Page 60 of Bloody Vows
When she comes off of it again, gasping, my balls are so tight that I don’t know how much longer I can hold back. The need to fuck her face builds, to show her the command I have over her. I push my cockhead between her lips again, pushing deeper and groaning as my hips rock against her mouth. I hold her in place, exactly at the angle I need, my fingers pressing into her scalp as I start to thrust between her lips the way I’d thrust into her perfect, tight pussy.
She takes me down her throat again, eyes wet and throat spasming as I fuck her face. I groan from between gritted teeth as I try to stave off my orgasm, savoring the feeling of her hot mouth wrapped around me.
"That's it, Simone. Show me what a good wife you can be."
The words are cruel, I know they are, but I can't seem to stop them. Can't seem to stop myself from taking what I need from her, from using her mouth and throat to chase away the image of her sitting across from another man, listening to him plan my death. I’m so fucking close, and I don’t know if I want to come down her throat or all over her face, so I can mark her as mine yet again.
I decide that I want both.
I feel the orgasm crash into me, white-hot sensation unfurling up my spine as my cock hardens and throbs on her tongue. I pull out, grabbing my cock firmly by the base as I angle it so that the first hot spurt arcs across her nose, up to her forehead, painting her cheeks with the second before I shove myself back between her lips, thrusting over her tongue as I come hard, spurt after spurt into her sucking mouth. My hand is tight in her hair, my entire body shuddering with pleasure. She chokes and tries to pull back, but I hold her in place until I'm finished, until every last drop of cum has spilled onto her waiting tongue.
"Swallow it," I command roughly.
The look that she gives me is pure venom, but she obeys, her throat working convulsively as I watch my cum slide down her throat. It’s enough to make my cock twitch, eager to come for her again as I savor the sight of my wife on her knees, her mouth freshly fucked, and the rest of her body primed for me to do what I please with it.
If I slid my hand between her legs right now, I know I’d find her dripping.
I’d never know it from the look on her face, though. She rocks back onto her heels, dragging her hand across her mouth with an expression of contempt as she stares up at me. The look of betrayal on her face should cut me to the core, but it only matches the betrayal I felt the moment I found out what she did.
"There," I growl, tucking myself back into my pants. In the aftermath of my orgasm, I no longer feel so confident that I did the right thing, but I can’t back down now. Not without sacrificing any progress I’ve made in getting Simone to understand that shecannotbehave the way she has been. "Now you know what I expect from my wife."
She stays there for a long moment, her face impassive, her eyes still wet with tears. The sight of her—broken and used and still so fucking beautiful—makes something crack inside my chest.
Fuck.Something in the back of my mind screams that I shouldn’t have punished her, that I should have talked to her, should have tried to find out why she would go to such lengths to escape our marriage. I was angry and hurt and betrayed, but a needling fear in my gut makes me wonder if I’ve only made things worse.
Simone slowly stands. I didn’t tell her she was allowed to, but I don’t have the energy to split hairs about it just now. I look at her, forcing myself to maintain my composure. "Clean yourself up,” I tell her flatly. “I'll be back later, and we'll discuss what happens next."
Before she can say a word, before this can spin out of control again, I leave her there and stalk out of the room, my heart pounding. A sick feeling spreads through my gut, a sensation that tells me I’ve done the wrong thing. That I lost control and only made it all worse, no matter what my father would say.
He’d tell me I handled it the right way. That the only way to control my wife is to break her. And part of me, a part that I givein to far too easily around her,wantsher like that… submissive and kneeling, obedient to me.
But the larger part of me wants her there becauseshewants to be.
I don’t know if this is the kind of man I really want to be.
The adrenaline is still pounding through my veins, despite the soul-splitting orgasm that I just experienced. I need to hit something. Need to work off this rage before I do something even worse.
I head to the room just off of the main gym in the mansion, one fully equipped with heavy bags and weights and everything I need to work the feelings churning through me out. I change into workout clothes and attack the heavy bag like it's personally responsible for everything that’s happened in the last twelve hours.
But even as I pound out my frustrations on the leather, I can't get the image out of my head—Simone on her knees, tears streaming down her face, looking at me like I was a monster.
I’m under no delusions that I’m what most people would call agoodman. I’m the son of a crime boss. I’ve yet to actually torture anyone, but I’ve killed men. I’m as dangerous as anyone else who has a last name like mine and a family lineage that’s used blood and violence to come up in the world. And yet…
Nothing has ever made me wonder if I’ve gone too far until I saw Simone’s face just after I forced her to swallow my cum.
I work out for nearly three hours intermittently, pushing my body to its limits, trying to exhaust myself into some kind of clarity. When I finally make my way back upstairs, the sun is setting, and the house is quiet.
Simone is in her room, and I don’t go to ask her to come down. I don’t want to eat alone in the dining room, a reminder that my wife despises me too much to even want to share a meal with me, so I decide to go out instead, with Vitto and twoother men for security. When I come back, just after eleven p.m., I’m confronted with Nora coming out of the hallway, her face creased with worry as she makes a beeline straight for me.
“Simone didn’t call for dinner,” she says, her voice tight with worry. “She didn’t answer my knock on her door, either. If you could check on her…”
I’m heading for the stairs before the words are fully out of her mouth, a dawning suspicion in my mind. I go straight for Simone’s room, intent on making sure she’s still there. It occurs to me that in my frustrated flight from her after she got up off her knees, I didn’t lock the door again. I can feel a sense of dread growing in my chest as I walk down the hall—one that has no real basis in reason, but builds all the same.
It’s like I knew something was wrong before I even got up here. The room is empty. She could just be somewhere else in the house, but some instinct tells me that she’s not. That at some point between me leaving earlier and coming back home tonight, Simone decided she’d had enough.
I turn and see that her wardrobe is thrown open, gaps between some of the clothes, as if she packed a bag. And as I look at the spaces between her dresses, glaring like missing teeth, I feel a weight settle over my shoulders, a knowledge that things have just gone from bad to worse.
My wife has run away.
