Dance, Sugarplum

17. Mikhail

CHAPTER 17

MIKHAIL

ACT 2

“Stop, you’ll hurt yourself.” I pull my hand back again, but she steps forward with it.

We’re incredibly close now. Her perfume is sweet, her lashes long and dark in contrast with her pale blond hair. She’s small, but sometimes she can undo me with just a look. I’ve wanted this closeness with her since I took her for myself in the dressing room, but I admit a part of me was afraid if I’d asked, she wouldn’t have said yes. Lyla surprises me, though. I thought she was mine, so I took what belonged to me. Now I think she might agree with me.

I reach her chin with my fingers, feeling her soft skin against mine. If she wants to take care of me so badly, I have a way. My cock presses against my zipper, and I watch that pouty mouth, wondering how sweet her trepidatious sucks would be.

No one’s ever had her mouth. Her pussy was practically a religious experience. I don’t care if it’s sick—her inexperience thrills me. I bet she doesn’t know how to suck a cock, but the Lyla I know is an eager student.

“Suck me,” I tell her as I push my thumb over her fat bottom lip. Her pink tongue comes out to taste me, and I groan. My blood smears farther, the pain in my hand all but forgotten, and the gruesome sight of her with my blood on her face brings that savage creature I try to hide barreling to the surface.

Her eyes light up like it’s fucking Christmas. Words won’t show her who I am. Since the accident, I have stopped relying on them. Words aren’t worth much. People lie and say things they don’t mean. I don’t waste my time putting my thoughts into words. I put them into action instead.

My thumb pushes inside her mouth, and she sucks it with an eagerness that echoes straight down my cock, humming while she does it. My whole body tenses. I need her too much, and there are too many intense emotions fueling that lust. I’m blinded any time she’s in the room. I can’t see anything but her and how I can use her to sate my desires.

I pull my thumb from her mouth, squishing her bottom lip roughly between my fingers, revealing her bottom teeth and making her whimper. She doesn’t protest, and I let her go, switching to holding her chin between my fingers with just a little too much force.

She’s so pretty. So delicate. I close my hand around her neck and squeeze just enough to prevent her from speaking. She can breathe with a little effort. She tries, and her throat rasps from her attempt. Alarm lights her brown eyes as she stares at me, but it switches to hunger as I nudge her down to her knees.

She kneels in front of me, blond hair cascading around her face. My fingers flex against her throat. It’s not a threat but an insistence on my ownership. She’s mine and looks so pretty with my hand around her throat. Her eyes are on me, waiting for what comes next, and that hint of her fear dies to her excitement.

I’ve dreamed of seeing Lyla in this position a thousand times. I know that each time, each way I fuck her, I’ll be just as ruined as the first time. I should think twice about sinking deeper into my obsession with her. I already plan to keep her no matter what she wants. Wrapping myself more tightly around her finger is a bad plan.

But that’s exactly what I do as I pull my pants open and let my cock fall free. My erection bounces in front of her face, and my good little slut licks her lips in anticipation.

I grip the base, squeezing hard and taking the worst of the edge off, though my precum is leaking. My heart hammers inside my chest at the sight of her. Lyla licks her lips, and a small crease forms between her brows. I smear the head of my cock over her lips, spreading it on her. She flicks her tongue again, tasting me.

“I’ve never done this before. You’ll have to teach me what you like.”

Oh, that’s exactly what I intend to do. Electricity runs through my whole body. My deepest desire was always to teach my little ballerina to perform like I want. To show her and the world what her body can do.

“Open,” I tell her, and she obeys, making room for the head of my cock to swipe against her tongue. “Suck.”

She’s so fucking good. She closes her mouth around me and applies the most divine suction. I know I should be gentle with her and teach her like she asked. This is her first time doing this, after all, but the animal she draws out of me is poised at the surface, and gentile Mikhail is nowhere to be found.

I wind my fist into her hair, hissing when I remember the cuts and glass in the knuckles of my dominant hand, but too late now, I’m fucking her mouth. She makes a noise of shock and overwhelm as I drag her forward, throwing off her center of balance and hitting the back of her throat with my cock.

This isn’t an apology, but I already admitted I wasn’t sorry, and I need to use her to work off this fucking rage. She’s my ballerina; she’s my pretty little fuck toy, mine to use. The tension in her throat eases after a minute, and her eyes open to meet mine, staring at me through the rough, wet thrusts.

She takes me so deep, and she’s not even gagging anymore. Her throat is so fucking tight. My jaw locks with the pressure of clenching it, but the pleasure is so intense I don’t feel the worst of it. I finally slow the pace, holding her hair just as firmly and using her for my pleasure. I give her the time to really suck and roll her tongue around me, and shit, is she doing an amazing job of it.

I grunt, my hips surging as I fuck her mouth. I pull her to the edge and legitimately moan when she sucks all the way to the tip and pops off with a wet snap. She moans like a little slut as she takes me back into her mouth, but I stop her with the hand in her hair.

Patience , I tell her with my eyes, watching as she grinds her thighs together. She whines low in her throat, and fuck, I’m not patient either. I slam back inside her, eyes rolling to the back of my head as she sucks me down. Her eyes beg me to let go, to let her suck at the pace she wants, but she’s already taken too much and invaded too much of my space. I’m going to come down her throat exactly when and how I want to.

Her hair is soft between my fingers, but it stings against my self-inflicted injuries. I’m a fucking asshole, but it’s worth it if I get to feel her hot mouth around my cock. Her perfume is everywhere in this room, and I’m barely able to remember my name as my orgasm starts to build and my balls draw up. A tingle starts at the base of my spine, and before I know it, I spill for her.

Thick ropes of cum spill into her mouth, so much she gags to swallow me. I could be kind, back off, and give her room to breathe and adjust to the new experience of hot cum in her throat, but I don’t. I use my hold on her hair to push myself so deep, she has to gag as she swallows me.

Tears form on her lashes as she does, and no matter how hard it is for her to take, she doesn’t fight me. Tears drip from the corner of her eyes, and a stray pearl of cum seeps from the corner of her battered lips.

She looks gorgeous. So fucking perfect.

Holding myself for a count of three, I eventually pull my hips back and free her throat, enjoying the drag of her lips over my cock. Leaving myself coated in her spit and dripping one last bead of cum, I tuck myself back inside my pants. My hand moves to her soft cheeks.

“You’re such a good girl for me, Lyla.”

She pants, staring up at me like I have everything she needs.

“Fuck me, please.”

I just give her a long look. If she wants my cock that bad, she’ll be easier to mold. I want to fuck her more than anything, but I know better than just to give her what she wants. Just like in my production, if she wants my cock, she needs to earn it.

“No,” I say without leaving any room for arguments. I turn and head for the door, but right before I’m gone, I tell her over my shoulder, “And don’t touch yourself.”

I leave her in her room to squirm, feeling the first shreds of control I have all day.