Chapter 42 Who Did you Let Fuck You?
SANCIA
I curl in on myself, catching my breath, my hand around my throat protectively. My emotions were all twisted and confusing; I couldn't help as my brain recalled every single detail of how I felt with Lorenzo moving inside me, touching me, bringing me pleasure despite my intentions to fight against it, and what my body had gone through.
There was regret, shame, and humiliation as I realized how I'd reacted wantonly and screamed so loudly. I never meant to enjoy having sex with him. I hate this man. Nothing would change that, which should have been enough to make me hate his every touch, but instead, my body has betrayed me.
I swallow a lump and banish all the confusing thoughts in my head. It's almost time. I'm just waiting for him to explode and demand the truth; I might not survive him then. This time, he's probably going to choke me to death.
“Aren't you going to say anything?” I asked when he turned and started stroking my body. I tried to roll away, but he dragged and flipped me on my back.
“Don't tell me you are looking for praise, Sancia?” he mocked. I glared at him.
“Very well, you have the tightest pussy, perfect fit around my cock. I've never come so hard that I go weak in the knees like I just did,” he adds, tweaking my nipple.
He was suddenly there, forcing his hips between my thighs. I started struggling to push him off me.
He grabbed both my hands and slammed them above my head, holding them there with just one hand. The other guided his fully erect cock to my entrance. He thrust inside me and instantly groaned.
“Fuck, do you feel that, tight as a sheath?” He withdrew and punched his hips forward hard, burying his thick length inside me.
“I have a feeling I'm going to enjoy our married life, Sancia,” he said huskily, then knelt and hiked both my legs, this time folding me in two, his cock buried inside my depth.
When he started pounding into me over and over and over again, I was helpless against my body's reaction; I was nothing to him but a receptacle as he took his pleasure. His cock was going deep, fast, and so hard the bed rhythmically hit the wall just like the slapping sound of flesh meeting flesh.
I whimpered, moaned, and cried out as his cock hammered powerfully into me; sweat trickled down his body and dripped onto my body, mixing with mine; an avalanche of that hated pleasure crashed into me, making me scream under him.
Lorenzo plunged deeper, and so hard I felt it in my womb. Then he came groaning as another load of cum filled me up and started trailing down my crack.
The moment he withdraws and my breathing stabilizes, I crawl away from him. Putting as much distance as I could between us.
With a chuckle, he got up from the bed and started walking towards what I suspected was the bathroom. My jaw dropped when I saw the long sword tattoo on his back.
It was the length of his back, right between his shoulder blades and down his spine, but it wasn't the tattoo that had me gasping, but the white silvery lines criss-crossed all over his back—that could only mean one thing.
My heart sank in my stomach as pity welled up inside me for him. At one point, Lorenzo Marchetti must have been whipped so badly that it left these horrible scars. But instantly, my mind reminded me that Lorenzo was not someone to pity.
I frown and sit up, feeling soreness and discomfort I hadn't felt even on my first time between my thighs; this is my second, or, should I say, third time having sex. But it feels as though I just lost my virginity.
The monster was insatiable and hadn't held back. I forced back the painful moan as I stood up, not caring to cover up.
“What are you going to tell my Papa?” I asked, Lorenzo suddenly stopped, then turned around and strode back, all 6 '3 of him.
He stood at the edge of the bed opposite me, powerful. Every inch of him screamed of strength and ruthlessness; some of his long hair had escaped the tight man-bun.
He looks like a savage, a barbarian. And he acts like it too.
My pity for him was almost laughable; this man is a monster and doesn't deserve my pity. His eyes run over me, heating my body and making my nipples pebble, but I force myself to ignore the traitorous reactions.
He stretched his hands up shamelessly, like he was some kind of Greek statue, only with a monstrous dick.
That was somehow still hard, though not like earlier, and was shining with our combined fluids. I quickly glanced up and met his eyes; his mouth twitched.
“About what? What do you want me to tell him?” he asked, tilting his head curiously as though he was clueless. His eyes, however, were gleaming with amusement, laughing at me.
It gave me the kind of feeling you get when you're amidst friends, and they're laughing at an inside joke you didn't know about. I swallow hard that he's forcing me into saying it.
“There's no blood…on the sheets,” I muttered.
His eyes widened as he came closer, staring at the bedsheets.
“Fuck, how did I forget about that, the bloody sheets.” His face suddenly turned dark with rage.
“Sancia, I knew you were a virgin; who the hell did you let fuck you?” he growled, rounding the bed to where I was standing so fast.
I almost tripped as I stepped back, my heart pounding with fear. He grabbed my neck and slammed me against the wall.