Page 77 of Depraved
I can barely hold back the emotion of what I feel. I can barely handle the emotions he’s bathing me in. But we’re dripping in it, soaked by our possession, cleansed by our need for one another.
“I belong to you, Dante,” I whisper, bringing my eyes to his. “Because I love you.”
His long, thick cock thrusts inside me, hard and unapologetic, pressing to the hilt as he lets out a groan.
“More,” I beg. “Give me more.”
Dante presses his hand to the wall, giving himself leverage, and begins to fuck me hard and fast, his other hand holding my waist. He’s pounding into me with so much force it feels like he’s pulling me down onto his dick. Like he’s fucking himself using my body.
My arms are wrapped tightly around his neck, and we carnally assault each other, climbing toward our climaxes.
Grunts and desperate breaths are the soundtrack that plays for our carnality as my teeth grit, wanting it harder and faster.
“Yes. Please. Dante.”
“You’re so fucking tight and so wet. I could die inside of you.”
A string of “fuck me’s” litter the air as Dante’s hand slips, and we crush against the wall. His hand smashes against my face, his thumb in my mouth as we come in unison with a roar.
Dante sits on the couch opposite the bed in our little den of iniquity as I open my eyes from where I was laid to sleep.
“Hi,” I whisper and yawn.
“Come here,” he directs, his legs stretched out over the coffee table and crossed at the ankle.
He’s wearing his slacks again, but no shirt, and it’s a fucking wet dream. I push off the bed, bringing my feet to the floor, walking slowly toward him, still only dressed in my jewelry.
He holds a hand up to stop me about five feet in front of him. “Sit,” he smirks, motioning to the chair to his right.
I walk over and take a seat, sitting up straight, ankles crossed, watching him pick up the whiskey from the table. He reaches over the top of the couch, rummaging in his suit jacket to pull out his cigar case and flip it open.
He extends it to me, and my brow furrows.
“Light my cigar, Billy.”
Reaching in, I pull the singular cigar out. I lean forward and take the lighter from the table and strike it, watching the blaze burn bright. Bringing the cigar to my mouth, Dante gives me a tsk-tsk before it touches my lips.
I look at him bewildered, but he grins.
“You have to wet it. Roll it around your lips, use your tongue.”
I do as I’m told, and the sudden tartness makes my eyes grow wide. He gave me the cigar he put inside of me earlier. His smirk is devilish as he swigs his drink. But I double down.
I run my tongue around the cigar, bringing it between my lips erotically then dragging it out. “Is that wet enough?” I half smile.
Dante rubs his cock and nods.
Giving a few puffs, I draw in the flame and watch as the end burns red. I hand it over, letting my fingers brush his, and smile. Dante takes it from me and places it in his mouth, giving me a wink.
“Now spread your legs. I want to watch while you rub that delicious little pussy. I want to see you come as I drink my whiskey and smoke this cigar that tastes like you.”
I don’t even hesitate, spreading my legs and giving him exactly what he wants.
“Good girl, Billy.”
Smoke dances from his lips and up toward the heavens, the same direction my eyes are facing as our hedonism takes over.
LAUGHTER AND CONVERSATIONS FLOAT INthe air from where we’re seated outside on Dominic’s glassed-in patio for Sunday dinner. My arm’s slung over the back of Sarah’s chair, her ponytail tickling my forearm each time she tips her head back to laugh.
