“Oh. My. God. Dorian,” I say between gasps. “Don’t. No.”
“See, Gabriella, you’re saying one thing but I know for a fact that you feel differently. Don’t you want it?”
“Yes! Of course I do, I just…I…I can’t lose control. I won’t,” I stammer.
Again, Dorian smiles devilishly. He licks his lips, tasting the remnants of my juices. Everything about him is so erotic, so hot. I want him here, between my thighs, sampling my pleasure. But I want to be able to rub his shoulders, grab fistfuls of his hair in my state of euphoria. I’m completely helpless tied up, and that’s exactly how Dorian wants me.
“I’m sorry, little girl. But you’ve already lost control. You never had it.”
Dorian buries his face in the apex of my thighs, and I instantly cry his name. His slick tongue dives into every crevice and swell. He’s ravenous; it’s as if he hasn’t eaten in days the way he consumes me. Every time I think he has devoured every ounce of my wetness, a fresh wave greets his hungry lips. It’s so carnal, so salacious and it arouses me to no end. Though his deep, throaty groans are masked by my shrill cries, I know he’s affected too. His hands fly up to finger my nipples, never straying from the rhythm of his firm, wet tongue. The sensation is…magical. Pure pleasure personified. It brings me to my brink, pushing me over the edge and I release a flash flood of sweetness.
After Dorian has consumed every drop, he sits straight up on his knees. My lust is still glistening on his full lips, and surprisingly, I urge to taste them. Again, hearing my thoughts in the uncanny way that he does, he leans forward and kisses me, letting me sample my own sex. The act is so ridiculously kinky, something I would have never dreamed of doing, yet I relish my flavor. Dorian leans back onto his knees again, his hard erection tapping me on my inner thighs. My eyes widen at the sight of it; it’s beautiful, generous, and perfect in every way.
“What should I do now, Gabriella? Do you want to feel me?” Dorian says, biting his bottom lip. His eyes are aflame with concentrated sex and desire. He looks every bit like the Greek god that he is.
“Yes. Hell yes, Dorian!” I groan. I want him so bad. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more.
Dorian shakes his head playfully. “No, no, I don’t think you do. Make me believe it. I need to hear you say it.”
Why is he doing this to me? I’m lightheaded from panting so much and my skin is sizzling. Can’t he see how hot I am for him? Can’t he feel it?
“Yes, Dorian, I want you!”
“I don’t believe you, baby. Scream it.” Dorian’s eyes are suddenly glowing, ablaze with an inferno of hedonism. They illuminate in the dimming sunlight streaming through the cracks of the curtains, revealing the savage Dark One.
“I want you! Please! I want you inside me!” shouts a desperate, agonized voice that I don’t even recognize.
With a carnal growl, Dorian rocks into me, filling my depths with his long, probing sex. A garbled cry escapes me, utterly shocked at the jolting impact. His hips rise and fall, thrusting fervently as he grips the sides of my ass, elevating me off the bed. I can feel his fingers digging into my soft flesh, pulling me into him to meet his hard, measured strokes. Farther and farther he delves, each thrust proving to be deeper than the last. They meet every pleasure point, every secret dwelling that provokes my pivotal downfall. My cries are a harsh, expletive, shrill song of praise; his, a chant of torturous restraint and control. Just when I think I cannot take anymore, Dorian’s hand travels down to my swollen clit, and he begins to gently massage, aligning it with the rhythm of his thrusts and the provocative music.
“Oh God, you feel so good,” I moan. And he does; so good I want to cry.
“Yeah? Has anyone ever felt this good to you?”
I shake my head furiously. “No, baby. Never.”
“I am going to own every part of you. Only me,” he grits. “Tell me no one else will have you. Tell me I own this.” He stirs my sex, pinching my swell. It’s enough to make me erupt violently, and all coherent thought and speech escape me.
Dorian digs into my core harder, pressing my button, rubbing my own slickness into the delicate bud. “Tell me I fucking own it!” he growls.
“Yes- oh God- yes, Dorian! You own it,” I sputter. “All of it. It’s yours.”
As if hearing my admission flipped some internal switch, Dorian increases the pace and ferocity of his strokes. Every time he slams into me, the Earth shifts a bit. The air around us shimmers and glows. This isn’t natural; this isn’t how sex is supposed to be for ordinary people. But we are anything but ordinary, and even if I were, I wouldn’t want anything other than the sheer animalistic bliss that Dorian delivers. He is all-consuming; I feel him stimulating every part of me all at once. Owning me.