Page 48 of The Captive's Curse
“—is less the point, really, it’s the related part that really—not by blood, that’s disgusting! And I don’t care where your tongue’s been!”
The wild gleam in Enzo’s black eyes and the twist to his mouth gave me an instant’s warning of his intentions—not thatit did me any good. When his hands slid down to my hips and pushed, my knees didn’t stand a chance.
“I decline to marry your harridan of a cousin,” he said, as he let go of my hips to hold me down by one shoulder, wrapping the other hand in my hair and tugging my head back, my neck arching, forcing me to look up at him as he towered over me. Now my knees splayed around his big, booted feet, the flagstones painfully hard beneath them. “So we won’t be related. But you can suck my cock, Lord Prim and Proper. Perhaps you’ll care more about where you put your tongue than where I’ve put mine.”
“You’re the one who seems to care where I’m going to put my tongue,” I said with asperity. Breathy, too-eager asperity. But surely he’d understand that I despised him, wouldn’t he? Even though I trembled with desperate arousal from my dry throat to my tight belly to the helpless, needy ache between my legs. I wanted his cock in my mouth, but I wanted it stuffed up my ass even more. “I thought you didn’t do this sort of thing to your captives against their will.”
Enzo released his grip on my shoulder to start deftly unbuttoning his trousers, eyes never leaving my face. My lips, specifically, because he wasn’t meeting my eyes, and his breath had started to come faster, no matter how much he tried to appear indifferent to the proceedings.
“You’re not struggling, and anyway, with the ransom paid you’re not my captive anymore,” he said—as if that made it better.
It made it so much worse. I didn’t have any excuse, real or imagined, for staying on my knees without any resistance, panting for his cock like the slut he thought me.
His trouser placket fell away to reveal his cock, thick and flushed, and he shifted his hips, rubbing the fat cockhead over my lower lip. My tongue teased out of its own accord, flicking atthe tip. Enzo still had my head pulled back so that I had to gaze up at him.
Our eyes met. The sharp, thrilling shock of that connection zinged into my cock and my balls and my hole, all my muscles tightening, my breath catching.
Fuck him and his self-control, anyway.
I licked him, one wet, luxurious swipe of the tongue.
The sudden clench of his fist in my hair stung my scalp and brought me to a poised, helpless tipping point, ready to spend in my trousers if I so much as touched myself. Even the pressure of my linen drawers was almost too much, and my hole ached, with a deep need that no amount of squirming could relieve.
“You really ought to care more where you put your tongue,” he growled, and thrust.
His big cock pinned my tongue down, put pressure on the roof of my mouth, stretched the corners of my lips painfully as he entered me.
And filled me, pushing into the back of my throat and then—in, hard and deep, impaling me on his thick length. I couldn’t breathe, my eyes watered, and I swallowed and swallowed around him, massaging his cockhead with my throat, held immobile by that strong hand in my hair.
Enzo began to thrust in, deeper, and then out enough that I could gasp for a breath around the girth of him, and then in again, deeper still, using me without any pause or hesitation.
Usually when I sucked a cock…I sucked a cock, exercising my mouth, my tongue, my skills and enthusiasm. I’d keep a man at my mercy for as long as I liked, make him moan, until his knees went weak and he leaned against a wall and shook as he finished.
But I wasn’t sucking Enzo’s cock.
I wasn’t doing anything at all but taking it as he fucked my mouth and owned me, my soft, wet chokes almost drowned out by the slap of his heavy balls against my chin.
He didn’t say a word or make a sound except for his rasping breaths, and I wished he would, I wished he’d say anything, even something rude or cruel, so that I’d have something to focus on besides the grip of his hand and the way he pounded my throat. I scrabbled at his thighs, but he didn’t even seem to feel it. Stars danced in my vision from lack of air…he let me have barely enough, cock dragging over my swollen lower lip, and I wheezed a breath and moaned around another hard thrust.
Further and further into me, distending my throat…and he let out one harsh grunt at last and came in a hot rush, so deep I didn’t even taste it until he slowly withdrew, painting my tongue with the last of his spend.
My head spinning and my lips and chin wet and sloppy, I toppled forward as he loosened his grip, my head dropping against his thigh. I ought to move, because leaning on him for his support after he’d wrecked me...
“I know how hard you are,” he said after a moment, and slid his hand around the nape of my neck. No hair pulling this time, but a caress. Gentle, almost careless. And entirely devastating, as he stroked the angle of my jaw with his thumb, massaging out the ache of having been stretched wide for his pleasure. “Finish yourself off and show me.”
Now that he’d reminded me, I also knew how hard I was: as much as I’d ever been in my life, my balls tight, my cockhead chafing against a wet patch on the front of my trousers.
The spinning around me had slowed enough that I could let go of his hip and reach down between my legs, intending to unfasten my trousers, take out my cock, and show him how very pretty and seductive I could be when I had the freedom to dothings my way—something he hadn’t given me much of since he first laid his hands on me.
But I didn’t even manage to undo a single button. I wrapped my hand around the bulge in my trousers, and the shock of that pressure shot through my cock and balls and up my spine, and I whimpered against his thigh as I spent and spent, soaking my trousers and my palm.
Enzo said something, but I couldn’t hear him clearly through the pounding of my blood in my ears.
Hands slipped under my arms, and then he lifted me, dragged me, and deposited me on my bed, where I flopped onto my side and simply breathed, all I had the strength for. After all, I’d need to conserve my energy for the vigorous fucking Enzo would surely dish out once he’d recovered from his first climax, and any moment now he’d be removing my clothing, spreading my legs…
But as the silence stretched, and he didn’t touch me, curiosity won out over the urge to collapse into a nap.
I cracked one eye open. Enzo stood in the middle of the room, trousers done up, tucking his shirt back into place. He wasn’t looking at me. In fact, he was rather pointedlynotlooking at me, his eyes trained down toward the floor.
