Page 32 of Brutal Savior

She bites her lip one more time, then spreads her lips wide.

I don’t loosen my grip on her hair, using it as a handle to shift her head into just the right position. Then I thrust into her throat. A panicked gurgle comes from her as I fill her right up, working myself in slowly to the hilt. I can see the outline of myself in her straining throat, and fuck, if it isn’t the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.

I hold there until she starts to gag, then pull out, giving her a moment to splutter and breathe. Then I drive back in. There’s no need to be gentle. This is a punishment, so I’ll use her like the little fuck toy she is. I’m not giving her any control over this, not a fraction of ability to move. I hold her tight and force myself into her again and again.

Tears pour from her eyes from the repeated gagging, and I shorten her breaks as I find a rhythm. Just enough for her to take a single, ragged breath, then another few thrusts. Her eyes are wide, and her nose is starting to run.

Christ, I love this.

She’s lucky I’m so worked up and desperate, because usually, I can make things last a long time. Watching her struggle is fucking beautiful. Her eyes are hazy, and I feel the moment she gives in to me and accepts my control.

She breathes when I allow it. My cock goes where I want it to. Her face softens as she relaxes into this, letting me use her.

Sooner than I’d like, though it probably felt like an eternity for Quinn, I feel my orgasm start to build. Where to finish? A difficult decision when there are so many tempting options.

I can’t hold off anymore. I surrender to the pleasure, letting it surge through me, and groan as I shoot straight down her pretty throat. Fuck yes. My knees shake with the force of it, and my vision goes blank as the aftershocks rage along my limbs. Intense doesn’t begin to cover it.

Quinn is spluttering, trying to swallow around my cock. I’m in no hurry to allow it, so I hold her there, smiling down at her. I run my free hand through her sweaty hair.

“See. I told you I’d turn you into a good girl.”

Chapter Thirteen

Quinn

Holy fucking fuck. Whatthe hell was that? I thought I’d chosen the easy option. My eyes and nose stream, my throat burns like I’ve gargled with lava, and his cock is still jammed down my throat, stopping me from swallowing. Jacob slowly pulls himself free, and I stare up at him, come dribbling from my mouth until I get myself together enough to swallow.

He still holds my hair in a death grip, and the dangerous look in his eyes hasn’t diminished a single iota. But he stands up and holds out his hand to help me to my feet like a perfect gentleman. As if he hadn’t just fucked my face like I was a toy.

That’s what I feel like in his hands. A poseable object. A doll he can twist however he wants. Now I know how my Barbies must have felt when I decided they weren’t cool anymore and tortured them in fifth grade.

I take his hand and hiss as my ass leaves the wooden chair. It hurts to sit down, and then it hurts to stand up. So unfair. OnceI get out of here, I’ll be a nervous wreck in the weirdest places. PTSD triggered by uncomfortable furniture.

“Bath,” he states, and I don’t argue. Maybe it’ll help the pain in my ass and thighs.

I follow him through his sex dungeon of a bedroom into the bathroom. There’s a big clawfoot tub in the corner, and he plugs the drain and sets the faucets running. He holds up a bottle of bubble bath. “Lavender. Maybe not your thing. You can get whatever you want.”

I blink at him. All I can taste is his come, and he’s worried about what bath products I like? Why would I give a fuck about that? “Get some prison soap. It’d really set the tone.”

My voice comes out in a scratchy croak. He tips in a hefty measure of the bubbles. “I’ll get you some water.”

“You’re too kind.” I try for a fake British accent, but it doesn’t really work. My voice is too rough, thanks to him. He disappears, returning a moment later with a tall glass of icy water. I take it, and the chill cools my throat on the way down. Before I realize, I’ve downed the whole glass.

I watch Jacob as he checks the water temperature and shuts off the faucets. He doesn’t seem like someone who wastes words, but I need to make him talk. If all we do is hang out in silence, I’ll never find out more about this place. He gestures to the water. “Get in. It’ll help your bruises.”

I snort as I pull off my little clubbing skirt. Does this weird place have a nightclub? Probably not. It has more of an old-man country-club feel. Boring as all fuck. “What do you care about helping them?”

He raises a brow before he pulls his T-shirt over his head. “You don’t understand me at all. I had to punish you, so I did. Once the punishment is over, it’s over.”

I’m hardly even listening, distracted by the perfection of his body as he strips. How does he look like that? He must spendhours in the gym every day. I’d kind of expected tattoos, but he has none that I can see. He folds his clothes as he takes them off, setting them neatly on the vanity, even though they’re covered in my tears and spit.

Folding dirty clothes? Has to be military, surely. “Were you in the army?”

He spins round, surprise on his face for the first time. “Yes. What gave it away?”

I manage not to laugh. This has the feel of a conversation and that’s exactly what we need. “Oh, I don’t know. The he-man physique? The OCD tidiness?”

He glances at the neat pile of clothes and spreads his hands wide in a “you win” gesture. “You clocked me. Well done. Three years in the army. Eight in the specials.”

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