I smacked it with my belt, watching the skin bloom pink as a shocked gasp of pain flew out of her mouth. It quickly trailed off into a pleasured groan as I ran my palm over the hot skin, waking that part of her that craved the pain only I could give her.
“I said ass up,” I growled, following it with a smack from my hand.
She lifted, presenting herself to me so perfectly that I groaned in pleasure. I reached between us with my free hand, lining my cock up with her pussy and driving inside. She moaned, tossing her head back as I filled her.
“Get the lube out of the nightstand,” I ordered, making her shift her body as I stuffed her, so that she could pull it open. She tossed the bottle back to me, her lungs heaving as she tried to make herself relax into the pleasure. “Have I ever done anything you didn’t like?”
“No,” she said, the answer coming without hesitation and soothing the monster inside of me.
I might be a beast and take her like an animal. But she fucking liked it that way.
I moved slowly inside her, giving her just enough to make her want more without shoving her into an orgasm. When I finally allowed her to come, she’d do it with my cock in her ass.
“Good girl,” I said, squirting lube onto my fingers. I dropped them to her tight little asshole, applying pressure with the first until it popped inside and she moaned. The second followed, fucking her slowly in rhythm with my cock so that she was too full, too overwhelmed.
Stuffed with me.
She keened, a low moaning sound that never seemed to end as I squeezed a third finger into her ass to prepare her for my much, much larger cock. I couldn’t get them deep enough, twisting and scissoring them inside of her until I’d spread her as wide as I could.
When I pulled them free, I stared down at her ass that was open and waiting for me for a moment. It was already slick with lube, but I rubbed more all over my length as I leaned over her and spit onto the hole that I would shove myself inside soon enough.
She flinched when I pulled out of her pussy, pressing the head of my cock against her ass. It popped inside, spearing her alive as she squealed and tried to shift away.
I grabbed her by the hair, lifting her up onto her knees so that her back pressed against my chest. My fingers dropped to her clit, stroking it firmly as I breathed into her neck.
“Such a good fucking slut, taking my cock up your ass,” I groaned, shifting my hips so that my next stroke inside her went a little deeper. I shoved my neglected fingers into her cunt, her wetness soaking them. As much as she might want to deny that she loved it, her pussy told another story.
I held her tight to my body, moving with shallow strokes inside her that sank deeper and deeper with each thrust. She whimpered when my balls finally struck against the flesh of her ass, slapping off her skin as I sank balls deep into her.
“Fuck, Butterfly,” I groaned, drawing back and gliding inside her smoothly. “Now you get to come.” The heel of my palm pressed into her clit, working my fingers in and out of her in an alternate rhythm with my dick. She screamed as she exploded, her tight ass clamping down on me and trying to strangle me with the force of her orgasm.
I released her chest, letting her sink onto the bed as her breathing settled. Her upper body pressed to the mattress, sinking into it as I increased my thrusts.
I pounded into her ass, watching as her face twisted with a mix of pleasure and pain. I picked up my belt from the bed, slapping the leather against her firm flesh and demanding her attention as she twisted her head back to look at me.
The stripe bloomed red across her ass, staining her skin with the mark of my possession. Any normal man would have felt a moment of regret for hurting her, but I had a feeling Irina would learn to beg for it harder.
“Do you want me to come in your ass?” I asked, tossing the belt to the side as I dropped a hand to each cheek and spread her. I stared down at the place where I disappeared inside her body, at the way she had to spread around me and hugged me every time I tried to leave.
“Yes,” she gasped. “I want you to come in my ass.”
“Good girl,” I purred, letting my satisfaction roll over her. I hadn’t even had to ask her for the words.
She gave them freely, just like she gave me all of her.
Her wedding gift to me was her fucking ass. Mine was filling her with so much cum it would leak out of her for a week.
I roared out my release, flooding her as I continued to thrust inside her. Fucking through my own cum and watching as it leaked out in the space around my cock as I softened inside her.
Once I’d slipped free, I lifted her from the bed with one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees, and carried her to the bathroom, where I held her so she could reach out with one hand to twist the shower knob on.
She snuggled into me as I washed both of us off, her body tired and used. I allowed her the moment of respite, knowing I’d wake her up with my mouth over and over again through the night.
That was my job as her husband.
“Butterfly?” I asked, stepping into the bedroom the next day. She’d agreed to hold off returning to work, but just long enough for me to make arrangements for her security. Due to the conflict with Murphy, men were spread thin.
I needed time to rearrange things and to put her with someone I trusted.
She stood frozen inside the walk-in closet we shared, her eyes transfixed on something she held in her hands.
My heart sank into my throat as my feet carried me across the distance between us. She didn’t turn as I approached, never taking her eyes off the knife she held in her outstretched palms.
I closed my eyes, stepping up behind her and sweeping her hair over her shoulder so I could kiss the bare skin of her neck. Her thumb swept over the engraving on the blade itself, the name cut into the metal a reminder of who had owned that knife.
“Why do you have this?” she asked, her voice trembling. “It’s his, isn’t it?”
“Yes. That night when he called, he left the knife behind,” I told her, leaving out the detail of the dead woman he’d also left as a gift.
There were some things Irina was better off not knowing, keeping her head buried in the sand to avoid the survivor’s guilt that would consume her if she knew the truth of the eight women we’d found dead in the months since we’d rescued her.
All with raven hair.
She nodded, her thumb continuing to stroke over the name on the blade. “O’Brien,” she murmured.
“That’s Darragh’s last name,” I confirmed, gently taking the knife away from her. I returned it to the place I’d stashed it underneath my folded shirts, knowing I’d need to find a new hiding place for it so that Irina wouldn’t fixate.
Something in her face compelled me to take her to bed, lying down on my side and then laying her out facing me as I wrapped my arms around her. “Talk to me, cuore mio,” I murmured, waiting for the moment her gaze found mine.
“Why do you call me Butterfly?” she asked, making my heart sink into my stomach. I’d known the conversation would need to come, felt I was on borrowed time as far as how long she would tolerate the secret. “Who was she?”
She reached up to fiddle with the charm that hung around her neck, the green butterfly pendant resting against the hollow of her throat. My sister had been so young when I’d found it that the chain had hung too low on her chest, tucking beneath her shirt.