#2 Violent Pleasure

Mia

My silence was his answer. I couldn't say the word, but my body had already chosen for me. My legs went slack, falling open on the carpet, a silent surrender to the predator pinning me down.

Roman smiled, a grimace devoid of warmth but loaded with satisfaction.

"Good girl," he whispered.

He didn't put the gun away. He continued the barrel's downward path, sliding it over my flat stomach, tracing an icy line that made my muscles contract. He reached the edge of my underwear. With a skillful movement, he used the tip of the barrel to hook the fabric and push it aside, leaving my intimacy totally exposed to his gaze and the cold air of the room.

"Look at you," he said, his voice raspy. "You’re trembling with fear, but down here you’re inviting me in."

He brought the cold barrel of the gun directly to my entrance. The contact of the frozen metal against the swollen, hot folds of my vagina tore a sharp moan from me. Roman pressed lightly, rubbing the steel against my clitoris, teasing my sensitivity, mixing fear with a perverse pleasure.

"Wet..." he observed, watching how the barrel glistened with my fluids. "I didn't imagine danger could get you this wet, devochka."

Roman set the gun aside on the floor, within arm’s reach, and lowered his head. There was no foreplay. He sank his tongue directly into my vagina, licking with possessive force, savoring my arousal greedily. His rough tongue slid between my folds, opening me, prepping me, while his large hands gripped my thighs to keep me open. I arched my back, lost in the sensation of his expert mouth devouring me. But he didn't want to just taste, he wanted to mark and possess.

He rose abruptly to his knees, looming between my open legs, an immense tower of darkness and power. I heard the sound of his belt and zipper. When he freed himself, my eyes went wide.

My mouth watered and my thighs clenched at the sight of his thick, erect member pointing at me. It was huge, and pre-cum glistened at the tip, promising a total invasion.

"You’re going to take every inch," Roman growled, grabbing my hips.

He showed no mercy. He positioned the tip of his member at my slippery entrance and thrust forward. I felt my sex stretch to the limit to accommodate his girth, opening almost painfully and pleasurably as he sank into me.

"Ah! It's too much!" I cried out, but I didn't try to stop him.

"Shut up and take it," he ordered, pushing until his hips slammed against mine with a dull thud.

I was completely full. My tight canal could barely adapt to the thickness of his member, stretching me until I felt like I would split in two. I dug my nails into his strong shoulders. The sensation of fullness was overwhelming, an exquisite pressure that erased any rational thought.

Roman began to move. It wasn't gentle, it was hard and brutal. And my body received it as if it were made for that. I could feel my arousal making a mess at the point where our sexes collided again and again. The sound of our bodies slapping and the wet noise of friction filled the sealed room.

"You feel fucking good..." he hissed, his eyes locked on mine, dark with lust. "You seem made for me."

The mix of adrenaline from the fight and the brutality of his sex pushed me over the edge. Feeling his weight, his dominance, and his thick member pumping in and out of me, rubbing my most sensitive spots with ruthless friction, was too much.

"Oh, God!" I screamed, clinging to his tense arms.

I came. My internal walls clamped around his girth. Roman’s final thrusts were brutal as he chased his release before burying himself in me to the hilt.

I felt the jerk of his body and then the hot explosion of his semen. I clearly felt him emptying himself inside me, jet after jet of thick fluid flooding my insides, filling me with his brand, saturating me completely.

He stayed there, breathing heavily against my neck, keeping me pinned to the floor while the last pulsations of his orgasm faded.

Slowly, he withdrew. The feeling of emptiness was immediate, followed by the hot wetness of his semen and my own fluids dripping out of me, staining my inner thighs and the expensive carpet.

My body went limp, exhausted, floating in that haze where reality seemed distant. I barely had the strength to move a finger.

I felt Roman stand up and heard the sound of his zipper and belt returning to place with that habitual coldness. Then, there was silence. He looked down at me, assessing the mess he had made of me.

Without a word, he leaned down. His strong arms wrapped around me and he lifted me off the floor with startling ease, holding me against his chest as if I weighed nothing.

Instinctively, I sought his warmth. I let my head fall into the hollow of his neck, too exhausted to remember that I was supposed to hate him, breathing in his scent of tobacco and sex.

He walked a few steps with a steady stride until I felt a soft surface beneath my back. He deposited me carefully onto the mattress of the massive bed. I stirred slightly, feeling the discomfort of my wrinkled, damp clothes.

Roman noticed. With a touch that was almost clinical yet strangely delicate, he pulled down my skirt to cover my legs and adjusted my blouse. Then, he pulled up the heavy sheets and covered me.

I felt the mattress dip as he leaned over me one last time. His large hand brushed a strand of hair from my forehead, and his lips grazed my ear, sending one final shiver through me.

"Rest, devochka," he whispered, his deep voice vibrating in the darkness. "Your father's debt is settled. He is free."

He paused, and I felt the caress of his thumb on my cheek, branding me.

"But you are staying. You belong to me now."