Page 60 of The Beast Who Broke Me
“You like that?” he mocks. He’s got three fingers in me already, working me with deep pumps that make me shudder, my cock starting to smear over Nonna Mellie’s quilt.
And my body is begging for more.
He pulls his fingers out, leaving me empty and aching. I hear the rustle as he finally undresses, the thud of his shoes hitting the floor, the soft whisper of his zipper. And then he’s back on the bed, the heat of his body a brand against my skin. I feel the fat, heavy weight of his cock resting in the slick cleft of my ass.
“You’ve been thinking about this all night, haven’t you?” he says. “Thinking about me stuffing your hole full.”
“Yes,” I grit out.
He presses his cockhead to my asshole but doesn’t breach me. “You wanted it so bad you forgot to protect my house, my people. You really think you deserve it?”
“I’m sorry,” I pant, trying to push back and take him in.
“You will be.” He grabs my hips, stilling me. “You don’t get to make the decisions here. You don’t get to set the pace. You’re just a hole for me to use. A tool for me to get off with. Right?” He punctuates the question with a slow push that gets his head past my ring, and the noise I make sounds like agreement.
The stretch burns, but it’s a good burn. It’s what I’ve been desperate for all day and night.
“You wanted to clear your head,” he says. “So let’s do that. Let’s clear it of everything but my dick in your ass.”
He shoves the rest of the way in, one smooth, inexorable push that knocks me forward, and stays there, letting me adjust. Letting me feel every fat inch of him inside me, the weight of him over my back, the warmth of him.
And then he reaches for his phone from the nightstand, sets it down on the pillow next to my head. “No signal down here,” hesays conversationally. “But I don’t need a signal to let you listen to a message I got from Seb Conti.”
A voice fills the room, tinny and casual through the speaker.
The Morellis never threatened your people. I sat down with Nick Fontana over a beer tonight, and he hasn’t heard anything about it. The Clemenza kid is under their protection. But this threat against your people—you must have got your wires crossed.
The voicemail ends.
The silence around us is broken only by the sound of his steady breathing, and my own ragged gasps as the understanding floods through me, turning me cold from the inside out.
He knows.
He knows I lied about the Morelli threat against his household.
And he was careful to make sure I texted Finch, to give him at least twenty-four hours clear, and then took me down here and he...
I think he’s going to kill me.
I can’t even save myself, because I’m pinned beneath him, his cock inside me, his hand pressing down between my shoulder blades…and my body arching so hard for him I think my back might snap.
The horror of that is what hits hardest. Not that he found out, not that I might die here, but that my body doesn’t care. My bodykeepswanting. Keeps responding. Keeps pushing back against him, asking for more, even now.
“Dami—”
“Shut up.” He pushes my face into the pillow. “You’re a lying snake,” he says, devoid of any emotion.
He thrusts into me again, hard. Punishing. And the shame of the noise I make, the hot, burning shame, makes me want to crawl out of my own skin.
But I can’t. I’m trapped. Trapped between my childhood mattress and the monster I created.
He sets a brutal pace, making the bed creak with each impact. The force of it pushes me into the pillow, muffling those noises I can’t hold back. I’m torn between the overwhelming pleasure and the excruciating humiliation. My ass is stretched wide around his thick cock, and each stroke drags against that bundle of nerves inside me, sending shocks of ecstasy through me.
He grabs my hair and pulls my head back.
“Please—” I gasp out.
“Please what? Please stop? You don’t want me to stop. We both know you don’t.” His mouth is close to my ear and his voice is almost gentle. “That’s your problem, little prince. Youneverwant me to stop. You want to be right here on your belly for me. You were born to it, Clemenza.”
