When She Loves (The Fallen, #4)(64)

I glance down and see an outline of his cock straining against his slacks. Shivers erupt over my spine as he pulls down his zipper, reaches inside, takes himself out. My mouth waters at the sight of him. He’s long and thick, with veins running up the shaft. Pre-cum glistens at the tip.

I’ve done this before a few times, but I was always in charge. Not now, though. Now, he’s going to take whatever he wants.

My clit pulses with the thought of that thick cock inside my mouth. How well will I please him?

He steps closer, wraps a hand around himself, and drags the swollen tip over my puffy lips. “I want you to remember this the next time you’re tempted to imagine a life without me. You’re mine. Do you understand? No one else will touch you like this. No one else will come inside of you. No one else will fuck your throat like I’m about to. All those things are my fucking privilege, Cleo. And I will kill anyone who conspires to take that privilege away from me.”

His fingers tighten in my hair, and his cock bobs against my lips.

Sweat breaks out over my skin. This is meant to be degrading, but I guess I’m into that, because my panties are drenched.

He tugs me toward him. “Open up.”

The second my mouth parts, he slides himself inside. Salty and male and very large. I close my lips around him and suck. He makes a few shallow thrusts, letting my mouth get familiar with him.

I flatten my tongue and press it against the underside of his cock. A groan rumbles deep inside his chest.

That sound is so hot it makes my eyelids flutter. Waves of heat crash over my skin, making every nerve ending fire. Even the sting of the hard marble floor against my knees seems erotic.

He pushes in deeper, until his head touches the back of my throat. Until I gag and choke and writhe on the floor before him.

“Fuck,” he grunts, pulling back to let me catch my breath. I suck on air, but he only gives me a second before he thrusts back in, his fist firm in my hair.

He picks up his pace. It’s rough and hard and overwhelming, but I don’t fight it. It’s shocking how easy it is to give him control. To let him use me however he likes.

My wrists flex against the zip tie. I do my best to relax my throat muscles. The next time he thrusts, he goes even deeper, so deep that the tip of my nose brushes against the trimmed hair at the base of his cock. My eyes water, and when I glance up at him through my wet eyelashes, he groans and pulls out until only the head is in my mouth.

I suck on it and swirl my tongue against the sensitive spot underneath.

Suddenly, he pulls me off him. “You’re too fucking good at that,” he mutters like he’s annoyed.

He shoves his cock back inside his boxer briefs and lifts me by my hair until I’m back to swaying on my heels, my makeup ruined and my dress ripped halfway down the front. His gaze sweeps over me like he’s admiring his work.

There must be something wrong with me, because despite my aching throat, I love how pleased he looks.

I clench my thighs together, desperately searching for relief that isn’t there. I want him to touch me, God, I’d do anything for him to touch that spot between my legs.

But he’s in no rush. He untangles his fingers from my hair and fondles my breasts. Like I’m a toy on display for him to play with. His thumb circles my nipple, making it hard before he moves to the other.

“Exquisite,” he mutters to himself. “You’re exquisite.”

I sway. “Rafe.”

His eyes jump to mine. He breaks me apart with his gaze, layer after layer, until it feels like he’s staring right into my soul. My eyelids lower in a slow blink. God, I can’t believe I’m about to say this.

“You win,” I whisper. “I’m begging you. Please fuck me.”

A shudder goes through him. He takes me by the waist, lifts me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing, and takes me up the stairs, down the hall, and into our bedroom.

The next thing I know, I’m back on my feet, my front pressed against the wall by the bedroom door. Warmth seeps into my skin where his big hand wraps around my tied wrists. He lowers to his haunches behind me and tugs on the leather shoe strap wrapped around my ankle. One stiletto comes off. He moves to the other. His touch is featherlight against my skin, and I’m so damn turned on that I moan in response.

He stands. There’s a rustling sound, like he’s taking something out of his suit. I turn my head to check what’s happening, but the only thing I see is a flash of metal before the left strap of my dress snaps.

Oh my God. He’s cutting off my dress. It takes him another second to cut the other strap, and then my dress is no more than a puddle at my feet. He tucks the knife away somewhere where I can’t see and presses his front against my back.

I don’t protest when his rough hand slides down the front of my thighs and forces my legs apart. I don’t protest when that same warm, big hand pushes its way inside my panties. And I definitely don’t protest when he thrusts one thick finger inside of me and growls, “So fucking wet for me.”

I am. I’m ready for this. I need this.

One finger becomes two, and with it comes a pleasant stretch.

“You have no idea how tight you are,” Rafaele murmurs, his breath hot against my neck. “Tighter than I imagined whenever I fucked my fist thinking of you.”

My core quivers. “Did you do that often?”