To Have & to Hurt by Morgan Bridges
Tristano
I’ve lost my fucking mind over this woman.
That has to be the only explanation for my actions. I’m always in control, using my ironclad discipline and unwavering logic to guide my decision making. They’ve kept me from being impulsive or behaving out of dangerous emotions such as rage, hate, and even passion.
Right now all of that is dust in the wind.
Violetta’s soft body wrapped around mine and her gaze luminous with yearning makes me crazed with the need to give her satisfaction, to remove that longing from her oceanic eyes, which pulls me like a typhoon does to a vessel at sea.
If I’m not careful, she’ll submerge and drown me as well, ultimately sinking all my carefully laid plans to the bottom of an ocean where they’ll decay and be forgotten. It’s for this very reason I’ve given her an ultimatum, one that’ll push Violetta to give up her security. I highly doubt she’ll trade her fear, or whatever it is that keeps her quiet, in exchange for the pleasure I can give.
I want her with a desperation that’s disturbing, almost unnatural.
Violetta’s refusal to speak is more than just a challenge to me. It’s a formula for wrong assumptions to be made, which will bring about chaos. But if she’d talk to me, I could obtain clarity in those words, knowing with all certainty what she’s trying to convey. And think.
Her thoughts are what have piqued my interest, causing my thirst for knowledge to rise to an unhealthy level. An obsessive one. She gives a few clues to her internal monologue with facial expressions, but when Violetta shuts down I can’t read her. And if I can’t read her, I don’t know what action to take. I could guess what she’s thinking, but I’d never truly know for sure.
Aside from the fact, Violetta saying my name makes me want to fuck her. As do her softs moans and luscious curves.
I run my gaze over her, noting every detail while absorbing the feel and textures of her with my hands and body. Violetta’s coral lips are slightly parted, swollen from the savagery of my kisses, and her eyes are wide with uncertainty.
Is this fear or indecisiveness?
Her silky hair is wrapped around my fingers, my hand fisting it and holding her captive. The apex of her thighs cradles my cock and the warmth of her cunt beckons me, teases me with its nearness. Her breasts rise with every shaky breath to press against me, allowing me to feel her hardened nipples.
Violetta’s aroused to the point of being nearly distraught. I can see it in the way she looks at me and how her body responds to my touch. Women have always been attracted to me for one reason or another, whether that be power or money. Witnessing it again and again throughout the years has deadened me to it, so why is the woman underneath me any different?
Because she doesn’t want to desire me.
I’m experiencing this conflict toward her as well.
“Your time is up, ribelle. What’s your answer?” I narrow my gaze at Violetta, pinning her with my stare. “My name or your silence?”
Turmoil swirls within the blue of her eyes and it pervades the confusion found within the green, creating a melding of opposition. I slide my hand between our bodies and place my thumb directly over her clit. When I push down and rock my thumb back and forth, Violetta’s face contorts in what can only be described as sensual agony.
She bites her lip and thrashes her head from side to side, giving me my answer.
“Very well,” I say.
With my cock fucking pissed off and aching, and my balls tight, I reluctantly peel my body from the softness of hers. Then I remove myself from the bed to stand and adjust my cock, with Violetta watching me all the while. Her breath hitches and her pupils narrow, indicating her desire for me still lingers.
But I want more than her attraction.
I want her complete and total surrender.
She slowly gets into an upright position in the center of the mattress and tucks her legs beneath her. Between her disheveled hair, wrinkled dress, and haggard appearance due to sleep deprivation, Violetta looks worn out.
Yet none that diminishes her beauty in any way.
A low rumble catches my attention and I raise a brow in question. True to form, she stays quiet, then places a hand on her stomach and shrugs.
“You’re hungry?” I ask. She nods once, but my anger is already overriding my arousal. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her gaze darts right and then left as she thinks of how to respond. I wonder how many of her shrugs mask her wants and how many of her nods are lies. It’s only the times when she shakes her head vehemently that I know she’s being honest.
I’ve remained skeptical of everything else.
Eventually, Violetta raises one shoulder in a half-shrug. I approach the bed with a swiftness that has her rearing back, but once I grip the nape of her neck, she stills. A wise choice. I peer down at her as I slowly tilt her head back and bring her gaze to mine. She rests on her knees with them slight parted, hands flat on her thighs and the palms facing up, as though a sub waiting for her master to rightfully punish her.
I tighten my hold on her to keep from unzipping my pants and fucking her mouth like she deserves for not saying anything.
“If you’re hungry, you will tell me immediately. This also applies to any other needs you may have such as thirst, rest, or something else, even if it’s minor. Do you understand?”
She nods, but doubt lingers in her eyes and in the way her body stiffens at my words. This needs to be eradicated. I cannot and will not allow her to question me whenever I give an order. That insubordination has consequences she won’t appreciate.
But I will.
“I don’t think you do, ribelle. Let me make this plain. If you don’t do as I say, when I say, and without hesitation, you will be chastised. Promptly, severely, and without remorse on my part. Unlike you, I won’t hesitate to follow through, and I’ll toss you over my knee to whip your ass however many times it takes for you to learn this lesson. You may be a grown woman, who needs to be fucked like one, but if you act like a child? I’ll be more than happy to treat you that way.”
