“You’re fucking magnificent—"
“This gorgeous pussy is mine.”
I’m sobbing, jerking, coming so hard, I can’t catch my breath. The contractions in my core are uncontrollable. Thermonuclear. I feel as if I might explode.
All the while, he talks to me, a constant stream of tender filth and beautiful profanity that somehow manages to make me feel cherished and worshipped instead of debased.
He pulls out the dildo and replaces it with his cock, shoved in hard to the hilt.
Then he curls a big hand firmly around the back of my neck and holds me down as he fucks me.
I love it so much, I moan his name.
He winds an arm around my waist and drags me up to my knees, then pushes my head down so my cheek is on the mattress but my ass is in the air. He drives into me over and over, his balls slapping against my pussy, a hand pulling my hair.
The other hand is busy between my legs, tugging on and stroking my throbbing clit, replacing the toy that fell out from under me when he hiked me up.
“Kage…oh god…”
“Take it, baby. Take every inch of me.”
His cock is huge, fatter than the dildo even, long and strong. I’m stretched open around him and so wet, it’s slipping down my thighs. My breasts swing with every thrust of his hips. I’m completely out of my mind with pleasure.
Which is the likely reason for what I say next.
“Spank me,” I whisper, clutching the sheets desperately. “Spank my ass.”
“Not this time. You’re not ready.”
I’m almost offended. “What? You’ve been threatening me with it for—”
Crack!
I jerk and suck in a hard breath. My ass stings like fire where he slapped it.
“I said, you’re not ready. Don’t make me say it again.”
“You want to play it that way? Fine—I revoke my permission. The only way you’ll ever get to spank me is if you let me spank you first!”
He laughs. Curls his hand tighter into my hair. Keeps fucking me.
The smug son of a bitch.
He reaches around my body again and fondles my swollen clit.
If someone can moan angrily, I just did.
Then suddenly, he pulls out, flips me over, spreads my thighs, and goes down on me again, holding my wrists tightly by my sides so I’m pinned there helplessly as he eats me.
When I’m groaning loudly and my thighs are shaking with the effort of holding back another orgasm because I’m mad at him, he releases me, throws my legs over his shoulders, and drives inside me again, bending me in half.
He pins my arms over my head with one big hand gripped around both my wrists and starts to whisper hotly into my ear as his free hand grabs my breast and squeezes.
Only I can’t understand what he’s saying because it’s in Russian.
Which I’m thinking is the point.
Then he kisses me. Deeply. Groaning into my mouth. The motion of his hips falters. He breaks away from my lips with a choked “Fuck!”
He’s trying not to come, too.
So of course I have to keeping rolling my hips, fucking myself onto his engorged cock, urging him closer to losing control.
Just because he’s bigger and stronger doesn’t mean he’s the one in charge.
I might only be a middle school teacher with a shitty car and a pathetic dating history and an inability to multiply single digits without a calculator, but I’m his queen now.
I intend to throw on my crown and show him who he’s dealing with.
When he opens his eyes and gazes down at me, his brow furrowed and his expression one of intense concentration bordering on pain, I smile.
“How you feeling, big boy? You look a little strung out.”
Breathing hard, he rasps something in Russian. I have no idea what he said, but it doesn’t matter. This is my game we’re playing.
My game, my rules.
“I’m feeling quite well, thank you for asking. Though I have to admit, my pussy is stretched so tight around your enormous cock, I can hardly take it. It’s a good thing I’m so wet.”
His eyes flare. He inhales a sharp breath.
I smile wider.
Oh yeah. It’s on.
Dropping my voice, I whisper, “I bet I’ll be even wetter when you take me over your knee and spank me, though. I’ll get so hot and wet, and I’ll squirm on your lap and beg you to fuck me, but you won’t fuck me until I suck your cock until you’re almost ready to come, too.
“You’ll spank me while I’ve got your big hard cock shoved down my throat, won’t you, Kage? Oh, yes, you’ll slap my naked ass over and over with your bare hand while I play with my drenched, throbbing pussy and you fuck my mouth, then you’ll get me on my hands and knees and violate my virgin ass with this giant dick of yours—”
With a violent jerk that shakes us both and the bed, Kage climaxes.
He throws back his head and shouts hoarsely at the ceiling, every muscle in his big body tensed.
I’d be lying if I said watching him come completely unstrung because I talked dirty to him had no effect on me.
In reality, it’s the opposite.
Knowing I have just as much power over him in bed as he has over me makes me so excited, it only takes a few more jerks of my hips against his for me to go right over the edge with him.
I surge up against him, convulsing.
He drops his head to my breasts and pulls hard on a nipple with his hot mouth.
I feel him throbbing inside me, throbbing and pulsing as I clench around him. I scream out his name.
It goes on and on until we both collapse back against the mattress, panting.
When both of our bodies have stopped trembling and we’ve finally caught our breath, Kage slides out of me, rolls us to our sides, tucks me against him so he’s spooning me, and sighs a deep, satisfied sigh into my hair.
In a husky voice warmed by wonder, he says, “That filthy mouth.”
“Did you like it?”
“I’ve never come so hard in my life.”
My ego squeals in delight, but I try to play it cool, shrugging. “I learned from the best.”
His chuckle shakes us both. He presses a tender kiss to the nape of my neck. “You’ll be the death of me, beautiful girl.”
I smile. “Let’s hope not.”
That’s the last thing I remember before I drop into a sleep so deep, it’s practically a coma.
When I wake up in the morning, I’m alone.
Kage is gone.
And the cops are pounding on my front door.
19
Nat
When I open the door, I find two people standing on my front step. One of them is an older man in a police uniform. He’s paunchy and has one of those red noses that hints at years of heavy drinking. I don’t recognize him.
The other person is an attractive Black woman in her late forties wearing business casual dress: tan slacks and a navy jacket with a white button-up shirt beneath. She wears no makeup or jewelry, not even earrings. Her fingernails are unpolished. Her hair is pulled back in a simple bun. Despite her lack of ornamentation, she gives off an air of effortless glamour.
I recognize her well.
Her name’s Brown. Detective Doretta Brown, to be precise.
The woman who led the investigation into David’s disappearance and never let me forget for a second that she wasn’t ruling anyone out as a suspect.