Page 9 of Corrupted Bride

“Try that again now, love.”

“Fuck.” I sag against the glass with my hands tied behind my back, heart slamming, pulse aching in my core, burning between my legs. “You bastard.”

“That’s right. Bastiano. Bass. Bastard.” His smirk is devilish like he enjoys this torture. He takes off his jeans. Even his thighs are toned and covered in ink. His black boxer briefs barely restrain a thick, hard dick. “You still haven’t begged yet.”

“I’m not going to.”

“We’ll see.”

The boxer briefs come off.

And fuuuuuuucking hell.

That dick. That freaking cock. It’s massive: long, thick, covered in veins. My mouth waters at the sight of him gripping his base with one big fist. He steps forward, other hand in my hair. “On your knees.”

I should put up a fight and at least pretend like I don’t want that thing in my mouth.

Instead, I eagerly drop down and open.

His groan of pleasure is pure, evil bliss.

I take the tip in my lips. I suck at it lightly, licking around, swirling, tasting pre-cum, salty and warm, before going deeper. Wanting more. Wanting it to make him moan again.

I love that sound. It’s his voice but deeper, more sensual.

I suck his cock, hands behind my back. He holds my hair, my bun now falling apart, some long strands touching between my shoulder blades as I bob up and down. Spit rolls along his shaft. I can’t help it and he doesn’t mind. His moans only get lower, more desperate.

I pull back, gasping, spit connecting my lip and his tip. “Are you going to beg too?”

His eyes flash and I think he likes that. “Only once I’ve taken care of you.”

He pulls me to my feet. I gasp as he kisses me, licking my lips, tasting spit, cock, cum. I moan into him, arching closer, hands still bound. His mouth finds my tits again before tugging me to the table. He knocks the glasses off in his haste, lifting me up and placing me down, legs wide open. His cock presses against my clit, grinding up, and I have barely a second to wonder how the hell it’ll fit⁠—

Until he slides himself inside.

Oh my god.

A burning punch as he stretches me mingles with pure, incredible pleasure. I’m filled in a way I never have been before.

“Shit, Bass,” I whisper. My palms are against the table, my elbows turned out. He’s got a hand behind my back, supporting me, the other on my hips.

“Mari,” he groans, and there’s nothing I want to hear more than my name coming from his mouth like that again. “You feel fucking good.”

He strokes out and in again, out and in, exploring, tasting, like that first kiss. His cock grinds into me and I’m his, taken and controlled. I wriggle until the belt comes loose and I free one wrist, reaching up to cradle his neck, the other still back on the table.

“More,” I say, kissing him eagerly. “More, more, more.”

“You greedy fucking girl,” he mutters, thrusting once hard and to the hilt, forcing me to take every inch of his massive dick.

It’s a lot. It’s nearly too much. I cry out, eyes rolling back, as he stays there, filling me.

It hurts and it feels so fucking good.

“Like that,” I moan, a note of pleading in my voice. “Slow, slow, god, yes, slow, and deep again.”

Another thrust in. Then slow back out. We work in that rhythm, his praise like flashes of lightning in my brain. “So fucking wet, you greedy girl… you want every inch of my big dick… look at you, so beautiful, your pink nipples and your lovely pussy gripping me so tight, goddamn…”

I bite his shoulder as he thrusts in faster.