Chapter 9 9

Chapter 9 9
Bridget

We are ready for dinner. I am wearing the same dress again, and Adriano is in the same black suit. When he places his hand on my waist, my heart races against my chest. My palms turn sweaty, and I quickly wipe them on my dress. He leans in and breathes in the scent of my neck.

“You owe me so much that you won’t be able to repay the debt in this lifetime…”

My mouth parts as I stare out at the beach. He pulls me closer by my stomach, pressing my back against his muscular body. My butt still stings from all the spanking.

He breathes hard against my skin. “There is a way you can repay me…” he whispers against my neck before biting my earlobe.

“What is it?” I pant.

“Sleep with me whenever I need you.” His fingers graze my stomach.

“I don’t want to be like Lucia…” I mutter.

He chuckles. “You’re nothing like Lucia.” He kisses my neck while holding me tight.

My eyes prickle with tears. “Leave me,” I whisper.

“You are not allowed to tell me what to do.”

“Adriano, please…” Tears stream down my face. “Leave me.”

He turns me around to face him and studies my face. His expression changes when he sees me crying. He wipes my tears with his thumb, then leans forward and kisses my cheek.

“Such a sensitive girl you are,” he whispers in my ear.

Before he can do anything else, a knock sounds at the door. Adriano releases me and goes to open it.

“Mr. Romano is expecting you in the dining room,” the butler says before leaving.

Adriano turns back to me. “Ready to go, sugarplums?” he asks with a dangerous smirk.

I blink once, then nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Just Adriano,” he corrects.

“Yes, Adriano,” I mumble, and the corner of his lips curls.

Dinner goes well, though I notice Adriano has had plenty to drink. Mrs. Romano is reserved and doesn’t speak much. She is beautiful, even in her forties. Mr. Romano discusses business with Adriano while I focus on my dessert, sipping my wine. In the middle of the conversation, Adriano squeezes my thigh under the table.

The yacht cuts a slow, moonlit line through the black skin of Lake Mead, engines humming like a warning under my feet. I stand alone at the starboard rail, a crystal glass of red cradled in both hands, trying to pretend the tremor in my knuckles is only from the cool Nevada night. The lights of Las Vegas blink on the far horizon, garish and distant, but even that neon can’t outshine the heat crawling over my skin. I came topside to breathe.

Instead I taste him on every gust, Adriano—cigar smoke, sea-salt skin, the leather of his shoulder holster. My boss. My owner in every way that English and Italian fail to nuance.

I swallow a mouthful of Barolo and will it to steady me. I’m twenty-one, I’ve never been with anyone, and every nerve I possess is tuned to the footsteps I hear behind me before I actually hear them.

“Let me,” Adriano murmurs, voice a low scrape that makes my womb clench. He doesn’t ask what I need; he just decides. That’s his way. His broad hand settles on my shoulder, thumb grazing the sensitive tendon that keeps my head attached to every secret I have.

I don’t turn. “Don’t take my virginity,” I whisper, and hate how thin it sounds, a cracked violin string. My pulse batters my ribs the way hummingbirds die against glass.

His fingers flex. Heat blooms across my collarbones. “Fine,” he breathes, mouth so close his beard tickles the shell of my ear. “Let me take your ass.”

The wineglass slips a fraction. He isn’t asking. He is stating the new geography of ownership while my untouched cunt pulses with traitorous slick. The word ricochets inside my skull: anal, anal, anal—dirty, filthy, taboo. Exactly the kind of prayer Adriano specializes in.

My lips part at the exact moment a swell lifts the hull. “Fuck,” I exhale.

He smooths my hair away from my nape, a lazy caress thick with confident patience. “It won’t hurt much. I know it’s your first time anywhere.” His knuckles brush my mouth, painting the taste of gun oil onto my tongue. “Knees. Couch upstairs. Now.”

I picture the upper deck: buttery leather lounges arranged like sacrificial altars beneath the open sky. No walls, no curtains, just stars and the occasional sweep of the captain’s searchlight. Humiliation and thrill gel in my stomach. My virginity is technically intact, but Adriano wants the tight ring behind it instead—the hole I’ve never even slipped my own finger into—and the thought sluices more wetness down my inner channel, soaking the lace that suddenly feels too small.

I finish the wine in one scalding gulp, alcohol licking courage across the backs of my eyes. Then I nod. Once.

He steers me forward by the elbow, guiding me past the hot tub, past chrome railings that reflect my fevered face back in warped fragments. The city’s glow stains the cockpit glass; nobody except the helmsman can see us, and he’s paid not to. Adriano invented loyalty through terror long before money.

