh. The thick veins running under my delicate skin beg me to sink to my knees and have a taste of him.
The damn drugs are pushing on my senses again, and all I can think about is wrapping my lips around him. He’d fuck my face hard, brutally, until I was choking and crying. He’d have no remorse, and fuck me, I’d love every second.
“What put that look on your face?”
I jerk my hand off his dick and watch it bob against his belly once. Not taking my eyes off it, I answer him. “I was thinking about how good it would feel for you to fuck my face so hard that I’m crying and choking. I want to feel your hot cum in the back of my throat.” I let my eyes drift closed, imagining it as everything in my coils up for the thing it’s craving.
“Get on the bed,” he says, his voice dark.
I snatch up the dildo and glare his way. “Do you mind giving me a little privacy?”
His snort calls me an idiot. “Malyshka, this is my room, and that is my dick you are holding in your hand. My dick you’re going to slide into your tight cunt. And I’m going to watch every second of it.”
His words push urgency into my blood. Dammit. I need this so badly I can’t even think straight. There are a thousand reasons this is such a bad idea, but the thought of being stuck this way, with no true release, for who knows how long, seems unfathomable.
I hate that I’ve been reduced to this. Every single time. My family, now this asshole. Not one person in the world wouldn’t throw me under the bus to get what they want. And most of the time, I end up paying the price. I refuse to look at him while I climb up on the bed.
For my job, I’d make a show of it. Give him what he paid for. But this man gets none of my finesse and none of the skill I’ve perfected. I roll and lie flat to stare up at the ceiling. At least he’s out of my line of sight, and I won’t have to see his smug face as I use his dildo to relieve the ache inside me.
Dammit. I hate this so much.
I ease the head of the fake dick through my folds, letting it get nice and slick. I hadn’t lied when I’d suggested the dildo is big. It’s going to stretch me. It doesn’t matter, though, because I love a little bite of pain mixed with my pleasure. The stretch will make it worth the humiliation.
He steps to the side of the bed, staring directly down at me. “What are you waiting for?” His voice is like a whip crack against my skin. Stinging and hot. Dammit.
I tug the end of the dildo down and slip the broad crown around my entrance. It feels so good. Not as good as a living, breathing man between my thighs, but if this is all I’ll get, I’ll take it.
I squeeze my eyes closed again so I don’t have to see him, except I picture his face in my mind. His face hovering over mine to stare into my eyes while he fucks me. He watched my every reaction with each surge into my body, knowing exactly how I like to be fucked.
The rustle of the covers makes me think he’s pacing beside the bed. His muscles flex and creek like he’s straining them. But I won’t look. The image of him in my imagination is better than the real-life man standing beside me. At least far more considerate under the circumstances.
“Faster,” he grits out, his tone gravel and guttural. The deep bass adds fuel to my fantasy, making me arch my hips up to meet the wide slide of the dildo into my body. My pussy embraces the sharp pain and the silky pleasure at the same time.
I don’t bother stopping the moan that slips out.
A weight settles on the bed next to my thighs, and I freeze. Still keeping my eyes closed. The air stirs above my body, making my nipples pebble against the chill in the room. Is he going to touch me? Should I let him? Will he even give me a choice?
I focus on keeping my back flat on the bed. I still won’t beg him. Not for anything. Not for something he already clearly refuses to give me.
When he doesn’t do anything, I shake off the sensation of his hip against my thigh and slip the dildo deeper inside me. The silicone balls attached mash against the wetness of my body, but I don’t care. I finally have something inside me, and holy hell, it feels so good I give myself over to the fantasy.
In my imagination, Ivan curls his hand around my throat and pins me to the bed while he slides himself into me. It’s slow, unhurried like he has all night to fuck me. He never cuts off my air supply, but the heavy weight of his hand in my mind gives me a sense of comfort I’ve never known.
Then the fantasy and reality merge when the calluses of his palm scratch the sides of my neck. I pop my eyes open, expecting him to be above me, but he’s sitting next to me, left hand on my throat, eyes locked on the slow rhythmic pace I’ve set with the dildo.
“Faster,” he orders again.
I clamp my thighs together around my hand to hide the sight of me from him. He doesn’t own me. His neck flushes pink, and then he uses his right hand to pry my knees apart and leave them butterflied open on the bed.
I’m panting, both from his rough handling and the dildo still inside me. Now, I’m chasing the orgasm. The faster I come, the faster I can get the hell away from him before I do something stupid like climb him like a tree and beg him to hurt me.
My thighs are slick with my own arousal, and I tense when his fingers curl around the fleshy part of my thigh toward my center. “Slower.”
I huff and continue the pace I already set. “A moment ago, you were screaming faster. Now you want slower?”
His hand tightens the tiniest fraction, and it’s enough to steal any other words in my head. The clench of his fingers is enough to start the long fall toward my orgasm. When he tosses my hand off the dildo and seizes it, I almost come right then. One of his hands locked on my throat, the other slowly, achingly slow, sliding the silicone dick inside me. But he doesn’t leave it. He pulls it almost completely out so I can feel the wide crown pressing back into my entrance with a slight sting. “Fuck,” I groan, unable to maintain my composure. No. My pride when this shit is happening right now.
“I thought you said you weren’t going to fuck me,” I choke out, his palm constricting my voice slightly.
He doesn’t answer, as if his entire being is focused on fucking me with the fake dildo. I snap my hands up to grab at it. To stop this. But he slaps them away. Again, I try to take it. This time he leans down to align his face with mine, his hand squeezing tighter. “I said fucking no. Now lie still while I fucking ruin that beautiful cunt.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to invite him to do it with his own dick, but I can’t get a word out due to the strength of his grip. I can still breathe, but speaking is useless.
He pumps the cock into me faster, my channel gripping along the ridges. I’m so close to coming, and a hot tear leaks out of the corner of my eye. I need it more than I need to breathe right now.
Like he can read my mind, he increases the pace and changes the angle, so the top of the dildo grazes near my clit. It’s not much but combined with everything else. With the slightly spicy scent of his skin, the rough calluses on his palm, the way he’s so transfixed by my body. All of it sends me down the spiral of the most violent orgasm I’ve ever had. It wrecks me, burning and rebuilding as it rolls through my body. Every inch of me quakes in his grasp.