76. Running From Him

Elena

The clock on the mantle ticked with a rhythmic, mocking precision. Two years. Seven hundred and thirty days of sharing a bed with a man who was as much a predator as he was a husband. When the contract was signed, I told myself it was just business-a merger of two powerful families. But hearts are treacherous things. I had fallen in love with Dominic, a man whose hands were often stained with blood and whose knuckles were perpetually bruised from the "negotiations" he never spoke of.

I had been content to play the clueless wife, to wash the crimson stains from his shirts and pretend I didn't see the darkness in his eyes. Until today.

I had gone to his office to surprise him with the news of the life growing inside me. Instead, I stood in the hallway and watched through the cracked door as he held his ex-girlfriend against his desk. I watched him kiss her with a hunger that made my stomach churn, and I heard him tell her that our time was almost up. The contract was ending.

He didn't know about the baby. And he never would. I couldn't raise a child in this world of violence and broken vows. I had spent the last week smuggling small items out of the house, packing a bag piece by piece. Tonight was my exit. But first, I had to ensure he was too exhausted to notice me leaving.

I heard the heavy front door slam. A few minutes later, the bedroom door opened. Dominic stood there, his tie loosened, a smear of dirt on his cheek. He smelled of expensive whiskey, gunpowder, and the cloying, sweet scent of a woman's perfume that wasn't mine.

"You're still up, Elena," he rumbled, his voice a low, jagged vibration.

"I wanted to welcome you home," I lied, stepping out of the shadows. I was wearing a nightdress of sheer black silk that left nothing to the imagination. My tits were heavy, the nipples already dark and hard against the fabric.

Dominic's eyes darkened, that possessive, animalistic glint taking over. He walked toward me, his hand finding my throat and squeezing just enough to make my breath hitch. "You look like you're begging for something."

"I missed my husband," I whispered, reaching for his belt.

He didn't waste time. He shoved me back onto the bed, the silk of the sheets cool against my skin. He stripped with a frantic, violent energy. His body was a map of scars and muscle, a testament to the dangerous life he led. When he stepped out of his trousers, his cock sprang free-thick, dark, and already pulsing with a desperate, heavy need.

"On your knees," he commanded.

I obeyed, the vulnerability of the position fueled by the knowledge that this was the last time. I took him into my mouth, my jaw aching as I accommodated his massive girth. He tasted of salt and the iron of his own knuckles. Dominic reached down and grabbed my hair, yanking my head back and forth as he dictated the rhythm.

"Yes... take it all," he hissed. "Show me how much you belong to me."

He pulled out and flipped me onto my back, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand. He reached down and ripped the black silk dress away, exposing my body to the cold air. He began to devour my tits, his mouth hot and demanding, his teeth grazing the sensitive peaks. He delivered a sharp, stinging slap to my thigh, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

"You. Are. My. Wife," he growled, punctuation each word with a violent, grounding thrust as he entered me.

I let out a long, shattered cry. He was so large, a raw, skin-on-skin friction that felt like it was claiming every part of me. Every slam of his hips was a declaration of ownership.

"Mine!" he roared, his hands digging into my hips. "Every inch of this pussy belongs to me. You think I don't see the way you look at me? You're mine forever, contract or no contract."

I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. I needed him to finish. I needed him to empty himself into me so he would fall into the deep, post-coital sleep that always followed his rages.

"Yes, Dominic... I'm yours," I moaned, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth. "Fuck me harder. Fill me up."

The rhythm became a frantic, wet percussion. He moved to doggy style, grabbing my hair and pulling my head back so I had to look at our reflection in the vanity mirror. I saw the predator and the prey, the man who broke bones and the woman who was about to break his heart.

"I'm close!" he warned, his voice a primal, guttural sound of triumph. "I'm going to fill you so deep you'll feel me in your soul! Take every drop, Elena! Take it all for your master!"

"Please! Give it to me! Fill me up!"

I increased the pace of my hips, my pussy milking him for everything he was worth. I felt the white-hot spark of my own climax beginning to bloom-a tension so tight it felt like I was going to explode.

"I'm coming! Don't you dare move!"

He erupted. A hot, thick stream of cum hit the back of my sex, his body shaking with the force of the release. He fired again and again, the weight of his seed filling me to the brim. He collapsed against my back, his breath ragged against my neck, his heart hammering against my spine.

I waited. Ten minutes. Twenty. Slowly, his breathing leveled out into the heavy, rhythmic snores of a man who felt entirely secure in his domain.

I slipped out from under him, my movements as silent as a ghost. I didn't wash. I didn't want the sound of the shower to wake him. I threw on a pair of leggings and a heavy sweater, grabbing the small bag I'd hidden behind the guest towels.

I crept down the back stairs. Maria, the youngest maid, was waiting by the service entrance. She looked terrified, but she held the keys to her old sedan. She didn't say a word as she opened the trunk. I climbed in, curling around my bag, the scent of Dominic's release still heavy on my skin.

The trunk slammed shut. I felt the car start, the low vibration of the engine the first step toward my freedom. As we rolled past the front gates and the armed security guards who bowed to Maria, I placed a hand on my stomach.

"We're going to be okay," I whispered into the dark.

Dominic would wake up in a few hours to an empty bed and a broken contract. He would realize that while he could own my body and my name, he could never own the one thing I was taking with me, his future.