I stand my ground, waiting for him to make his move. He peels back his suit jacket to leave him in a crisp white shirt under his tailored vest. The ink on his forearms ripples as he rolls up his sleeves, revealing more and more black and grey. The tattoos fascinated me to begin with. I’d lie in bed and study them when Benjamin was sleeping. The intricacy of the needlework is incredible. Every time I looked at him, I’d find another part of his masterpiece to wonder at. Now, when I look at them, I see them as a part of who Benjamin Vico is—his history, his story. They help craft the character he is. Of course, many people don’t see the beauty I see. All they focus on is the power that he holds in his hands, but they don't see under his clothes like I do. They don't see the art beneath the armor.
The slap that knocks my gaze causes an explosion of pain across my cheek, waking me sharply from my introspection. I should have known better. I take a second to compose myself and bring my stare back to him.
“That’s better. Eyes on me.”
He hooks his finger over the neckline of my shirt and pulls me towards him. My feet carry me forward, careful not to lose my balance and fall. His playfulness is short-lived as his grip on my top turns and he tears the fabric from my body. My breathing quickens, but I force myself to remain calm. It’s an unusual feeling, being turned on by his sheer dominance over me yet scared to think what’s coming next.
One of the first times he brought me back to this apartment, I made the sorry mistake of flinching and backing away. I’d worked so hard to get his attention without him realising, and playing hard to get, that when it came down to it, he intimidated me more than I wanted to admit. He ended up chasing me down, like a lion running down its prey. He was vicious and all consuming, and I’d never orgasmed so hard in my life. Now I’ve learned. I anticipate and hold firm, standing up to him because I know I can take whatever he gives out.
My nipples pebble beneath the sheer fabric under his gaze as he stands and watches. His scrutiny is intense, but it builds the excitement inside me, the same type I thought I could dismiss so easily when we first met. He strikes, bending to take my nipple into his mouth, his teeth closing around the tip. The little hiss of protest I let out only goads him on. He needs that from me, enjoys the sound of my pain.
As he continues to bite at my chest, his hand slides up my leg, and I know my panties will be in ruins when he gets his fingers on them. He yanks at the material, tearing them from my body, and then sinks his fingers so deeply inside of me that I gasp from the impact.
“Your cunt is so fucking hot,” he growls, getting up close to my skin. “Bend over and give me your ass.”
I spin around and lean on the arm of the leather sectional, planting my hands firmly to get ready for what's coming. He drags my skirt up, tearing at the lining as he forces it over my hips. My lungs heave air in, almost as desperate as he feels, while my body vibrates with a need burning slowly in the pit of my stomach.
His tongue slides along my spine, teeth nipping on the way back down to remind me who he is.
“Such slender legs,” he mutters between bites, his hands roaming up my thighs. “Perfect in those fuck-me heels.” I close my eyes to his words, trying to keep my balance against his weight on me. “Do you like knowing that every man you walk past is thinking of these heels digging into their back?”
“No, Benjamin.”
“They all want their dicks in your pussy, Hope. They want you screaming under them, your heels against their skin.”
The slide of his tongue continues, his fingers reaching higher and higher up my thighs. “Tell me why you wear them.”
“For you,” I groan out, willing his hands higher. “You like me in heels. Everything's for you.”
He stills and backs away from me, all contact removed.
I don’t turn around. I wait, desperate for the contact he’s promising. He won't be pushed. Never. It's me who waits, me who begs. Me who endures.
His hands eventually find my ass, and my breath hitches as I feel his tongue spearing me, fucking into my folds. My mouth opens, a silent moan escaping as he flicks over my sensitive flesh, stirring the orgasm that I fear he’ll deny me.
“Don’t fucking move, Hope. Not until I’ve finished.”
He slaps my ass, and I bite down as the sting flashes over me, but it washes away with a flick of his tongue. On and on it goes. Teeth biting, hands slapping and his nails clawing at me. I groan, barely able to breathe through the intensity, until he rewards my efforts and drives in to the hilt. It hurts at first, just like it always does, sending me further into the seat I'm holding onto for support.
I draw breath and dig my fingers into the leather as he pistons his hips, slapping them against my flesh. The fabric of his suit trousers brushes up against my skin, as he grinds deeper into me. It grates, heightening the sensations and bringing me too close to control my orgasm.
I bite down on my own lip, focusing on the stitching in front of my eyes in the hope I can hold off. He’s always the same like this, seeking his pleasure from me, seeking comfort inside me. A solace from the enormity of his life.
He asked for two things when I moved in—obedience and fucking. There was never any promise of more. But over time, his idea of fucking has become what I need just as much as he does. The pain. The harsh treatment. They're what my body craves. And this, his command and dominance over me?
It sets my body on fire.
He fucks into me repeatedly, his fingers finding a spot on my hip to add to the bruising, while the other hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back to him. He whispers words. Dirty words. They pierce my soul, filling me with memories and visions I don't want but can't forget, because everything about Benjamin during sex is about possession. I’m his possession. He’s exerting his power over me, and as always, I’ll do as I’m told.
Somewhere along the line, those simple things have morphed together to form a connection that only exists when he’s fucking me. It's like a part of him recognizes me, and he lets his guard drop for a moment, however brief. He’s at his most dangerous to me in that single point in time. His most exquisite. I crave that moment because that’s when I can believe that he’s mine—my possession, too.
And those times are growing in frequency.
My body is yanked back against his, over and over until I’m ready to scream out. “Give it to me, Hope.”
“Yes, fuck… more!” I cry, desperate for the final stroke that will send me flying. He grunts, a satisfied moan echoing as he stills inside me, leaving me on the edge of coming around him.
Every molecule of my being aches to push back against him just a little bit more to find my own release, but I know that will do me no favours.
