Page 37 of Punishing His Runaway Bride
His tone sent a chill through my entire body.
I slowly lay flat on my back, the cold bedsheet pressing against my skin.
He straightened up and untied the belt of his robe. The fabric slid off, and he stood completely naked in the moonlight. His shoulders were broad, his waist powerful, and his abs sharply defined. His cock was already fully erect, thick veins winding around the shaft, the swollen head glistening with a dark, wet sheen under the moonlight—its size intimidating.
He leaned down again.
His hand seized the collar of my nightgown and ripped it apart with one brutal tug. Buttons flew off, the thin fabric tore open, and my breasts spilled out. My nipples hardened instantly from the cold air and fear. He glanced down at them, then covered one breast with his palm, his thumb rubbing over the stiff peak with just enough pressure to make me gasp sharply.
Then he flipped me over, forcing me onto my stomach.
My face was buried in the pillow; I couldn't see anything. I could only feel his weight, his heat, and his hands.
His palm slid down my waist, yanking off the last scrap of my panties.
"Ezio—"
He didn't answer.
My legs were roughly shoved apart by his knees.
His fingers came first—two of them, pushing straight into my still-dry pussy. The friction was harsh and painful. I flinched hard, but hedidn't stop. His fingertips dug deeper, probing inside me as if inspecting something.
"Relax," he said, his voice low and flat.
I bit down on the pillow. My pregnancy-sensitive body betrayed me quickly, growing wet around his fingers. I heard him let out a low, mocking laugh, and my cheeks burned with shame.
He withdrew his fingers and replaced them with the scorching head of his cock. The thick, hard tip rubbed back and forth along my slit a few times, grinding against my folds until my thighs trembled. Then his hips sank forward, and he drove his entire length inside me in one brutal thrust.
No foreplay. No mercy.
I bit the pillow so hard my jaw ached, choking back a scream. My inner walls were forcibly stretched open around his thick cock, every inch claimed without resistance. The head slammed straight into the deepest part of me, making my lower belly ache.
He started thrusting.
Hard. Deep. Each stroke felt like he was trying to nail me to the bed. Wet, obscene sounds filled the room as his cock pistoned in and out, and I could feel my unwilling arousal leaking down my inner thighs.
His hand fisted in my hair and yanked my face out of the pillow.
"Don't bite," he said coldly. "There are people outside. Let them hear."
I looked into his eyes.
They were empty. No warmth. No emotion.
Only duty.
Only proof.
He kept moving, faster now. His heavy balls slapped against my ass with loud, wet smacks. Every time he pulled out, the flared ridge of his cockhead dragged across that sensitive spot inside me, mixing pain with unwanted pleasure until tears streamed down my face.
Suddenly, he paused.
His large hand moved to my slightly rounded belly and pressed down gently.
"Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice as casual as if he were asking about the weather.
I couldn't answer. My throat was too tight.
