Page 93 of The Beast Who Begged Me

There’s a wild look in his eyes. “You’re mine,” he breathes. He guides my left hand behind my left thigh, making me hold it in place before he lets go. His other hand keeps my right thigh pressed back as he cups my nutsack with his free hand and gives a warning squeeze. “Say it. Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” I gasp. “I’m yours, Dami. All yours.”

“That’s right.” He’s got me pinned in place, so all I can do is take what he gives me. “My golden boy,” he murmurs. “All mine.”

He reaches down to pinch my nipple, hard. I convulse under him, making him groan.

“Oh, that feels good,” he says. “That feels fucking amazing.”

“Dami,” I plead, but I can barely get his name out before he reaches for the other nipple. I writhe beneath him, gripping his forearm, as he does it again.

“You’re squeezing the hell out of me,” he says. “Trying to milk me dry.”

I’m dribbling all over my stomach. I can’t take my eyes off him: Damiano Orsini looming over me, his mouth open, his control slipping as I tighten around him.

And then he’s coming, a hot, thick flood of it filling me up. He presses his face to the back of my thigh, his breath hot against my skin as he shudders. He stays there, still inside me, and I feel him pulsing inside me as he empties it all out.

I need to come. Badly. When he eases out, I make a pleading sound and try to follow him with my hips.

“Look at that,” he says, spreading my cheeks with one hand to admire his work. “That’s the prettiest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen. My cum leaking out of your well-fucked asshole.”

And then he reaches over to wrap his hand around my cock, angling it toward my face as he strokes. “That’s it,” he encourages, twisting his wrist. “Come on. Let’s see you spray your load all over yourself.”

It doesn’t take much more than that. I shoot all over myself, just like he wanted, painting my chest, stomach, even my chin…

By the time his hand stills, I’m gasping for air, my muscles trembling with the effort of staying curled up.

As I watch, he scoops up a fingerful of my spunk and pushes it into my sensitive hole. I squirm, caught between wanting him to stop and wanting him to keep me here forever.

“You wanted me to punish you,” he reminds me, his finger still working inside me. “So now you can take everything I have to give you.”

He eases my right thigh down, and I lower the left to match before letting go. My hips settle onto the carpet, and I take a grateful breath as he strokes his finger inside me. When he leans over me, I expect a kiss, but he licks up my stomach instead, following the trail I’ve left there.

“Sweet,” he murmurs, then kisses me, letting me taste myself on his tongue. “You’re always so fucking sweet.”

I lie there, panting and dazed, as he kisses me, our tongues tangling together as he continues to finger-fuck me, slow and deep.

Maybe I was half teasing him about showing me who was in charge, but he is. He completely and utterly owns me in this room.

And I love it.

By the time he withdraws his finger and lifts his head, I’m only just approaching coherent thought.

“Look at you,” he says with satisfaction. “Fucked into a stupor.” He sounds so pleased with himself that I can’t stop my smile.

“Yeah. You wrecked me.”

He gets to his feet. “And now I’ll put you back together,” he says, offering me his hand. “Let’s go clean up. But make sure you clench tight, golden boy. Don’t wanna make a mess on the carpet between here and the bathroom.”

After a thorough cleaning, we stumble back to bed. I go out like a light as soon as I’m in Dami’s arms again.

But I wake with a jolt to frantic banging at the front door. Dami is already out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweats, checking the CCTV screen he installed near the bedroom door.

My heart sinks. It’s Ricky Benedetti. And he looks terrified.

I pull on Dami’s robe and hurry downstairs after him. Vito meets us in the foyer with a shotgun in his hands. At the front door, Dami pushes me behind him, then opens it far enough to haul Ricky inside. Vito shuts it after him. “What the fuck is going on?” Dami demands.

“It’s Sammy,” Ricky pants, and the look on his face chills me as much as the winter wind that came in with him. “We just left Kismet—we were in the car—they shot Nino—just shot him right in the fucking head—and pulled Sammy away from me. I tried to hold on to him, but I couldn’t stop them⁠—”