Page 57 of The Assassin's Captive
“You bled for me,” I say, forcing him to hear it. “You kill for them. But this…” I guide him free of his boxers, thick and full in my palm. “This is mine.”
His breath drags unevenly. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“I’m not asking.” I roll my hips against him, his swelling dick rubbing against my panties, and the friction draws a ragged breath from his throat. His head tilts back. His mouth parts. I shift forward and grind along the length of him. His eyes close for a second.
“Serena.” My name sounds strangled.
I press my body to his, mouths inches apart. “You keep telling me this ends in ruin. Then ruin me.”
I drag his boxers lower and push my panties aside. I don’t give him time to argue. I grip him at the base and slide him through my folds. My thighs shake with tension. I keep control. I rock again, and his cock slides slick against me.
“You’re soaked,” he mutters.
“I want to ride you until you forget who you work for.”
He breathes hard. “That won’t take long.”
I grind harder. I pin his thighs under mine and fuck him through the friction, through the pain written across his bandaged chest. His hands slam down on the arms of the chair. He holds on as I take more.
“Tell me you need it,” I say.
“I’ve needed it every time you looked at me like this.”
I rock forward again. The pressure builds where our bodies meet. Each grind drags another pulse from his cock, thick against the slick mess between my thighs. His fingers flex around the arms of the chair. He doesn’t touch me, but the restraint in his body says enough.
I reach between us and guide him to my entrance. The stretch burns, but I don’t stop. I take him in slowly, inch by inch, until I’m seated full in his lap. My breath catches. His jaw clenches.
“You’re going to break me,” he says.
“Then break," I tell him, "but I want to hear you say something to me…"
"What's that?" he asks, hips instinctively pumping upward without conscious thought. I smirk at him and he looks at me through hooded eyes.
"Tell me you love me, Lorenzo… Because it's written all over your face every time you look at me." His body stills, but I keep going, grinding and rolling my hips. My body wraps around him like warm silk and I move one of his hands from the arm of the chair to my center, where I make his thumb press against my swollen nub.
For a moment he says nothing, wrestling to move the fabric of my panties more to the side so he can find the right spot, but I pause my thrusting to make sure he's heard me correctly.
"I said… I need you to tell me the truth, Lorenzo. Say you love me, because I know you do."
His thumb finally finds my clit, and I hiss out a breath as he begins rubbing.
He presses harder, slow circles over the spot that makes my thighs twitch. My breath snags. His cock pulses deep inside me.
“You think this is the time for confessions?” he says. “You’re sitting on me, soaked through, making a mess all over my lap.”
I grind harder, keeping his thumb right where I need it. “Exactly. No room to lie.”
He smirks, but I see the strain under it. His chest rises, tight against the bandages, every breath drawn with effort.
“You want three words,” he says. “Earn them.”
I brace my hands on his shoulders and ride him again with slow full thrusts. His head tips back for a second, and I catch the sound he tries to swallow.
“I’m already doing all the work.” My voice breaks on the end of the sentence, hips sliding down again. “You think I’ll beg?”
His hand fists in the back of my hair, tugging it gently to expose my neck. I think he'll bite me but he pulls me close, mouth at my ear. “I think you’re close.”
He’s right. My body locks around him, muscles drawn tight from the rhythm, the friction, the pressure of his cock sliding through me again and again while he sucks every sound out of me with his thumb.
