Page 33 of Coerced Queen

I go back to massaging her clit, simultaneously spreading the heat and giving her the friction she needs.When her lower body contracts, I grip the root of my cock and drag the shaft through her slick folds.I don’t want to penetrate her yet because I’m too close to coming, and I want to make this last.

I circle the crown around her clit, making her a promise.“This time, you’re coming on my cock.”

The gel mixes with her arousal and my precum, easing my way.It only takes two seconds before I feel it.

God fucking damn.

An inferno of heat rushes over the crest and down my shaft until flames cover my entire dick.The burn turns from hot to ice-cold in another second until, finally, a cool sizzle settles under my skin.My cock swells to a painful size.The pressure in my balls increases.Everything pulls tight.

“Goddamn, Anya.”

It’s the cruelest torture.I can’t hold back.The icy burn flares when I sink inside her.Her heat triggers a deeper burn that reminds me of that time I peeled chilies and ended up with my fingertips on fire.They burned the whole night long.Running cold water over them only aggravated the scorching heat under my skin.

“Move, Sav,” she moans, sounding in as much agony as I am.Her breath is sweet and warm on my lips.“Please.”

I frame her face between my hands and thrust.It only takes a few strokes before she throws back her head and falls apart with a mewl.Her inner muscles clamp down, triggering my own release.I kiss her as my climax erupts and that cold heat reaches an uncomfortable level.I hold her to me and pour my release into her body, filling her with hot ribbons of cum.I empty every drop inside her before rolling us onto our sides without breaking our contact.Her pussy flutters with aftershocks that continue to milk my cock long after I’m dry.

“Arms,” she breathes against my neck.

I pull off her blazer and rub her arms to get her blood circulation going while locking her to me by throwing my good leg over her thigh.She’s still wearing the blouse I tore and the lacy bra underneath.I haven’t removed my T-shirt, but I prefer to keep it on.It hides the unsightly scars and bumpy flesh.I want to stay like this, inside her, and fall asleep while the burn slowly dissipates to leave a residue tingle under our skins.I drag that unique smell of sunshine and flowers into my lungs, filling my nostrils with her scent and reveling in the fact that our breathing evens out in tandem.

Too late, I remember I haven’t fed her.I didn’t ask if she’d eaten a greasy burger and fries.I should’ve thought about dinner, about ordering a healthy meal instead of making her stop for take outs.

Tomorrow.

I’ll feed her tomorrow.

I pull her closer, knowing it’s a mistake, but I’d rather hack off my good leg than let her go.

I’m every bit the monster I am on the inside on the outside now, a nightmare to look at and a broken man that will never be whole again, but she had her chance.I played fair.I gave her an out.She didn’t take it.

Her bad, my gain.

ChapterFourteen

Anya

Iwake up to the smell of coffee and pancakes…and to Saverio rolling his wheelchair toward me with a tray balanced in his lap.

“Morning, treasure,” he says, his smile crooked and sexy in a just-woken, still-warm-and-fuzzy kind of way.

His onyx black hair is disheveled, the ends sticking up in a bed-messy style, and stubble darkens his jaw.The eyepatch hides his artificial eye.He wears a white T-shirt and gray sweatpants, and his feet are bare.

“Brought you breakfast,” he says, stopping next to the bed.

I sit up against the headboard and push the hair out of my face.“You didn’t have to do that.”I leave the rest unsaid, that I should be the one to go down to the kitchen and bring him breakfast because his burns and cuts and gunshot wounds may have healed, but he’s a long way from walking normally.

“Yes, I did.”He puts the tray in my lap.“You didn’t have dinner, and I wore you out.”

The pleasant warm feeling that spreads through my chest has more to do with the fact that he made me a giant mug of coffee and honey-drizzled pancakes topped with blueberries and cream than his referral to the mind-blowing orgasms of last night.

“You must be exhausted.”A deep line cuts between his eyebrows.“You’ve been up with Claire every two hours.I would’ve let you sleep, but she’s going to make a raucous noise in…” he checks his smartwatch, “…fifteen minutes.”

It’s true.Claire’s feeding schedule is like clockwork.What surprises me is that he paid enough attention to have pegged her routine.

“Thanks,” I say, cupping the mug and lifting it to my nose to inhale the welcome fragrance of the coffee even though it’s decaf.

I’ll take my daily dose of poison again the day I stop breastfeeding, which won’t be until at least a year.I want to give Claire breastmilk for as long as I can.

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