Page 44 of Risky Vows

The metallic poke of his piercing slides between my cheeks, shooting a thread of electric excitement through me. I moan into the pillow, the silky fabric already damp.

He thrusts his cock into me, and the ache stings my nerve endings. The other times, he made a point to lather lube orgive me a rim job to ensure I was ready. Now, urgency dictates otherwise.

I bite my inner cheek, pushing through the pain during the first thrusts. He doesn't go easy on me. Is he punishing me? If that's the price for him to forgive me, I'll happily give it to him.

Massimo drapes his body over mine, sneaking his hand to my sex and pulling me upright with him so he's still inside me, my back to his front, my knees on the mattress. I brace my hands against the wall for support.

"Give me your tongue, rat," he demands.

I lean my head on his chest and part my lips, which he catches with his in a kiss that lights every cell on fire. He plays with my pussy while moving his cock in my ass, and I feel like I’m about to die.

He intensifies the kiss, nipping my lips, not playfully, but like he's punishing me. Hell, I'll take it. Little stabs of pain fill me, but I can't stop. I’ll give him what he needs—what I need. Even if this is the end… we'll crash, but we'll burn first. Together.

Massimo fingers me harshly, my pussy so wet that it makes squishing sounds. "Come, slut. Come for me," he says, his voice raspy.

He curls his finger, reaching my G-spot. I jerk forward, then backward, intensifying the angle of his cock in my asshole. Still, I can't control the ripples of pleasure coming from different parts of my body, meeting in my core and fucking exploding.

I cream like I’ve never creamed, my pearly essence squirting out of me, my moans cutting the air until my throat is dry and raw. He takes my lips in another aggressive kiss, and I can barely breathe.

I'm on an orgasmic high, unsure if I'm still in my body. He nips my shoulder, sending tingles through me, and wraps his hands around my neck again. He's done this once before, with one hand.

Both warm palms tighten on my throat, restricting my airway. He fucks my ass deeper, harder, a mix of pain and familiar pleasure sneaking in with each thrust. I want to moan, to talk, to breathe. But I can't.

The ringing in my ear intensifies, and my mouth is so dry I can't swallow. My vision is blurry. Am I dying? He loosens the grip on my neck, and I cough, catching up with breathing. Then he groans. With each thrust, his fingers bite into my skin, restricting my airway, only to allow me to breathe a few seconds later.

It's the rawest sexual exchange we've ever shared, allowing him to dictate my breathing. See how far he'll take it.

We fall into a pattern. I gulp air at the same moment he slams his cock into me. He squeezes my throat again, in tandem with retreating, only to return and let me take another breath, more like a gasp.

This back and forth, not knowing if I'll live or die, if we're together or not, adds to the intensity. My nipples, still tender from his attention earlier, harden into diamond tips. A fresh coat of cream fills my sex, and I'm confused about enjoying this nonsense. This hot nonsense.

"That's why I can't let you go, rat," he says, his voice so rough it takes me seconds to understand his words.

When I do, the hope of being his forever sends me over the edge. When he loosens the choke, I moan, yelp, and let go as waves roll over me, riding me, filling every part of me with a dark pleasure I've never experienced before.

I hear him groan behind me, and he comes, filling me with his hot load. He removes his hands from my throat. I cough and fall on the bed, my pulse throbbing erratically.

I tingle and ache all over, his cum dripping from my ass, my body a sweaty mess.

The mattress depresses as he sits on the bed, which shows he has more strength than me.

Coughing, I reach for the glass of water on the nightstand and take a generous gulp. Relaxing is all I want, but I can't do it without knowing we're okay. I'm not playing games.

I wrap myself with the sheet and sit opposite him. "Are we okay?"

"No," he says. "Amara, what you did… it'll be a bitch to fix. You didn't trust me. You hid a very important piece of the puzzle from me. Then you tried to manipulate me and said you loved me."

The bastard still doesn’t believe I love him. "I'm this horrible human being, but you fucked me again. When you choked me, did a part of you wish you could kill me?"

"Choking isn't about killing. Not the type I did with you."

"That's not what I asked," I say, standing even though my knees wobble. I’m aware that if he wanted me to die, he could have done it. But I need some kind of reassurance from him. I need to know one day—if not now—he’ll forgive me.

I was upset when he messed things up and hired his ex to his father’s birthday party, but I chose to believe and forgive him. I understand what I did is way worse. Then, another thought occurs, and I say, “You care for your brothers. Wouldn’t you have protected them if you were in my position?”

“When you talk like that, you’re justifying what you’ve done.”

I bite my inner cheek. I get it. We need space from each other. I need space from him.

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