Page 59 of Power
Dario finger-fucks me hungrily, each movement powerful enough to make my body feel weightless. The ecstasy of the moment makes me creamy, and as he glides in and out, the only sounds that fill the room are the wet echoes of his fingers slipping around around my juices.
“Where have you been all my life, Vit? Why couldn’t I have met you first,” he breathes.
“Oh… please… please…..I can’t!”
But he doesn’t stop. This isn’t lovemaking. This is a raw, unadulterated imitation of fucking. It’s wild, dangerous, and breathtaking.
And it is just his damn fingers.
“Last one,” he orders, his hand moving up to rub circles on my clit. “One more, Vit, then I’ll stop.”
“God, Dario, I can’t,” I breathe, overwhelmed.
He quickens his pace. “Yes, you can.”
As he brings me to orgasm again, I come in his arms, screaming and thrashing against him, even as he continues his onslaught of my body.
My thighs try to close, but he spreads them with his knee, soaking in the way my walls grip his fingers through each wave of pleasure. I grasp his wrist, my pleading gaze begging him to stop because it’s too much.
But instead, he removes his fingers from my pussy and licks them clean while I watch, fighting the deep groan that threatens to escape my lungs.
After a while, I hear him say, “You’ve been such a good girl. Now get on your knees and let me reward you.”
I drop to my knees in front of him, and Dario slides himself back into my mouth, thrusting in and out for a minute. Holding the back of my head, he quickens his pace, gasping as he nears his climax. With a sudden pull back, he spills his release into my mouth and onto my chest.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs when he’s done. “Just beautiful.”
He later cleans me up, takes me to the bed and slides in beside me.
My breath is still uneven, my body warm against his. I can feel the slight tremor in my limbs, the way my fingertips hesitate before resting on his chest. My mind is still racing, trying to make sense of what just happened. Maybe even regretting it.
He presses his lips to my forehead and drags me closer. I don’t resist. My breath slows, steadies. It might be too soon to mistake this for peace, for something safe. But I know better.
He touched me but he didn’t fuck me. He is still angry.
“You’re not what I expected,” I murmur.
“What did you expect?”
I hesitate. “I don’t know. Not this.”
The pause lingers between us. The weight of it presses against my ribs, but he doesn’t fill it. He’s waiting for me to figure it out myself. I have my own thoughts, my own version of the truth, but none of it makes sense yet.
Eventually, I shift, lifting my head just enough to look at him. His eyes are on me, watching, waiting. He doesn’t hide, doesn’t deflect. If I want answers, they’re right there for me to find. Or they aren’t.
“Do you want me to go?” I ask, but I don’t move.
His fingers trail along my spine. “You’re free to leave anytime you want.”
Annoyance crosses my face. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Act like you don’t care.”
He lifts a brow. “But I don’t.”
My lips press together, my jaw tightening for half a second before I exhale. “So this was a mistake??”
