Page 15 of Twisted Vows

I wake in slow increments. Lust pulses in my veins. Fabric covers my eyes. Something heavy drapes across my side.

Sparks shoot from my nipple to my clit. I shift, seeking just a little more friction.

I snap awake and freeze in horror.

My kidnapper lies with his front pressed against my back and spooning me from behind, one hand cupping my sex while the other kneads my breast. He murmurs nonsensical words into my hair and tilts his hips.

He’s hugeeverywhere. His long, thick cock grinds against my lower back. My head pounds in fear even as wicked interest fans the flames of my desire.

Taking a dick that big would hurt. My masochistic body inches closer to short-circuiting. I’ve watched porn and know it’spossible for a woman to accept more than what he’s packing, but I’m not a porn star. Far from it.

My clit throbs as his fingertip inches deeper between my legs. He’s too close. Another millimeter and I’ll combust.

Humiliation barrels through me as he pinches my hard nipple between his forefinger and thumb.

His murmur and sensual movements lack his normal coordination, and I clench my fists into the sheets when I realize he’s still asleep.

He’s touching me while dreaming of someone else. It’s insulting.

Liquid desire seeps from my pussy and dampens my panties.

Madness roars through me, and I consider tilting my hips and coming all over his hand but using him as an oversized sex toy won’t spite him. It will only encourage him.

I don’t want to orgasm. Not with him. Not like this.

“Mia caramellina. So sweet.”

His low, gravelly voice almost tips me over the edge, but I stave it off by sheer force of will when I realize he hasn’t woken up.

Is he thinking of me or some past lover? How many other women has he calledmia caramellina?

Jealousy tightens a knot around my spine.

I take a long, measured inhale and tip dangerously closer to an orgasm as his clean scent fills my nostrils. My mouth waters. He flexes his fingers.

I yank his hand out from between my legs and bring my knees up, but with his other arm under my torso, the movement traps his hand on my breast.

He stiffens as awareness snaps through him. My heart pounds with a mixture of fear, frustration, and anger. The change in his countenance is eerie.

With agonizing slowness, he opens his hand, releasing my breast, but my knees prevent him from pulling away.

My arms burn as I hold his wrist as far away from me as possible. His cock pulses against my back.

He takes a deep breath, shifting us both as his chest expands, and shocks the shit out of me with the honesty in his sleep-roughened words.

“I’m sorry,mia caramellina. Let me go. I’ll stop.”

I swallow and peel my fingers off his wrist. A bit of guilt wriggles into my chest when the bandage on his palm brushes against my arm, but I ignore it. I was only protecting myself. I’d bite him again in a heartbeat.

He slips his arm out from under me and rolls off the bed with a slight grunt of pain. My attention piques.

He’s hurt from more than my teeth. The simple fabric bandage on his palm wouldn’t need medical tape or scissors.

My bladder complains as he turns on the sink in the bathroom. I grit my teeth and ignore the arousal coating my folds.

He doesn’t make me ask to relieve myself, finishing his own quick morning routine before carrying me to the toilet. I swallow my pride and request a second wad of toilet paper, my arousal difficult to wipe away.

He doesn’t comment, just hands me more.

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