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CORA
“Did I startle you?” he asks with a mischievous grin.
Stepping through the threshold, he takes his time walking toward the vanity between the double sinks. Unlike the Samuel I drove home with, his eyes are fixated on me with every step. He moves to face the mirror and continues to stare at me through the reflection as he slowly removes the cufflinks from his shirt, never breaking eye contact. Dropping them both the marble countertop with a clatter, he turns and begins making his way to the bathtub.
Towering over me, his feet spread wide, He meticulously rolls up his sleeves, exposing both of his muscular forearms as he asks darkly, “Did I break you, love?”
“You aren’t exactly gentle,” I quip with a smile as he kneels beside the tub.
“Am I too rough for you?”
“No.” My voice is soft, and my answer is tentative as I shake my head.
Did I enjoy every moment in that cellar?
Yes.
Do I think he’s holding back?
Also, yes.
Something in my gut tells me that I’m just having glimpses of the tip of the iceberg with Samuel. There is a darkness behind his eyes when his fingers are wrapped around my throat—with my life literally in his hands.
A darkness I haven’t yet decided whether I should be afraid of.
His fingers trail along the deep red rings running along my throat, and the look spreading across his face can only be described as accomplishment. Sliding down my body, his bare arm breaks the surface of the water.
His rough hand lightly grips my tender inner thigh as he parts my legs. He stares at me, diligently watching my reaction as his fingers travel up my thigh. My chest heaves in both anticipation and hesitation—even as sore as I am, part of me wants more of him—as he skims along my skin until his fingers are resting beside my pussy.
“Even sore…” His voice trails off as his fingers lightly dust over the slightly swollen lips between my thighs. My breasts rise and fall over the surface of the sudsy water as my breathing becomes increasingly heavy. He rubs the tip of a finger along my entrance, and my breath hitches slightly. “Even sore, you can’t deny how your body reacts to my touch.”
A feral groan rattles from my lungs as he slips a finger inside of me. He works it teasingly slowly as he tenderly grips my chin with his other hand, “Does this make your sore little cunt feel better?”
“Yes,” I groan as he presses against my G-spot while dragging his finger from me.
“Are you going to come?” He continues to slide and curl that lone finger inside of me. Diligently rubbing over the spot that has me gripping the sides of the tub as my release builds in the pit of my stomach.
“I’m so close.” The words blow from me in a breathy exhale. He slows his pace, and the release that was so close begins to slip through my fingers. He pulls so far out of me that his fingertip rubs just inside my entrance.
“We both know this is how you want it.” He drives back into me with two additional fingers. The sudden stretch causes me to cry out in both pleasure and pain. “I know this is what you really want, isn’t it?
“Yes!” I scream, grinding my hips against the unrelenting thrusts of his fingers. Each one elicits pain and bliss in me as my release builds like a ball of electricity in my stomach.
“Tell me you want me to take care of you.” He twists and curls his fingers, and my whole body arches off the base of the tub. “And I’ll make you come so fucking hard you’ll never forget the feel of me between your thighs.”
“Please,” I pant.
“Please, what?” He adds the firm pressure of his thumb to my clit.
“Take…care of…me.” My thighs quiver as he drags me to the brink. Water splashes over the edges of the tub as he finger fucks me with vigor. The electricity in my stomach shoots through my body, my back curving so much that my face falls beneath the surface of the water as a scream bubbles from me.
“That’s my girl,” he groans, sliding his fingers from me as I push myself back above the water.
“I’m going to enjoy taking care of you.” He grips my chin and pulls me toward him. He softly pushes the wet, matted hair from my face, and his lips press against mine as speaks against them, “And you’re going to love letting me use every inch of you for my pleasure. You’re going to love being mine, love.”
Part of me wants to argue with him. I’m not his. I’m the hired help; literally being paid to be here for his pleasure. Yet, I can’t say I haven’t enjoyed my time here. Or that I haven’t momentarily fantasized as to what this life would be like.
Being his.
