Page 11 of Owned By her Enemy
“Nope.” His arm bands over my lower belly, pressing me down and keeping me exactly where he wants me. When his hand finds my breast, squeezing and pinching the nipple I cry out.
“You’re going to take what I give you like a good girl.”
He redoubles his efforts and I squirm, desperate for more and almost in pain from how wonderful it feels.
He’s my enemy and this is a fight. A battle.
And I’m losing.
I can’t remember what I came to his room for, because my head is entirely filled withhim. His scent, his body, the things he’s doing to me, his very presence. Most of all, the attention he’s lavishing on my virgin pussy. There’s no space for anything but the rising tide of tension in between my legs and sparks over my skin where he touches me.
Someone keens, a long high note that resonates in the air, that’s joined by a deep bass rumble of approval, and it’sus.
His hand leaves my breast and strokes firmly down my body in what I recognise as being a possessive claim. A mapping of his territory all the way to my entrance, where he slips between my folds and pushes his fingers into me like he owns me. As though he has the right to do this, which I suppose as my husband, he does. There’s no hesitation and he’s still licking at my clit all this time.
Then he’s stroking me from the inside out, surrounding me, invading every part.
The orgasm tears through me. It’s a pitch that shatters glass and resonates through my body. I swear it changes me at a molecular level as my legs shake uncontrollably, the pleasure reaching down to my toes and, implausibly, up to my heart. It’s heat and wrecking power, an earthquake, and a volcano. I have no brain, just a clenching pussy that holds onto his fingers like it would eat them if it could.
It’s all I can do to clutch the sheets and dig my heels into his back, holding on as though I might be ripped out of this world.
As the pleasure recedes, I’m not sure my body will ever be the same again. That orgasm reduced parts of me to rubble that I thought were immoveable walls, high and strong. I’m so wiped out, I could fall asleep in this daze.
“So fucking pretty, my debauched girl.”
My eyes drag open to find my husband standing over me. He’s released his cock, but remains otherwise fully dressed. And that massive cock is in his fist, being pumped hard, almost violently. His mouth glistens with my juices, all the way to his cheeks. He gorged on me.
“Mine,” he rumbles.
I thought I was utterly destroyed, and I am, and yet that possessive word sends an aftershock through me. I’m compelled to look at him. Nothing binds me, and he’s a virtual stranger, yet my blood sings through my veins and I remain motionless for him, as much his captive as if he’d pinned me down to the bed. His face is creased in a snarl, and he’s focused entirely on me. Similarly, I can’t take my eyes off him, my gaze flicking between his face and where his hand is driving up and down his cock. The head is red and angry, and down the length there’s a thick vein. The sight of his cock makes my tired body ache for more. It’s beautiful. Scary. Intimidating as a storm.
And mouth watering.
“Ptichka,” he groans.
Hot liquid smacks me, and I gasp. His come. He’s covering me with line after line of creamy white. They’re stripes over my breasts, belly, and my mons and hit as sharp as a cut, like this is permanent. A tattoo.
It’s primal. Dirty. The air is thick with the scent of my sex and his—and his is musky and so good I want to rub it into my skin. I raise my gaze back to his face.
He doesn’t close his eyes as he shudders with his release, his expression savagely beautiful in the low light. It shakes me anew as a final hot stripe hits. I’d almost say he looks obsessed, if it weren’t the first time we’ve ever interacted only two weeks ago.
“My wife.” His frantic movements ease.
Heownsme.
The thought is too much, and I close my eyes against the blazing heat of this whole experience. Of him. I’m sticky and warm between my legs, and all over my breasts too. I’m used-up and sated and exhausted.
I’m hiswife.
I don’t think that really sank in until now. For better or for worse, we’re tied together.
Everything has changed. I have his name. We had a wedding attended by every mafia boss in London. I won’t be anonymous anywhere, ever again. My whole life I’ve been stuck in a tower, and today was jumping out, no idea if I have a parachute on.
The wet warmth of his seed is almost comforting in a way I can’t explain. If coming beneath his tongue was the final out-of-body experience of a surreal day, then his come is a blanket keeping me safe.
Something soft and warm touches my chest, and I struggle to open my eyes. Orgasms always make me sleepy, but this is another level. Nikolai has a washcloth in his hand, and is leaning over me, carefully rubbing the dirty mess he made away. Over my breasts, my stomach, and down to between my legs, I’m wiped clean.
I accept it.
