Page 33 of Split

“Open,” he commands, and I do. Not because I’m some bitch he’s brought to heel, but because if I’m gagged, it’s a guarantee that he won’t try to kiss me.

Kissing is too intimate.

Kissing leads to feelings, and this is purely transactional.

As soon as he shoves my panties in my mouth, Roman grabs me by my inner thighs, forcing them apart and rocking back on his heels to admire his prize.

“Fuck,” he growls, sliding a hand to the apex and spreading me wide with his fingers. “Look how pretty this pussy is.”

I assume he’s just babbling to himself, but then he abruptly leans forward and slips a hand around the back of my neck, fingers tightening around my nape to angle my head down and force me to look. “I think it’ll look even better stuffed with my cock, don’t you?”

I whine behind the fabric in my mouth and his hand slips away to drop to his belt, fingers working to unfasten the buckle. His slacks fall to the floor, his massive erection springing free between his powerfully muscled thighs.

Another flood of heat builds in my core at the sight of him as he takes it in his fist, stepping forward to rub the velvety crown through my folds and bumping it against my clit. My body shudders, blood turning molten in my veins.

“Oh Eliza, I’ve waited so long for this,” he murmurs, wrapping a hand around my thigh. “You have no idea how much restraint I’ve exercised. But now…” He lines his tip up with myentrance, fingers tightening their grip around my thigh. “Now you’re trulymine.”

With a forceful yank, he pulls me to the edge of the table, impaling me on his thick cock. I scream into my gag, tears springing to my eyes as I fall back against the surface, my head smacking against the wood painfully. A low groan rattles from Roman’s throat as he pauses for a moment while fully seated inside me. I’m not sure if he’s just taking a second to enjoy the sensation or allowing me to adjust, but the pain ebbs slightly before he slowly drags out halfway, pushing back in smoothly.

“Fuck,” he grits out, his pelvis smacking against my inner thighs. “This was definitely worth the wait.”

Pain splinters between my legs as my inner walls stretch to accommodate his girth, quickly giving way to pleasure with each pulse of his hips. If I’m being honest, it’s not like I was completely unprepared. I can taste the tang of my arousal on the fabric in my mouth, and each glide of his cock inside me is a shameful reminder of how wet I am. Though I try to stifle my whimpers, they slip free, each little noise I make spurring him on.

Roman suddenly leans forward over my body, grabbing me roughly by the nape and hauling me upright. Once again, he forces me to look down between my legs, at where our bodies are now joined. “I was right, wasn’t I?” he taunts, chuckling darkly as he presses his forehead against mine. “Look how your greedy pussy is swallowing my cock, pet. Look how well you take me.”

Shit, I swear his praise makes me even wetter, the coil in my belly winding tight as he continues rutting into me. Tears stream down my cheeks, but at this point I’m not sure if they’re from pain or pleasure; fear or desire. He’s right, they’re two sides of the same coin, and right now I’m all mixed up, the signals in my brain misfiring.

Especially when he grips onto my thighs and lifts me from the table, falling back into his chair and taking me with him. I land on his lap with his cock still inside me and he directs my hips, slamming me down over him as he grunts his pleasure. I’m not sure when I actually start riding him in earnest, but before I know it, I’m moaning into my gag, rolling my hips and chasing the glorious friction of his pubic bone against my clit.

This is nothing like that clumsy romp with Wesley that was over in two minutes flat. No, this is like a goddamn out of body experience, my toes curling and thighs clenching as I bounce up and down on Roman’s lap, wound up tighter than a damn bowstring. As if he can sense I’m close to detonation, one of his hands leaves my hips, curving in so he can rub the pad of his thumb against my throbbing clit.

My muscles tense beneath his ministrations as his fingers work me expertly and he buries his face in the crook of my neck. Then suddenly, his teeth sink into my flesh and he bites down hard, the shot of pain tipping me over the edge. Fireworks explode behind my eyelids as I freefall into oblivion, the panties in my mouth barely containing my muffled screams of ecstasy as I come undone.

“That’s right, pet,” Roman growls in satisfaction, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of my hip as my body shudders and convulses with my climax. “Come all over my cock. Show me how much you like it.”

I hate it.

I love it.

I have no idea who or what I am anymore, just that I come so hard I see stars, gripping his thick shoulders and holding on for dear life as I ride it out.

I fight to catch my breath as I come back down, spitting out the gag so I can drag some much-needed oxygen into my lungs. When I meet Roman’s eyes, he’s got a savage grin on hisface, punching up his hips to bury himself deeper inside me. He murmurs something under his breath that I can’t make out over the sound of my own pulse hammering in my ears, then abruptly pulls me off his cock, lifting me from his lap and tossing me back onto the table.

He rises to his feet, fisting his length with a guttural groan as he shoves my dress up with his other hand. Ropes of cum shoot from his tip, landing on my belly in warm, sticky ropes of possession. My brain is still fuzzy, mind going blank– and I have no idea what comes over me, but I reach down to touch it, dragging my fingertips through his mess before lifting them to my lips.

Call it strategy. Call it madness. Call it whatever you want to, but the reaction the move elicits isn’t one I’ll soon forget.

Roman’s chest heaves as he stares down at me reverently, watching as I dart my tongue out to lick his cum from my fingers, his emerald eyes turning molten. He reaches for me with a feral growl, smearing the rest of it into the skin of my belly with his thumbs like a mark of ownership, then reaches up to put one of them to my mouth in offering. Almost as if on instinct, I wrap my lips around his digit and suck it inside.

He groans again in twisted satisfaction, my lips releasing his thumb with a pop as he retracts his hand and gently tugs my dress back down over my thighs.

“I want you in red tonight.”

16

Another week has passed since I became Mrs. Volkov, and I’ve fallen into some semblance of a daily routine here at the haunted mansion. My new husband and I barely speak to one another. We only see each other at dinner, where I dress up for him each night in red or black, depending on Clara’s instructions for the evening. I’ve learned that he likes me in red when he’s having a mood swing. Those are the nights he fucks me. When I wear black, he’s back to being cold and aloof, and he hardly even looks my way as I blend into the background of the manor.

The shadow in my room at night continues to haunt me. I often wake from a dead sleep to the overwhelming sensation of being watched, burrowing beneath the covers until the feeling eventually passes and I fall back into a restless slumber. I’ve built up a story in my mind to explain it– that the former Mrs. Volkov must’ve met some untimely demise, and her restless soul is still trapped here, wondering why I’m sleeping in her bed.

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