I wake up alone. The bed’s still warm where Aslan was laying with me, the sheets rumpled and smelling of all we did. Oh My God. Did I really let him…? I bury my face in my hands.
I stay there for a few minutes, staring up at the ceiling, then finally sit up slowly, biting back a wince as soreness flares every fucking where.
Jesus…
I grab the sheet and wrap it around me, stumbling out of bed. The house is quiet, with just a faint clink of dishes coming from downstairs.
I pause at the top of the stairs, blinking down at the sight below me.
Aslan’s in his chef-grade kitchen shirtless, barefoot, and stupid-hot. His hair is messy, dark tattoos twisting over his tanned, muscular back and shoulders as he moves. He’s at the stove flipping pancakes like that’s a normal thing to do for a Bratva second-in-command who knows how to make your body submit and melt with so many orgasms you lose count.
“You just gonna stand there?” He rumbles without even looking up.
“Didn’t wanna interrupt,” I mumble, stepping down the stairs on wobbly legs.
He turns just enough to look over his shoulder, his indigo eyes traveling down my body, pausing where the sheet clings to my thighs.
“You’re limping,” he observes.
“I’m sore, Aslan.” I lift a brow. “What did you expect?”
He doesn’t answer. Just gives me one of his scorching looks, before wiping his hands and turning off the burner.
“Sit.”
“What?”
His jaw flexes. “Sit your ass down.”
So I sit.
Aslan sets a plate of perfectly formed, freshly made, golden pancakes in front of me, then puts a tall glass of water in my hand.
“Drink.” I take a sip, still looking at him. Trying to read his expression. His mood. Trying to figure out where we stand. He said I was his. That he was keeping me forever. But those were the words of a man who was buried deep inside me…
I move to set the glass down, and he shakes his head, tutting. He lifts his chin to the water and commands, “all of it.”
I blink at him. “Okay, chill, big guy.”
Aslan’s eyes narrow and my poor, abused pussy muscles ripple with want. He’s so fucking hot when he gets all bossy like that. Especially when he’s taking care of me. Before I get a chance to sass him out, he adds, “now, Tina.”
My eyes widen, but I keep quiet and drink. My heart pounding hard while he watches me intently. The fresh water feels amazing going down my parched throat. When I’m done, he takes the glass, cuts a bite of pancake, and holds the fork up to my mouth.
My mouth falls open in surprise.
“Aslan…”
“Open.”
I roll my eyes but do as I’m told. He feeds me bite by bite. All the while, he strokes my bare thigh, murmuring things I’m not sure I’m ready to hear.
“You let me break you open last night, baby,” he says in a low voice. “Now you’re gonna let me take what’s left.”
I shake my head with incomprehension. “What does that even mean?”
“That means we need to lay down some rules, sweetheart.”
I have no clue what he’s talking about or if I’m even capable of giving it to him. But I want that. God, do I want it. I’d do anything to hear him call me his good girl again. To feel him all around me. Inside me. Hear his ragged breaths. Give him pleasure. Soak in the hunger in his eyes. Make this hard, impassible man crack and give me everything. All of him. God, I want it so bad, it hurts.
Aslan pulls back, his big arms crossed over his broad, naked chest, his gaze raking over me like I’m a gazelle and he’s a starving lion.
“You don’t touch yourself unless I tell you to. You don’t come unless I say so. And you call me ‘Sir’ when we’re alone.”
I stiffen. “What?”
He leans in, fists my hair at the nape and yanks just hard enough for a delicious sting to spread over my scalp and invade every cell of my body.
“You begged me last night, sweet girl,” he reminds me, growling low and dangerously scary. My thighs clench. “Now, say it.”
My voice is hesitant. “Yes… Sir.”
“Good girl.” His perfectly sculpted lips curve into a devilish smile.
“Now stand and bend over the table.”
I blink. What is happening? “Wait, Aslan. Maybe we should…”
He grips my hips, hauls me to my feet, and bends me over the edge of the huge wooden kitchen table in one motion. The sheet slips, falling at my ankles.
My skin prickles all over as his hand strokes down my spine. Then, Aslan pulls something from his pocket.
* * *
The first toy presses at my slick pussy entrance. Thick and unforgiving. Almost as big as Aslan’s giant cock.
“Spread for me, sassy.”
I obey, widening my stance. My breaths coming out choppy. My eyes, wide as I stare over my shoulder at his hand working between my legs.
Aslan pushes it inside me slowly. Then, when it’s planted to the root, he pulls out a second, smaller toy. He runs the silicone plug over my lips and I whimper. Knowing exactly what he wants me to do. I part them open. Taking in the soft texture. He presses it against my tongue, and I start licking and wetting it with saliva. At the same time, he’s slowly thrusting the dildo into my pussy. I can hear the wet sounds of my dripping hole. Feel myself stretch and contract around the fake cock. Feel the brush of his fingers. The heat of his huge body at my back. The tickle of the thin layer of hair covering his skin. His breath at my neck. His low, tender encouragements. The ravenous hum at the back of his throat as I suck on the butt-plug like it’s his cock. It’s so fucking hot. So good.
When Aslan decides the plug is lubricated enough, he pulls it from my mouth and palms one ass-cheek, using his thumb to keep me spread, teasing my tight back entrance with the toy.
I whimper.
“Aslan,”
“Sir,” he reminds me, the low growl in my ear sending another wave of pleasure through my body.
“Sir, please…”
Both toys slide in and out. My legs tremble.
“If you come without permission…” Pleasure slams into me. My legs shake. “You’ll be punished.”
I writhe. Pant. Try to hold it in. But the stimulation is too much. Pleasure builds. Spirals. Tears at me.
“Asl… Sir, I can’t!”
“You will.”
I bite my lip. Shake my head. My body locks up, then I come. Hard. Without his permission. Gushing all over the toys. His hands, my spread thighs, the table, and the floor. Shaking from wave after wave of an intense orgasm. My eyes rolling back, my throat scratchy from crying out, my entire midsection pulsating. Then I sag on the wooden surface.
Aslan yanks me up, then bends me again. One hand fisted in my hair, the other one gripping my waist.
“What did I say?” he rumbles in my ear.
I moan, exhausted, drenched, still shaking from delicious aftershocks. “Don’t… come without permission.”
He delivers a sharp smack to my ass, and I scream. The toys still lodged deep inside.
Each strike jolts through me. Vibrating, stretching, punishing.
Five. Ten. Fifteen. I lose count. Writhing, trembling, my clit throbbing, pussy and asshole contracting over silicone. My vision is blurry with tears of overwhelming sensations. My mind filled with his presence. All he’s doing to me. And how much I’m loving it.
By the time he stops, I’m sobbing and trembling.
He pulls me upright, holds my face in his hands, staring into my eyes.
“Look at me.”
I force myself to obey, struggling to focus.
“You fell apart so fucking beautifully for me, sweet girl. Fucking broke wide open.”
He presses a kiss to my lips.
“Yes, Sir,” I choke out.
His mouth crashes into mine again, deep, wet, and ravenous. He kisses me like he fucking owns me. Made me. Like he’s licking life itself off my tongue.
His hands grope my tits, his mouth dragging down to bite one hard nipple. And I cry out. Then it’s the other’s turn. Aslan licks, sucks, slaps them, making me moan and arch into his touch.
His fingers return to my clit, pinching, rolling, pulling, while the toys inside me pulse with each heartbeat.
“You’re mine,” he growls. “My good girl. My slutty little brat.”
