Page 58 of Vow to Corrupt You
“You’re fucking mine, understood?” His tone is hard and dark against my ear, his hard cock still inside me.
“Yes.” All I manage to mutter, my breaths coming in ragged gasps.
“Good.” He slides out of me and spins me back around. “Now get on your knees.”
Still in my sex haze, I look at him, and his face feels unfamiliar. I don’t recognize him.
“I said. Get. On. Your. Knees.” His voice is stained with hatred. “That is exactly where you belong.”
I swallow my pride, rattled by his words. I’m not sure why, but I do what he says without question. Maybe because my mind is still foggy from my orgasm. I swear I can still feel his cock inside me, even though he’s not. Or maybe because I’m drawn to his dominance and the danger oozing off him as if it were the purest heroin I was addicted to. Maybe, just maybe… I’m drawn to his darkness, which isn’t so scary to me anymore. On the contrary, everything about him is alluring.
I kneel before the God of the Dead. He’s not himself, most definitely not the man I’ve handed my virginity over to willingly. He turned back into the merciless, deviant king I was forced to marry. The one I hated and feared. The unforgiving gangster with the kind of lethal darkness in his eyes that promises nothing less than destruction.
“Open your mouth, wicked one.” His rough, husky voice sends a thrill down my spine. “Finish what you started the other day.”
He looks down at me, his blackening eyes both horrifying and thrilling. He cradles my jaw with his fingers, forcing his thumb to my lips.
“Suck,” he commands.
Still making eye contact, I wrap my lips around his cock. He removes the belt that was hanging loosely from his lowered pants and slides it around my nape, gripping both ends in his hands. He pulls it toward him, forcing me to take his shaft down my throat so deep I choke.
I press my hands against his hips, resisting the pressure. He loosens the tug, allowing me to move back for a moment before pulling it tight again. A deep grunt escapes his chest as he repeats the movement again and again, fucking my mouth. Each time faster and more forcefully, causing tears to spill down my cheeks from the gagging I struggle to suppress.
“You’re such a good girl, taking me so fucking well.” He loosens the pull, and I gasp for air, only to be choked again without warning.
The deep, sexy groans intensify with each thrust, telling me how badly he savors the pleasure of each shove down my throat. He relishes being in control, and I enjoy it too—perhaps a little more than I should. It scares me how I surrender to his darkness, submit to his dominance, and succumb to my desires.
“Fuck.”
His head falls back slightly, and a groan escapes his lips as his release spasms against my throat, making me gag. He focuses on me again; our gazes lock as I fight another gag reflex—at the same time, savoring the satisfaction reflected in his eyes. The pleasure that I know I brought him.
Perhaps I am wicked, just like he calls me.
Just after the office incident that seemed like some sort of a power play, Nikos left, and I don’t even know where exactly. All I know is that he has a meeting. I lock myself in my sculpting room, one that Nikos put in for me a few weeks ago when I still believed he had an ounce of humanity in him. The air is rich with the earthy clay scent, cool and damp against my hands. This is where I find my peace, where I belong and thrive. It’s my ultimate dream to sculpt professionally one day, have my own art exhibition, and perhaps even my own art gallery. I want to share my work with people, so they can admire what my hands have created, just as I admire the work of others now. I begin forming shapes as if on autopilot, unaware of what I’m creating—only my hands seem to know. I lose myself in the process; it’s like my escape. Right now, I need to escape the haunting feelings of fear and shame, of hatred and anger.
He vowed to break me, to mold me into what he desires, as if I were malleable clay like the material in my hands. He succeeded. I am no longer the innocent girl I once was. I’ve morphed into the shape he wanted me to take. I hate myself for it. I despise that I can’t resist because, deep down, I crave it too.
“Mrs. Romano,” Cecilia’s polite tone jolts me back from my trance.
I turn to her, my breath labored like I’ve been working for hours performing manual labor instead of molding a sculpture. I recall screaming with every ounce of force and hitting the clay against the walls when I locked myself inside; perhaps that’s why I’m so worn out. I must have exhausted all my emotions because I felt like I was suffocating.
“Yes?” My cheeks flush slightly as I take in the mess I’ve made here, finally coming to my senses.
“Your cousin,” Cecilia hesitates, timidly scanning the room. “Miss Chiara is here.”
Right, Chiara was supposed to give me a ride to the university. Today, we have evening classes, and considering everything, it kind of slipped my mind. I asked Chiara to give me a ride because I was exhausted from having Nikos’s bodyguards looming over me like shadows. I wanted a bit of privacy. Besides, having bodyguards and being married to Nikos caused no one at uni to talk to me except Chiara. The bodyguards watched anyone who dared to approach me like hawks, and it made me feel isolated.
“Please tell her I’ll join her in a moment. I just need to…” I search for the right words to describe the havoc on my hands, clothes, and even in my hair.
“Of course,” Cecilia offers me a warm smile, the kind that says no more words are needed.
I quickly shower and slide on a knit blouse and skirt. There’s no time for makeup or washing my hair, so I tie it in a messy bun. Twenty minutes later, I’m in the car with Chiara on our way to classes.
“So? What’s wrong?” Despite her gaze on the road, I can feel her seeing right through me. That’s Chiara’s superpower. She has a very reliable female intuition and can pretty much read everyone, especially me. She knows me far too well. Sometimes, it feels like a curse because I can’t hide anything from her, even if I wanted to.
“It’s Nikos.” I let out a heavy breath, resting my head on my hands and my elbow on the door frame.
“I figured as much,” she casts me a fleeting glance. “But what about him?”
