Page 60 of Dance of Ruin

She’s coming.

From my fingers on her clit. From my cock down her throat. From the shame. The control.Me.

And I lose every shred of restraint I had left.

I grip the sides of her face and fuck her mouth harder, deeper, groaning through gritted teeth as my own release barrels down on me.

When it hits, it’s like a bomb.

My hips jerk forward, my cock pulsing between her lips as I spill into her mouth. Her throat tightens around me as she struggles to take it, and the sight of her—spit-slicked, cheeks wet, eyes wide and mascara running, the last traces of surrender—hits me harder than anything ever has.

With a final groan, my balls empty the last of my sticky cum down her throat, and I slowly pull out.

Something dark and twisted deep inside me revels at the mess I’ve made of her.

Her lips are red and swollen. Her makeup is trashed. Her chest rises and falls in sharp, heaving bursts. She’s covered in cum and spit.

She swallows.

Then her eyes lift to mine, and I feel that thing I’ve been trying not to name welling up.

Not lust.

Not power.

Something much, much worse.

I should say something cold. Dismissive. Cruel, even. Push her back down into that shame spiral to keep the upper hand.

Instead, I hear myself say, “You’ll never belong to anyone else. Understand?”

She doesn’t speak, just nods, eyes still locked on mine like I’ve taken something sacred from her. Maybe I have.

I tuck myself back into my pants. Adjust my cuffs. Reclaim the distance.

I don’t really know what the fuck just happened between us. But the game has changed. I’m not the same man who walked into this room an hour ago. And she’s not the same girl I told to strip and be my side table.

Naomi slides weakly off my desk, not meeting my eyes as she twists herself free of the ribbon. I turn to catch her about to clean her face off.

“Don’t.”

She stiffens, turning toward me. I shake my head as I hand her back her clothes.

“Don’t what?” she says quietly, still not really looking at me.

“Don’t wipe it off,” I growl. “Leave my fucking cum right there on your face. And keep it there for the rest of the day.”

This time she does look at me, her jaw dropping.

“What?” She shakes her head. “I can’t?—”

“You can. And you will. So that everyone who sees you knows you’respoken for,” I murmur darkly.

She gulps. “I’m not riding the subway with…with…” She blushes pure beet red, averting her eyes. “Withcum on my face,” she finally manages to whisper.

I scowl. “You’re right, you’re not. You don’t ride the subway anymore. My driver will take you home.”

Her face is still red as she raises her dark eyes to me, something sparking in them. “I—I’m going to the theater after this. I can’t?—”

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