Page 183 of Breaking Rosalind
I slap his shaft, making him bob to the side. “You don’t deserve my mouth.”
Cesare groans, his tongue moving faster. I continue delivering sharp spanks, turning his cock redder, thicker, juicier. Precum flies out of its tip with every blow, making me groan.
Shit. What is it about this twisted psycho that gets me so excited? I should want a saner man who doesn’t torture people in his basement, yet there’s something about Cesare Montesano I can’t resist.
Pressure builds up around my clit, making it feel like it’s doubled in sensitivity. I squeeze my eyes shut and pant through the sensations.
As the strokes of his tongue slow, I wrap my fingers around his shaft and squeeze tight. “I swear to everything that’s holy, if you leave me hanging, I’ll rip off your cock.”
Chuckling, he picks up his pace, laving my clit with such delicious strokes that I swear I can feel every ridge of his tongue.
Pleasure builds and builds until it feels like I might explode. I rock back and forth over his face to increase the friction. Finally, he reaches up and pinches one of my nipples, sending a surge of pain that makes me crack.
My orgasm comes in a hot rush, drenching my system with wave after wave of liquid rapture. I jerk and spasm over Cesare’s face as I ride through the powerful sensations, but his hands hold my hips in place. His tongue continues moving in slow circles, prolonging the sweet torment until I’m wrung dry.
“Please,” he groans around my folds. “Get on my cock.”
He doesn’t need to ask me twice.
I rise off his face and shuffle down his torso. His huge, veiny cock lies flush against his abs, leaking streams of precum. After turning around to face him, I straddle his hips and hold his shaft at the base.
Cesare’s handsome face is smeared with my juices, but he gazes up at me like I’m the goddess of rapture. For a few heartbeats, I don’t see the psychopath who abducted Miranda and made my life a living hell, only a tortured hero with a tragic past.
I shake off that image. My hormones are malfunctioning, and my judgment is clouded with lust. Now isn’t the time to sympathize with my former captor.
“Ride me,” he growls.
Maybe he did have to ask me twice, after all.
Squeezing my fingers around his cock hard enough to make him hiss through his teeth, I lower myself onto his crown. The metal balls of his piercings slide over my labia, which I swear is more sensitive since the stitches dissolved.
Cesare holds me steady by the hips as I slide down his cock, letting it stretch me open. The piercings rub against a spot inside me that ignite lightning bolts of bliss.
Shivering, I release a moan. When he’s fully sheathed, his hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise. “Stay there,” he says, his voice breathy with awe. “I just want to look at you. Memorize how your tight cunt squeezes my cock.
I relax my muscles just to piss him off, and he laughs. It’s an expression I’ve only seen on him in the photo album, a full smile that reaches his eyes and radiates pure joy.
When I squeeze around him, he groans. “Fuck, Rosalind. You have the tightest, sweetest pussy.”
“I know.” I smirk.
“Move,” he rasps. “Please.”
Raising my hips, I let him feel the slow drag of my walls against his shaft. His hips buck beneath me in protest of the languid pace, but I ignore him and relish in the press of those piercings.
His hard eyes never leave mine, even as his hands explore my belly, my waist, my breasts. As I roll my hips, he rolls my nipples between his fingers.
He’s watching me, studying my expressions as I ride his thick cock. This time, I don’t mind his fascination because I’m also transfixed by his face.
A sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead, highlighting the angular lines of his brow. Somehow, while lying beneath me on the marble floor, his hair has spilled loose from its fastening and spreads around his head like a dark halo.
I can’t tell if he’s a devil or a saint, but his cock feels like heaven. My pussy is so sensitive, I feel every ridge, every vein, every contour of his shaft. One of his four piercings rubs back and forth against a spot that ignites sparks of sensation so intense that I squeeze my eyes shut and bite down on my bottom lip.
“Harder, pet,” he growls. “This is your final warning.”
Ignoring him, I continue at my steady pace. Maybe it’s because I’ve climaxed already and I’m in no hurry for that second orgasm or maybe I want Cesare to know what it feels like to beg for release. Either way, I keep my rhythm slow and torturous and savor the sounds of his desperation.
His fingers leave my nipples and grip my hips again. He bucks into me, sending an explosion of pleasure that radiates from my core, making me gasp.