Page 233 of House of Cards

I hesitate, not because I don’t want to, but because some small part of me still rebels against being so completely owned. Rolling over. Submitting.

His palm cracks against the outside of my thigh, a dangerous rumble in his voice. “Now.”

I set my feet down beside his thighs, but my knees stayed glued together, trying to retain some modicum of dignity.

Another slap makes me flinch, gasp.

“I won’t ask again.”

My thighs part, my face immediately going hot. The mirror reflects everything—my flushed cheeks, my heaving chest, the blood smeared on my skin, the gleaming wetness between my legs.

“Wider.”

I comply, stretching until it hurts.

“Good girl,” he murmurs into my ear. His praise shouldn’t affect me, shouldn’t make me want to purr like the fucking kitten he keeps calling me, but it does. “Open yourself for me. I want to see every inch of you.”

My fingers tremble as they move between my legs, as I reluctantly part myself for him, just like he commands me to.

“You’re being such a good little slut for me,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my neck.

His cock digs into the small of my back as his fingers glide over my pussy.

“You’re dripping.” He gathers my wetness on his fingers before bringing them to my lips. “Taste how much you enjoy it when I hurt you.”

I open my mouth obediently, sucking his fingers clean. The taste of myself is tangy, unfamiliar.

“Such a good little whore.” His praise burns through me like wildfire. “Keeping your legs spread. Showing me how much you need my cock. So wet. So ready.”

He shifts under me, dragging his cock out from behind my back, gripping it near the base so he can stroke it against my pussy.

I whimper, rocking forward, trying to increase the friction.

“You want this?” He presses just hard enough to tease, then holds it away. “You want to be fucked by the man who just cut you? Who marked you?”

“Yes, please,” I beg pathetically, hating myself for it, but unable to stop.

Smith’s warm breath hits the side of my neck, my shoulder, making me shiver. “Please what? Tell me what you want, kitten.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Fuck what? Your mouth? Your asshole? Your wet little cunt?”

My voice comes from far away, as if I’m bobbing against the ceiling like a helium balloon.

“Please,” I whimper. “I need you to fuck my cunt, Sir.”

His hand tangles in my hair, yanking my head back. “Such a filthy mouth.”

I swallow hard. “Please, m’lord.”

He rewards me with another teasing brush of his cock, his eyes moving to our reflection. “Look at you. Look at how desperate you are for my cock.” He drags his cock through my soaked pussy, still not pushing inside.

“Yes, fuck, please.”

I don’t recognize the woman in the mirror.

Who is this heaving, wild-eyed degenerate?

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