65. House of Thorne: Bianca

Trigger Warnings: Adultery/Infidelity, power imbalance, rough sexual play, choking, spanking, anal play, breeding themes, and explicit language.

Bianca

 

    The walls of the estate were thick, but not thick enough to drown out the low, rhythmic murmur of my husband's voice coming from the study. He was in there with my sister, Beatrice, discussing the logistics of the new merger, oblivious to the fact that his most trusted asset was currently pushing me against the cold stone wall of the gallery.

Killian stood six-foot-four, a wall of suit-clad muscle and silent, lethal intent. He had been my shadow for six months, a constant, watchful presence that had slowly transitioned from a security necessity to a carnal obsession. He didn't speak much; he didn't have to. The way his eyes tracked the movement of my hips, the way he lingered a second too long when helping me into the car-it was a silent dialogue of hunger.

"Your husband is distracted, Mrs. Thorne," Killian rumbled, his voice a low, jagged baritone that vibrated through my chest. He was standing so close I could feel the heat radiating from his chest, smelling of cedarwood, rain, and the sharp, metallic tang of his sidearm.

"He's always distracted, Killian," I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs. I was wearing a vintage lace gown, the silk slip beneath it feeling like a second skin. "And Beatrice is there to keep him occupied. We have at least an hour."

Killian's hand moved, a slow, deliberate reach that ended with his fingers wrapping around my throat. He didn't squeeze, but the weight of his palm, the calloused texture of his skin against my pulse, made my pussy give a violent, wet throb.

"You've been a very bad girl today, Bianca," he hissed, using my given name for the first time. "The way you were looking at me during lunch. The way you let your dress slide up while I was driving. You want to see what happens when the sentinel stops guarding and starts taking?"

"Yes," I sobbed, my head tossing back against the stone. "Please, Killian. Take me."

He didn't lead me to a bedroom. That was too far, too safe. He dragged me into the small, darkened library adjacent to the gallery. The air smelled of old paper and leather, a sharp contrast to the raw, animal heat between us. He shoved me onto the mahogany desk, the scattered papers fluttering to the floor.

"On your back," he commanded.

I obeyed, my legs spreading instinctively. Killian didn't waste time with romance. He reached down and ripped my lace panties away, the sound of the tearing silk a sharp punctuation to the silence of the house. He unzipped his trousers, and his cock sprang free-thick, dark, and already pulsing with a desperate need.

"Look at this, Bianca," he growled, grabbing my hair and forcing me to look at the massive length of him. "This is what you've been begging for. This is the man who really runs this house."

He didn't go in yet. He leaned down and began to devour my tits, his mouth hot and demanding through the lace of my gown. He bit my nipples, his teeth grazing the sensitive peaks until I was screaming into the silence.

"Call me Daddy," he hissed, his hand tightening on my throat until my vision sparkled.

"Daddy... please, Daddy... fuck me," I whimpered, my hands clawing at his suit jacket.

He guided the head of his cock to my pussy, the slick, dripping folds of my sex welcoming him home. He drove into me with a single, grounding thrust that bottomed out against my womb. I let out a long, shattered cry, my body arching violently as I was filled to the hilt.

"Oh god, Killian... you're so big," I gasped, my internal muscles clamping around him in a desperate, rhythmic dance.

He began to move, a slow, punishing rhythm that ground his pelvis against mine. He wasn't gentle. He used his weight to pin me down, his thrusts hitting my G-spot with a clinical, focused intensity. Every slam of his hips echoed the thud of my husband's footsteps in the hall, the danger a white-hot spark between us.

"Maybe I should just breed you up and get you pregnant, Bianca," Killian whispered, his voice a dark, terrifying promise as he increased the pace. "Make your husband raise my heir while I keep fucking you and giving you more babies. Imagine him holding my child, thinking it's his, while I'm pinning you against the nursery wall."

The thought was filthy, forbidden, and it made my pussy pulse with a new, frantic need. "Yes... breed me, Daddy... fill me up with your babies..."

He flipped me over, forcing me into a missionary position with my legs hooked over his broad shoulders. He reached down with one hand, his thumb finding the tight, puckered heat of my ass hole. He didn't ask; he shoved his thumb deep inside me while he hammered into my pussy.

The double sensation was a sensory overload. I was being stretched from both ends, my body a map of pleasure and pain. I began to moan, a low, primal sound of total surrender.

"Tell me whose pussy this is!" Killian roared, his pace becoming a frantic, driving force.

"Yours! It's yours, Daddy!"

I reached for him, pulling him down so I could ride him. I sat on his lap, my legs wrapped around his waist, my tits bouncing with every thrust. I was in control now, my pussy milking him for everything he was worth.

"I'm coming! Killian, I'm coming!" I screamed, my body racking with the force of my release. My orgasm was a blinding flash of gold and shadow, a total collapse of my pride.

Killian followed a heartbeat later. "I'm going to fill you, Bianca! I'm going to put my seed so deep you'll never be able to wash it out!" he announced, his voice a guttural roar. "Beg for it! Tell me you want my cum!"

"Give it to me! Please, Daddy! Fill me up! Breed your whore!" I sobbed, my hips bucking back against him.

He erupted. A hot, thick stream of cum hit the back of my womb, his body tensing for the final, pulsing explosion. I felt the weight of him filling me, a warm, messy reminder of our sin. He stayed there, buried inside me, his breath ragged against my neck.

"There," he panted, his voice thick with a dark, satisfied ownership. "Now you're really mine."

Suddenly, the sound of the study door opening echoed through the hall. My husband and sister were finished.

"Bianca? Killian? Where is everyone?" my husband called out.

Killian pulled out of me with a wet, squelching sound and began to tuck himself in, his face returning to its stoic, professional mask in a heartbeat. I scrambled to pull my dress down, my legs shaking, my body heavy and full of him.

"We're in the library, sir," Killian called out, his voice perfectly steady. "Checking the perimeter."

As my husband walked into the room, he saw his beautiful wife and his loyal bodyguard standing by the window. He had no idea that beneath my silk gown, I was dripping with his sentinel's seed, and that the heir he so desperately wanted might already be taking root, courtesy of the man standing three feet away.