This was the first time I’d seen his dick, and it was quite a sight. Still gripping onto my hair, in one quick movement, he thrust his cock right into my mouth with no warning. I gagged at the sensation, his head hitting the back of my throat. Sliding back out and all the way in, he repeated this a couple more times.
I wanted to bite down, and of course, he read my mind.
“Try it and watch how fast I make you bleed for me.” Holding me tighter, he ordered, “Push out your tongue. I want my cock all the way in; don’t fight me.”
I expected him to thrust back in. I was confused when he plugged my nose with his fingers instead.
“You breathe when I fucking let you.”
Once again, he shoved his cock to the back of my throat, not letting go of my nose. My head hit the mattress, and I couldn’t move. He didn’t stop until my lips met his groin, and he held me there for several long seconds.
“Look at me. How am I supposed to know when to let you breathe if I can’t see your eyes?”
He pulled out, and I gasped for air while an uncontrollable amount of drool and tears slid down the side of my mouth. Growling and grunting the entire time he fucked my face.
He loosened his hold and let go of my nose, sliding out his dick.
“Breathe.”
I did.
Thrusting back in, he used my mouth in the way he seemed fit. I’d never given a blow job before, and I knew this wouldn’t be the last time he’d take a first from me.
Should I be grateful he started off with this?
He continued this process until he couldn’t take it anymore and came with such force that my entire body shook from his spasms. His hold tightened, making it almost impossible to catch my breath, with an intensity I had never experienced.
Crouching down to my level, he demanded, “Swallow.” When I did, he praised, “You’re such a good girl.”
I smiled, seeking out his attention. Almost falling on my ass as soon as he added…
“I’m always your master, but my name is Donovan.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Juliet
I had no sense of time. I didn’t even know how long he’d left me in that room alone. It could have been a few hours or a few days; everything was beginning to blend together. I wasn’t tied to the bed anymore, and I had the liberty to move around. My bones hurt, and my jaw was tender.
Every time I thought about why it was sore, my body tingled in a way it hadn’t before. I started to think about what it would be like to have him inside of me. I wasn’t an idiot. I knew this was a classic case of Stockholm Syndrome, textbook shit. My picture should be in the dictionary, next to the definition.
Of course, this was what he craved. He was a sick sociopath that I couldn’t stop thinking about. Something happened the last time we were together. I didn’t know if it was his dream that I witnessed, or him using my mouth as comfort, or maybe it was the fact that he finally told me his name.
All I knew was that I missed him terribly.
Thought about his handsome, devious face.
Dreamt of his hands, his tongue, his cock on me, in me.
What sick twisted game I was playing without knowing the rules or guidelines. It was becoming a slippery slope, my need for his presence, his attention, his body on top of mine.
My mind couldn’t decide what state it wanted to be in other than confused and tormented. I honestly didn’t know where it came from, all the emotions and feelings. Like a prey, I was caught in his spider web of lies and deceit, and the sad part was I wanted to believe I could change him. All the times he touched me and told me I was his.
It felt real.
Sincere.
Consuming.
I thought about him when I was alone and even when I was lying in his arms. It didn’t matter that I knew it was wrong.
Seedy.
Ugly.
And destroying.
I fantasized about all the things he could do to me.
Trying to take my thoughts and desires away from Donovan, Master… I grabbed the silk nightgown on the dresser and put it on. Next, I decided I should use the vanity that was in the corner of the room. Slowly, I made my way over to the seat and sat. Looking at myself in the mirror, I still didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me. Grabbing the brush, I began brushing my new shoulder-length blonde hair for the first time. Something about the repetition had me finally relaxed enough to take what felt like my first deep breath since being kidnapped by Donovan’s men.
Moments later, I heard the door unlock, followed by his footsteps. I’d recognize them anywhere; I didn’t have to turn to know who it was. I stopped brushing, imagining a world where he took the brush and ran it down my hair, holding me tight, telling me that he never wanted to let me go and that he was sorry.
I could be with a man like that.
A man who was strong but who knew my limitations and didn’t push them for his sick pleasure. And yet, I still liked the man standing behind me. As much as I wanted to cling to disgust, it was there, that feeling in my chest. Like denying your heart needed to beat was denying he had an effect on me.
“Donovan,” I murmured under my breath, loving the way it fell off my lips. Wanting so badly to have his hands on me again.
I waited for his next command, trying to internalize everything I was feeling, but I knew he could smell it on me, feel it in the thick air between us. It was evident he knew me better than I knew myself. My eyes met his when the door shut behind him. His stare went from calm to the treacherous storm that lived inside of him.
“Pet, where did you get that?” he questioned in an eerie tone.
I looked around the room, perplexed by what he was talking about. I didn’t know how to answer, and the last thing I wanted was to get it wrong again.
“When I ask you a question, I expect an answer. Why must you always test my patience, Juliet? It’s almost as if you want to provoke me.”
“I-I-I-I…”
“You-you-you … what?” he mocked, walking toward me.
I couldn’t take it anymore as my body and mind continued to betray me.
“I don’t know what you mean!” I found myself shouting, biting the inside of my cheek, and trying to suppress the emotions that were taking control of my being. I bit my cheek so hard I tasted blood, getting it on my lips.
“Is that any way to talk to your master? Where is your respect? Who am I, Juliet? Don’t make me ask you twice,” he growled it out in a way that was so terrifying I started to shake. I almost preferred the yelling.
I hesitated for a second. “Master…”
He grinned, folding his arms over his chest. “Who am I, pet?”
I swallowed hard. More games, more uncertainty.
“No … not Master. Who am I? I know you want to say it. Here’s your chance … call me by my name, just like you’ve been dying to.”
I whimpered. “I don’t want to play these games. Just do what you want to me.”
My stomach churned, and I could practically taste the bile at the back of my throat.
He was standing in front of me when he gripped onto the silk fabric by my chest, and in one fluid motion, he tore it in half—all the way down my body until the gown pooled by my feet. The solitary comfort I had was now stripped away from me. Once he was done, there was no movement or sound for several minutes, and I wondered if he was admiring my body or thinking of all the ways to invoke pain.