Page 167 of The Beautiful Dead

One hand wrapped around my aching cock, pulling it back, positioning me like I was meant to be used. His grip was loose, teasing, slow. But his tongue?—

His tongue was desperate.

He wrapped his lips around my entrance and sucked, my hips rocked into him as his tongue forced its way inside me as deep as it could go. He devoured me, licking, kissing, sucking my hole like it was my mouth.

It was too much. My hips rocked into him, caught in the unbearable torment of choice.

To fuck into his hand—or to push back against his mouth, to smother him, bury him, drown him in me.

As if he heard my thoughts, his lips curled into a smirk, still buried between my cheeks.

I moaned, wrecked, but kept my mouth closed. Kept his cum in my mouth. My lungs burned.

It was torture.

He edged me, dragged me to the brink, and yanked me back, over and over and over until sweat slicked my skin, rolling in rivers down my spine, mixing with spit and blood.

Just when I thought I’d snap?—

He let go.

It was like being plunged into ice water. I gasped, choked on nothing, on everything, on the unbearable loss of him. My cock throbbed, pulsed with its own heartbeat.

I clung to sanity by my fingertips.

Domino’s thighs brushed the back of mine. His hands spread me apart, pulling me wide open for him, for whatever he wanted to do to me.

His breath hitched. A rough, shattered groan tore from his throat. Spit. Hot and wet caught on my rim before he pushed it inside me, circling the ring of muscle with a hooked finger stretching me.

A single command, guttural, low, filthy. “Spit.”

It took seconds for my fogged brain to catch up. I parted my lips, letting his release and my saliva spill into his waiting hand.

I looked over my shoulder, tracking his movements with hungry eyes. He tilted his fingers, let it slide between my cheeks, to my hole. Backlit by moonlight he looked like my darkest fantasies come to life.

He didn’t blink eyes fixated on my ass, a sound rumbled in his throat. His fingers twitched a second before he shoved them roughly inside. Deep. Stretching. Claiming.

One hand worked his cock, slick and ready, the other fucked his cum into me.

I whined. I begged. “Please… please, Domino.”

A sharp, teasing twist of his fingers dragged against my prostate. Tears pricked my eyes and dripped down my cheeks as another wave of my orgasm drew closer.

“Please what,piccolo agnello?”

I could barely form words. Could barely breathe. Could barely survive him. “Please fuck me. Now!”

A sharp slap to my ass. Hard. Brutal. Blistering. Pain chased pleasure.

“You’re mine to play with.” Slap. “Mine to tease.” Slap. “Mine to torture.” His teeth sank into my flesh, sharp enough to break the skin. “Mine to fuck.”

No warning.

No hesitation.

No mercy.

He slammed inside me, burying himself to the hilt. His balls hit mine. His thighs pressed flush against my skin.

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