On the upper deck the wind is stronger, cooler. My dress flaps like a bleeding flag. Two curved settees face each other; Adriano points to the starboard sofa. “Knees here, shoulders down. Present that virgin hole to the ocean. Let the moon watch you break.”

I can’t speak. My throat is paste. I move to the couch and fold onto all fours, knees sinking into butter-soft hide. My palms slide forward until the front of my bodice presses the backrest. Faced forward, torso slanted down, I feel the slit gape, cool air kissing up to the band of my panties. Adriano disappears behind me, a predator circling out of sight.

His palms start at my ankles, glide up calves, pause behind my knees, trace up to the sensitive crease where thigh meets ass. He gathers fabric in one fist and peels the skirt of my gown over my hips, exposing me fully to the night. “Pretty,” he grunts. “Stupid little panties thinking it could protect you.”

He rips the panties clean off, stuffs the damp silk into his pocket. I whimper; the wet strip had clung to my lips, had hidden my scent. Now my pussy and my virgin asshole are his open menu.

Anticipation drums so loud I hear it over the engines. I drop my forehead to the cushion, inhaling leather, trying to wrestle oxygen into lungs that won’t obey.

The first touch is his mouth is shockingly soft. He kisses the top cleft of my ass, beard bristling each nerve alive, then feathers lower. I feel the hot dart of his tongue tracing the seam, laving over my tight, untouched holes. My whole spine arcs. The sensation is filthy electricity: wet, illicit, tongue where tongue doesn’t belong.

“Oh God…” I choke. Shame blooms fire-red through my chest, but I don’t pull away. The yacht heels slightly; water slaps hull, rhythm matching the slow circles he draws around my entrance. He hums.

He pulls back, spits. Cool saliva trickles down the hot skin of my perineum. Two thumbs press my cheeks apart until I’m spread wide, until I imagine satellites photographing my darkest pucker gleaming in the moonlight. He licks again, firmer, pointed tip worrying the resistant muscle. Instinct makes me clench. He chuckles, a dark

rumble that vibrates through my bones.

“Relax, sugarplums. This mouth has made men confess state secrets. It will make you beg for invasion.”

His tongue spears in—just the tip, but enough to steal whatever composure I had left. I cry out, a breathless aching sound. His beard rasps tender skin; my hips jerk forward, only to be yanked back by his grip. He eats my ass like a starved animal, noisy, owning every humiliating squelch. Pleasure detonates; I’m wetter than I’ve ever been, my empty cunt clenching on nothing.

He stops, licks a satisfied line up my spine. “Ready to feel fingers?”

I manage a nod muffled by leather.

One thick digit, slick with his saliva, circles the resistant ring, then pushes. My world narrows: pressure, stretch, sting. A hiss flees between my teeth. He pauses, letting the burn bloom while he kisses the small of my back.

“Breathe out, little one.”

I do. On the exhale he slides deeper, knuckle by knuckle, until his entire finger is buried in my virgin channel. The feeling is surreal—intimate, invasive, scarily good. My inner walls flutter, trying to adjust. He doesn’t move for a moment, letting ownership sink in.

Then he pulls out almost completely and drives back. I squeal, toes curling in my strappy heels. Again, slow, steady, lubricated by nothing but spit and humiliation. Heat builds, morphs, colors the corners of my vision gold.

He adds a second finger without warning. I jolt forward, yelping. “Fuck—” “Tightest ass I’ve ever felt,” he praises, voice gravel. “Made to choke a cock.”

He scissors, stretches, fucks me with those two fingers until the sting mellows into a deep throb that needs more. My nipples spike against the built-in bra of the gown; my clit pulses between my folds, untouched and furious. I rock back without meaning to, meeting his thrust.

A sharp smack lands on my right cheek—open palm, crisp. I whimper, clench around him. He spanks again, harder, prints blooming fierce heat. “You’ll think twice before calling me asshole again.”

“Y-yes sir,” I blurt, mortified tears prickling. The pain sweetens everything, turns the stretch molten. I crave, god help me, crave his violence and his approval in equal measure.

He withdraws his fingers; cool air kisses the now-gaping rim. I feel hollow, twitching, ashamed of how empty I suddenly feel. He unzips. The impatient grate of metal parts teeth that sound like they’re sighing, and then his cock springs free. I can’t see it, but I sense the weight—a hot, blunt club resting in the valley of my ass cheeks, sliding forward and back, spreading pre-cum along my spine’s base.

