Her Possessive Don-4

CHAPTER 4

BELLA

I stared at him. “Here?”

“Here,” he said.

“You can’t just—”

“I can,” he said, quiet as ever. “You came on my tongue twenty minutes ago. Now you’re going to take me down your throat and you’re going to look at me while you do it. Knees, Bella.”

I went down.

“Open.”

I opened my mouth and he unzipped. He was already hard and heavy and he rubbed the head over my lower lip.

“Wrap your hand around the base. Good. Now take what you can.”

I took him in and he was thick and hot. My jaw stretched. He exhaled like he’d been holding that breath since the gala. “That’s it,” he said. “Eyes up. Don’t hide in the work.”

I looked up and he pushed deeper and I gagged and my eyes watered and he pulled back just enough for me to drag air in. “I can’t,” I said, voice wrecked already.

“You can,” he said. “Again.”

I took him again and he threaded his fingers into my hair, not yanking, just holding me where he wanted me, and he started to move in short strokes that hit the back of my throat.

I moaned around him because my body had no loyalty left. He watched me the whole time.

“You look ruined already,” he said.

I sucked and I used my tongue. Spit ran down my chin and he groaned, his hips snapped forward and I gagged again. He held me there a second longer than comfort and then let me breathe. “Good girl,” he said.

“I’m not your good girl.”

“You’re on your knees in a charity dress with drool on your chin,” he said. “Tonight you’re whatever I call you. Open.”

He fucked my mouth in earnest then, not brutal enough to break me, just deep and steady and relentless, and the wet sounds filled the quiet penthouse.

I held onto his thighs and tears slipped because my throat was full and my cunt was throbbing from the limo and from this. He pulled out suddenly and I gasped, a string of spit connected my lip to him.

“Stand up,” he said. “Dress off. Now.”

“I can barely feel my knees.”

“Stand anyway.”

I stood and he turned me and unzipped the dress in one pull. It dropped and I stepped out of it. He hooked my underwear down and left me bare except for the heels he didn’t bother taking. He lifted me like I weighed nothing and carried me to the bedroom and dropped me on the bed.

“You’re going to take me properly now,” he said. “ I’m going to fuck you until you cream and squirt and forget the name you keep throwing at me like a shield.”

“Condom,” I said.

“I got tested. You’re clean. We’re not using one tonight,” he said.

He pushed my thighs apart and lined up and drove into me in one long thrust and I cried out because he was bigger than his fingers.

The stretch burned sweet and I clawed at his shoulders. He didn’t give me time to adjust. He pulled back and slammed in again making the bed move. I started seeing white at the edges of my vision.

“Fuck,” I gasped. “Slow down.”

“No,” he said. “You can take it. Wrap your legs around me.”

I wrapped my legs around him and he fucked me hard, hips snapping, the sound of skin on skin loud in the room, and I was moaning on every thrust because he kept hitting that place that made my stomach pull tight. “You’re so wet,” he said. “You came in the limo and you’re still dripping. Tell me how it feels.”

“It feels like you’re splitting me open.”

“And you’re clenching like you want more,” he said. “Say it.”

“I want more. Please. Sir. Please don’t stop.”

He hooked one of my knees higher and drove deeper and I screamed into his neck and I could feel myself getting sloppy wet, cream gathering where we joined, and he looked down between us and groaned. “Look at that. You’re making a mess of my cock. That’s yours. That’s what you do when I fuck you right.”

“I’m going to cum,” I said, and it was already happening, the first one rolling through me so hard I went tight around him and I felt the gush, felt myself squirt around his cock in a hot rush that shocked me and made me cover my face.

He pulled my hands down. “Don’t hide that. You just squirted on me. Say it.”

“I squirted,” I whispered, mortified and shaking. “I can’t believe I—”

“Again,” he said, and he didn’t slow down. He kept pounding into that soaked, sensitive place and I was sobbing moans now, overstimulated and climbing anyway. “You’re going to do it again. I can feel it. Your cunt’s fluttering. Give it to me.”

“I can’t. It’s too much.”

“You can,” he said. “Cream on me. Squirt if your body wants to. I want it on my stomach. I want it on the sheets. I want you seeing stars when I tell you to cum.”

He reached between us and rubbed my clit in tight circles while he fucked me and I broke a second time, harder, and I did squirt, a sharp helpless pulse that wet both of us and I cried out his name and then sir and then nothing that was a word, just sound. My vision went bright and spotted and the room tilted. I was seeing stars the way he promised, white sparks behind my eyes while he kept moving through it.

“That’s it,” he said, voice finally rough. “Look at me. Stay with me. I’m not done.”

“I can’t take more.”

“You will,” he said, and he flipped me onto my stomach and yanked my hips up and sank back in from behind and the new angle made me fist the sheets and moan into the mattress. He fucked me harder like this, one hand in my hair, the other on my hip, and every thrust shoved a broken noise out of me.

“You sound perfect,” he said. “Moaning like you were built for this bed. Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” I gasped. “I belong to you. Sir. Please. I’m going to cum again.”

“ Cum on my cock. Make a mess. Let me feel you fall apart.”

I came a third time with my face in the pillow and my body jerking and I was creaming so much I could hear it, slick and filthy, and he cursed and slammed deep and held and I felt him pulse inside me, filling me in hot spurts while I fluttered around him and saw stars again, little bursts of light every time he ground in to the hilt.

He stayed in me while we both shook

I couldn’t lift my head. “I can’t feel my legs.”

“You don’t need them yet,” he said. “Breathe. I’m still inside you.”

“I know,” I whispered. “I can feel you leaking out of me already.”

He kissed the back of my shoulder and it was almost tender and that scared me more than the hard pace. “Good,” he said. “I want you to feel it when you try to sleep. I want you sore in the morning when I list the next set of rules.”

“There are more rules?”

“There are always more rules,” he said, and he eased out of me slow and I whimpered at the empty ache and the wet slide down my thighs. He rolled me onto my back and looked at the mess he’d made of me, swollen and shiny and still twitching, and he dragged two fingers through it and held them to my mouth. “Clean.”

I licked his fingers, he watched me do it and nodded once.

“Sleep here,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

He pulled the sheet over us and his hand settled low on my stomach, possessive even in the dark, and I stared at the ceiling with stars still fading at the edges of my sight and the taste of him in my mouth and the throb between my legs.