“Fuck,” he hisses, and gives a hard, deliberate thrust that makes me wail. But I’m beyond caring. My world has narrowed to the feel of him inside me, the stretch and the ache, the overwhelming pleasure…and the delicious promise of having him fill me up.
Because nothing on earth is going to stop Damiano Orsini now. I can tell by the way he’s breathing, by the way his hips are moving, by the feel of the sweat dripping off him onto my chest—he’s close.
He’s close, and it’s going to be a torrent.
He arches up, pulling almost all the way out again until just the head of that massive dick is stretching my rim. “You want proof?” he pants. “Fucking take it.”
With that, he slams back into me, and I feel it, the flood of him filling me up so completely that I think I might drown. He grunts with every pulse of his cock, marking me as his from the inside out.
He collapses onto me, but I don’t want him to move. I want to stay connected to him like this for as long as possible. He’s heavy, but I’m willing to suffocate for this. His breath is hot and humid against my neck, and I feel the frantic beat of his heart against my chest, matching my own.
We lie there for a quiet moment, our bodies slick with sweat and cum, the smell of it musky and overpowering in the darkness. I run my hands up and down his back, feeling the muscles there relax, the tension finally leaving them.
I’m still hard and aching, and my ass is sore.
But I’m content.
After a minute, he stirs, pushing himself up on his arms. His cock slides out of me and I feel a hot trickle escape, running down the crack of my ass. I make a noise of protest.
“Jesus,” he sighs. He shifts, then I feel his fingers at my hole, tracing the puffy rim, then pushing inside me, into that mess he made. “You’re dripping,” he says, a note of satisfaction in his voice.
“You filled me up,” I manage to say.
“Not even close,” he says. “That was round one, golden boy.” His hand trails up to my cock, which leaps eagerly into his palm asthough it has a mind of its own. I’m so sensitive I feel like I could burst from just the lightest touch. I gasp as he tightens his grip, a slow, deliberate pull from root to tip that has my hips arching off the bed. “Come on,” he says. “I wanna taste you again.”
I’m still a little disoriented, so when I feel Dami’s tongue swirling around the head of my cock, I cry out in surprise. He licks into the slit, then takes the whole head into his mouth, sucking me right down, while those fingers return to my ass again, like he’s trying to keep all his spunk inside me. The idea of it, combined with the suction of his mouth and the soft, insistent press of his fingers, is enough to finish me off.
I come so hard it feels like every muscle in my body seizes up, arching into his greedy mouth as he swallows me down. It takes a long, long time for the shudders to stop. When they do, I flop bonelessly against the mattress, exhausted.
He crawls back up to lie beside me, pushing me onto my side. I assume he’s going to spoon me, but that’s not what he does at all. He tugs at my leg until I let him hoist it up and over his thigh, then he lines himself up again and stuffs himself into me, only half-hard, so soon after emptying into me…but getting harder every second.
It’s sore, but it’s agoodsoreness. I feel that delicious stretch again as my hole welcomes him back in, and he starts a slow rhythm as he coaxes himself back to full hardness. It’s less frantic. Less angry. He slides a hand up my waist to my chest and plays with my nipples for a while. He’s only taking shallow little strokes, which I’m grateful for, since I’m still sensitive from my own orgasm.
After a while, his hand moves from my chest to my throat, fitting over it and tipping my head back. He picks up the pace, and I push my ass against him, taking him deeper.
“You wanted proof,” he murmurs into my ear. “I gave it to you.” The grip on my throat tightens a little, and my pulse hammers against his palm. “Now tell me.”
“I’m yours,” I choke out. “Dami, I’m yours?—”
“Again,” he commands, shoving his thigh up under mine so the angle changes. It’s deeper. Better.
“I’m yours,” I gasp.
“Yeah, you’re mine,” he spits out, and I feel him swelling up inside me, making me so full I might burst. And just like him, I’m getting hard again, impossibly hard so soon after coming for him. But Dami is stroking inside me exactly right.
He knows me too well.
He knows exactly how to touch me, how to fuck me, what to say to make me so hot I can’t think straight. He knows things about me that I’m still not comfortable enough to face, like the fact that I get off on being spanked, or caged, or having a golden dildo stuffed up my asshole. He knows I like it when he holds me down, when he’s rough with me, when he makes me submit.
His hand leaves my throat and slides down my chest, my stomach, lower, until he’s cupping my balls, rolling them in his palm. I thrust into his grip, seeking more friction, but he just holds them there, a possessive weight that has me whining in the back of my throat.
He’s dangerous, but not in the way I thought when he bought me. He’s dangerous to my equilibrium, to my self-perception, to mysanity.
With a final thrust and a smothered groan, he comes again. I just lie there and take it, my body shuddering with each pulse of his dick, my own cock twitching with sympathetic pleasure. His thumb rubs over the sensitive skin behind my balls, pressing into my taint, and then his hand goes back to my dick. He doesn’t even need to do much, just wrap those strong fingers around me and jack me a few times before I convulse in his embrace and start to shoot.
“Come on, golden boy,” he says, and I hear the lazy satisfaction in his voice. “Give it up to me again. All of it.”
I do.