“Tell me,” he orders, slotting the crown against my loosened entrance. “Tell me whose ass this is.”

“Yours, sir,” I cry, voice fracturing as he applies pressure. The head pops past the outer ring. Pain blooms like a dark rose—sharp, bright—and I claw the seat. “Fuck, fuck, please—”

He sinks another inch, giving my body time to scream before he feeds it more. My channel burns, stretches around his girth, feels every throb of his heartbeat. I’m being split in half on the top deck of a moving yacht with the desert wind cheering him on.

“More?” he asks, though it’s rhetorical; his fingers dig bruises into my hips and he pulls me back, sheathing half his length in one stroke. A guttural sob tears out of me, half pain, half ferocious want.

Then he starts to move—slow, measured, deliberate pulls and surges, each thrust seating him deeper. My saliva-slick hole squelches obscenely around him, a soundtrack as dirty as the act itself.

“Scream,” he growls, accent thickening. “Let the water carry your apology.”

I scream. Not just for him but for every night I’ve touched myself imagining this exact obliteration. “Yes, sir, please, sir—”

He slams, balls swinging up to tap my cunt lips with every lunge. The diamonds in my bracelet clack against the rail as I brace, firework sparks behind my eyelids. He reaches underneath, rips the front of my dress down, frees my breasts to the wind. Fingers pinch my nipple viselike. The dual assault—too much, exactly right. My clit throbs, desperate, neglected, while my ass is ruthlessly plundered.

I feel him everywhere—ribs, throat, scalp. My world has become a single, stretching vice of heat. I clench experimentally; he snarls, cock kicking inside me. The reaction sends power fizzing through my blood: I can hurt him with pleasure too.

I do it again. His palm cracks across my ass cheek in reward. Tears leak, but the sting is a fuse traveling straight to my core. I’m stuffed so full I can’t imagine walking tomorrow; I’m also flying, drunk on degradation and alcohol and desire.

“Will you call me an asshole again?” he demands, rhythm turning jagged. Each word is punctuated by a snap of hips that drives me forward on my knees.

“No, sir,” I sob, shaking uncontrollably. “Sorry, sir, never—”

He yanks my head back by the hair, arching my spine until the moon fills my vision. “Never forget who you belong to.”

He pistons, balls slapping lewd, wet music. My rim gapes, flutters, burns, accommodates. The burn transmutes into something volcanic, something chasing friction. I’m dripping down my thighs—proof of how my body betrays me, arousal from the violation.

When he lets my hair go I collapse forward, chest heaving, cheek pressed to cushion. He saws faster, chest rumbling curses in Italian. Sweat drips from his jaw onto my spine, hot splashes branding me. The yacht engine changes pitch; the whole deck vibrates, travelling straight through my bones to where we intersect.

I hover on the edge of an orgasm I didn’t know was possible from anal alone. My walls flutter around him; he curses, sheaths to the root. My asshole kisses the base of his cock, swallowing every millimeter, and the stretch becomes unbearable perfection.

“Please stop,” I gasp, not because I want mercy but because the words are all that’s left. He doesn’t. He folds over my back, hand snaking to my front, two fingers finally—finally—landing on my clit. One ruthless circle and I detonate.

I come so hard black spots swallow the stars. My ass clamps around him like a fist, milking. A wail tears from my throat, raw, inhuman, carried off by the wind. Hot tears smear the leather under my cheek, and I keep clenching, aftershocks violent, pleasure bordering on pain.

With a guttural roar he buries deep and floods me, jets scorching my ravaged channel. I feel every spurt, every pulse of ownership. He keeps thrusting through it, wringing us both until oversensitivity makes my limbs quiver like a marionette.

Finally he stills, cock swollen but softening, breathing hard against my shoulder blade. We stay locked, a sweaty heap of limbs and spent desire, the only sounds wind and water and our ragged attempts to breathe.

After an eternity he pulls out—slow, careful. Cool air rushes the brutalized ring, and I whimper at the ache, the emptiness. Semen and spit trickle down my shaking thigh. He folds my skirt back down, covering the mess, then lifts me. My legs fold; he cradles me onto his lap on the couch, tucking my head under his chin.

His fingers card through my tangled hair. “Good girl,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, strangely tender. He wipes tears from my cheeks with the pad of his thumb. “You took all of me. I’m proud.”

I sag against him, overwhelmed, throbbing everywhere. He holds me tight.