Elliot
The best laid plans … Joke’s on me.
Her pussy was hot enough to melt me as I kept her pinned against me and open wide for more. Hungry and insatiable, her inner walls clamped around me, holding me as I pumped my fingers faster in and out of her. Everything I’d wanted to do fell to the wayside the minute I found out I would be her first.
The first to play with her.
The first to have her.
The first to take her.
This was the only need that drove me forward, compelling me to release her hair and push down between her shoulder blades until her chest met the floor. Natalie had disappeared the minute I’d given her one curt order to leave us, and I was alone, in the middle of my magazine-perfect living room trying not to come in my slacks like a prepubescent boy. All because of the virgin on her hands and knees before me.
I kissed my way down her back, only giving a momentary growl over the fact her dress kept me from tasting her skin. But I was too far gone, too wrapped up in what was happening to stop long enough to strip Ilaria bare. She’d awoken the beast by running, and now I set out to claim my prize. Her ass was a perfect cushion for my teeth as I nipped her flesh. She didn’t understand what I had in mind and tried to pull away from me. A sharper bite made her go still. I planned on knowing just how she tasted, and I didn’t want to wait any longer.
I licked my way down one labia, keeping my hands moving, and traced a wet path over her flesh. Musky and sweet, her flavor exploded over my taste buds, erasing the dinner we’d shared. To give me better access, I turned my hand palm-upward so her clit was clear and latched my lips around it. The positioning was a bit awkward, but her choked cry made me ignore my discomfort. The tight bundle of nerves held between my teeth was my ultimate price. I flicked it with my tongue, sucked on it until her back arched, and raked my teeth over it to make her scream.
Every one of her reactions was recorded to memory, imprinted so I could do it again and again. Even as Ilaria’s walls clenched and she keened, I didn’t let up. This orgasm, her first with me, would leave her craving more. I wanted her to never be able to play with herself again without feeling let down. I wanted to ruin her for any other man and wipe away any thought of another coming after me as a possibility.
In all my years with the many women I’d fucked and manipulated to get what I wanted, I’d never been as I was right then. But then, I’d never had a woman as pure to grace my bed. They’d all wanted something from me—my money, security, or my dominance. Ilaria was the first to tell me no. To try to deny what she wanted and stand on a moral ground I’d lost long ago. And maybe that’s why I craved to have her, to dirty her and make her less pristine.
I wasn’t sure, but I devoured her and dragged from her every moan I could until she was panting and crying for me to end it … and then I kept going. My jaw ached with exertion, my fingers were water, but I eased up each time she gripped me in a vise, edging her orgasm, pushing her higher. Sweat dripped down my forehead, and the tang of salt mixed with her essence.
“Please, Sir. Elliot. Please … Oh, God.”
I did that to her. Ruined her. Destroyed her. Left her begging for what only I could provide. It soothed my aggression, bade me to show her mercy as her body gave out, and I had to hold her hips aloft. I pulled my fingers from her pussy to keep a better hold on her hips and bit her clit.
Her mouth dropped open on a silent scream. Every muscle locked down, she froze as she gushed across my lips, and then, finally, she wailed.
“Sir.”
Ilaria fucking ruined me.
Chest heaving. I pulled away from her and wiped a hand across my mouth. This was not the plan. This wasn’t control. As I forced myself to my feet, I was too angry—with myself and her—to pick her up from the ground and care for her the way I should have. Instead, I stalked away, vibrating, my cock pressing painfully into the closure of my slacks.
“Fuck!”
“Sir?”
I spun on Natalie. She watched me, still and waiting. “Take her to her room and show her where she can get cleaned up. Tomorrow, take her shopping for the clothes she may need.”
“And the proof?”
“Can wait for one fucking night. Do as I told you.”
“Yes, sir.”
I knew why she hesitated for a moment, staring at me like I was a wild man, but I didn’t have the capacity to explain. I headed to my office and slammed the door behind me.
“Son of a bitch.”
With shaking hands, I found the steel metronome on my desk and sent the balls moving. The rhythmic click filled the quiet room. Control. It wasn’t something just to make myself feel better. I needed it in order to keep the rage at bay and prevent me from irrationally destroying everything in front of me just to have a moment of comfort. It was a coping mechanism that made my past easier to deal with. I hadn’t been able to control my adoptive father’s fists or my adoptive mother’s ignorance of it all. I hadn’t been able to control my outburst and need to hurt others until I found the cage to fight in and BDSM to give me direction. They saved my life, and in one night, a fucking virgin—who was supposed to be about revenge and access to the family that had left me to fucking rot through it all—smashed through it.
I sat at my desk and stared at the metronome, taking in the sound, the steady intervals. It never changed—it was constant, pointed, a measured beat of containment. Minutes passed, and my heart danced to the beat, slowing until it matched. The rage receded, and I could take a long, deep breath. Ilaria was dangerous, that much was certain. Without reestablishing who held the reins, she’d mess up more than I intended. I needed to get things back on track. In the future, she would lay underneath me when I commanded, take me in her mouth when I deemed fit, and when I got the proof I needed, I’d dangle it in front of her so she would know she was never anything more to me than a means to an end.