Novels by Elieroi

Lucia could not stand. Her legs refused to hold her weight. She remained draped over the dining table, cheek pressed to the polished wood, skirt bunched around her waist, bare ass and freshly claimed cunt on full display. Thick mixed fluid, her virgin blood and Damian's c*m, slid slowly down the insides of her thighs and dripped onto the floor in quiet, obscene drops. Every heartbeat sent a fresh throb of pain through the torn place between her legs. She had never felt so empty and so full at the same time. The door opened again. Damian returned without a word. He carried a black silk robe over one arm and a small white cloth in his hand. He set both on the table beside her head, then simply looked down at the mess he had made of her. "Still leaking," he observed, voice cold and detached. Good. It means I filled you properly. Lucia tried to push herself up. A sharp pain lanced through her core and she gasped, collapsing back onto her elbows. Damian's hand settled on the small of

Lucia washed herself in the black marble shower until the water ran cold.She scrubbed between her legs until the skin stung, trying to erase the memory of Damian's tongue and the way she had come apart for him like a cheap toy. The orgasm still echoed in her muscles. Her thighs trembled when she stepped out. In the mirror her reflection looked different, flushed, marked, owned. She pulled the black sweater and skirt back on with shaking hands, then forced herself to walk downstairs.The east dining room was long and cold. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked a rain-soaked garden. Damian already sat at the head of the table, black shirt still open at the throat, a cup of black coffee in one hand and a tablet in the other. He did not look up when she entered."Sit."She sat opposite him. The distance felt deliberate. A plate of food had already been placed in front of her, eggs, toast, fruit. She could not imagine eating.Damian set the tablet down and finally raised his eyes. They move

Lucia did not sleep.The room they locked her in was beautiful in the way a gilded cage is beautiful, high ceilings, heavy silk curtains, a four-poster bed large enough for three people, and a bathroom of black marble and gold fixtures. None of it mattered. The windows were sealed. The door was solid oak with a lock that turned only from the outside. When she pressed her ear to it she could hear the soft shift of boots in the hallway. Two guards. Rotating every hour.She sat on the edge of the bed in the ruined blouse she had managed to button as best she could, arms wrapped around herself, staring at the wall until the first gray light of morning slipped through the curtains.Her body still remembered his hands.The ghost of his fingers on her throat. The rough squeeze of her breast. The deliberate, humiliating stroke that had left her aching and wet and furious. She hated him for it. She hated herself more for the way her pulse still jumped every time she replayed the moment he had

The guards did not ask again.One of them reached into the car, closed a large hand around Lucia's upper arm, and pulled her out into the rain. She stumbled on the wet gravel, heels sliding, coat already soaked through. The second man took her other arm. Together they marched her up the wide stone steps of the mansion as if she weighed nothing. The heavy double doors opened before they reached them. Warm air and the scent of polished wood and expensive cigars spilled out into the night.Damian stood in the center of the vast marble foyer, already free of his jacket. A servant had taken it. Rain still glistened on his dark hair and the white shirt clung slightly to the hard lines of his chest and shoulders. He did not look at her. He simply turned and walked toward a set of tall double doors on the left, expecting to be followed.The guards forced her after him.The study was larger than her entire apartment. Dark wood paneling. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A massive desk of black sto

Lucia Moretti knew someone was following her.She first noticed the black Mercedes three blocks from the café where she had spent the last two hours grading papers. At first she told herself it was nothing. Milan was full of expensive cars that slid through the rain like sharks. The same model appeared often enough in the financial district that she had stopped counting them. But when she turned onto the quieter residential street that led to her apartment building, the Mercedes turned with her. Its headlights cut through the downpour and stayed fixed on her back.Lucia tightened her grip on the strap of her leather handbag until the seams bit into her palm. She increased her pace. The rain had grown heavier in the last ten minutes, soaking the shoulders of her coat and turning the pavement slick beneath her heels. Every step sent a small jolt of cold water up the back of her calves. She glanced over her shoulder once, then again. The car maintained the exact same distance. Not closin