Page 182 of The Beautiful Dead

I nodded, my tongue slipping forward in silent offering. My submission fed his hunger.

A wicked smirk curled the corner of his mouth as he dragged himself along my parted lips, tracing their shape, coating them in the thick salt-slicked evidence of his desire.

The scent of him flooded my senses—heady, intoxicating, undeniable. I moaned, the weight of his cock finally settling on my tongue, and Domino laughed. Low. Dark. Victorious.

“Good boy,” he murmured, voice rough, almost affectionate. But there was an edge of cruelty laced beneath it, a twist of sadism that made my skin prickle, my body ache.

He held me there balanced on a knife’s edge.

His cock heavy, resting on my tongue, pulsing against my parted lips as if he was testing me, savoring my obedience. With a sharp jerk of his wrist, he forced me down at the same time his hips snapped forward.

My throat opened for him, raw and eager, taking him deeper. A strangled noise escaped me, muffled around the thick length pushing past my lips, pressing into the heat of my mouth.

Domino groaned, his fingers tightening in my hair, pulling me down until my nose was flush against his stomach.

Until he had all of me. He held me there, hips grinding forward, his cock throbbing as I struggled to breathe.

“Fuck, Remi,” he hissed, tilting his head back, pleasure tightening his features into something almost beautiful.

My nails dug into his thighs as I forced myself to stay still, to take everything, his taste saturating my tongue, heavy and overwhelming. Just as I started to get lightheaded, he yanked me back—spit and precum stretching between my lips and his cock.

I gasped, sucking in a desperate breath, and he chuckled.

“Look at you,” he purred, cupping my jaw, thumb stroking the mess coating my mouth. “So pretty like this. So perfect for me.”

My chest heaved, my tongue darting out to catch the remnants of him still smeared across my lips.

“Again,” I rasped.

Domino obliged. Harder. Faster. Deeper.

Fucking into my mouth with ruthless precision, claiming me with every snap of his hips, with every moan that ripped from my throat. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, my jaw aching, but I didn’t care.

I wanted all of him.

I wanted to be ruined by him.

Used by him.

Owned by him.

His breathing turned ragged, his hips faltering—just barely—his control cracking. With one last thrust, he pushed me down to the base, my throat tightening around him as he came with a sharp, guttural growl.

Thick spurts of cum filled me as he unloaded. He held me there, his fingers twitching in my hair, his breath shuddering out as he unraveled in my mouth. And I took it.All of it. Just like he demanded.

When he finally slipped from my mouth, he didn’t move away. Instead, he dropped to his knees before me. His chest was still heaving, his pupils blown wide, his lips wet from where they’d been bruising against mine.

A reverent look settled over his face, something close to worship, as if he was gazing at something holy.

“So fucking perfect for me,piccolo agnello.”His hands cupped my face—gentle, almost tender—before he sealed his mouth against mine.

The heat of him, the weight of him, devoured me whole. His tongue licked into my mouth, tasting himself, swallowing it down as we passed his release back and forth between us—sharing, consuming, claiming—until only the faintest, bitter-sweet trace remained.

Domino growled against my lips, the sound rough and dangerous, before he shoved me down onto the cold, bloodstained floor.

My head spun. Whether from lack of oxygen or the sheer force of him, I didn’t know.

The next thing I felt was fabric tearing—a sudden rush of cold air as my jeans were ripped from my legs.

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