She nods so vigorously that I nearly lose my grip on her. If I wasn’t so pissed about her being hungry I would laugh at her fervent response. There’s something charming about Violetta and I believe it’s the air of innocence which surrounds her. In contrast to that, she’s remarkably strong mentally, a skill most people don’t hone until they’re well past her age. It’s why she’s been able to maintain her silence around me, despite my persuasion.
But that inner fortitude has led to her starving and I can’t allow that.
“You will eat as soon as room service delivers,” I say. That’s a command, not a request, so I don’t wait for her to respond. “After which, you’ll shower and change into the clothes that’ll be sent up within the hour.”
She nods once just as I release her and I return the gesture. I believe I got through to her, but I can’t deny the appeal of spanking her ass until it carries my handprint. That might actually get her to talk, even if it’s just yelling or cursing. I don’t see Violetta as a woman who’s prone to tears, which I admire. The display of emotion is not a negative trait, but I’d prefer not to deal with it, if at all possible.
I stride to the adjoining bathroom and turn on the shower, eager to put some distance between myself and Violetta’s tempting body. While waiting for the temperature of the water to heat, I strip. If only I was able to be rid of my sexual frustration just as easily as my clothing.
After stepping inside the glass enclosure, I brace myself against the wall by placing my palms flush to the tile and then I drop my head. The hot water pounds on my back and slowly eases some of the knots, created by stress and tension, within my muscles.
It’s been a fucking hell of day and it’s not quite noon.
My mind is a disorganized collection of strings, the thoughts threading themselves together until they’re tangled and knotted. Having received the call earlier from Maximus that Rafael is safe, and in my home with his fiancée, removes some of the heaviness weighing on me. But Octavia’s appearance has fucked up any peace I might’ve had from the knowledge my family is out of harm’s way.
Images of my mother emerge and press against my skull. I breathe deep to remain in control while they continue to bombard me. The pictures of her never quite captured the shine of her dark blonde hair, when compared to my memory of her. And they didn’t convey the tenderness of her smile or the way her eyes lit up with pride when she looked at me. Or the way her gaze went soft at the appearance of my father.
The tattoo on my hand, the one I had done in memory of her, itches my skin. The crow is considered a watchful creature that has a sharp and powerful foresight, which I liken myself to, while others consider it a harbinger of death or an ill omen. I chose it to represent the contract of revenge I’ve mentally written for those involved with her disappearance and presumed murder.
Only I’m not sure she’s actually dead.
However, I won’t allow myself to entertain the thought that she's alive. That could lead to disappointment or me wanting to kill her. I haven’t forgotten the years I was forced to watch my father deteriorate from the sorrow of missing her, nor have I discarded the mantle placed on me—which should’ve been hers—to care for my brothers at the age of ten.
The same year I killed someone and became a made man, a member of the mafia, now referred to as a crime syndicate.
These thoughts are nothing new. I can’t begin to count how many times I’ve traveled through this line of thinking. But what I haven’t considered is the notion of my mother having relatives somewhere besides those residing in Italy. The same family members who shunned her for marrying my father.
Octavia has to be related to my mother in some fashion. I’d bet my life on that. Waiting for Octavia to call grates on me. I haven’t followed anyone’s order since my father died and left me in charge of the family, so my aggravation is high because of this current situation.
And that only worsens my sexual frustration.
However, that’s not due to Octavia, despite the fact she’s an attractive woman. All of my thoughts start and end with the young woman currently lying in my bed. But she’s not naked with her thighs wide, begging for me like I want.
In fact, she’s not fucking saying anything.
Hearing the sound of my name on her full lips that one time… I’m surprised I didn’t take her then and there. That tiny breath, infused with the syllables and cadence of my name, nearly disintegrated my restraint.
It’s for the best that Violetta didn’t speak and take me up on my offer earlier. That’s a complication I don’t need.
But her refusal hasn’t removed my intense need to fuck her.
At the feel of my fingers wrapping around my cock, I groan. My hand tightly fists the length and I let my mind conjure the fantasy of Violetta being the one who’s stroking me. She’d need both hands to match the strength of my grip and then she’d almost kill me with her inquisitive gaze as she watches and studies my response.
From base to tip, I stroke myself, increasing my speed and squeezing the head on occasion. My entire body is strung out and unmoving, except for my chest as it funnels my labored breaths and my hand as it clenches my cock to the point of nearly strangling the fucker. My punishing grasp only heightens my need to come and the muscles in my arm twitch with the simple but repetitive motions.
I don’t stop even when the pleasure becomes almost unbearable. Or when I sense another’s presence, one whose gaze is on me. I haven’t lived a life of crime, nearly dying on several occasions, and not developed the ability to know when I’m being watched. The air around me isn’t filled with the threat of violence or anything to indicate I’m in danger, but to confirm I lift my head.
The colorful hues of Violetta’s eyes are easily discernible in spite of the droplets on the glass wall between us. Our gazes meet and I twist slightly so that she can watch without impediment. The head of my cock is engorged, as is the length, so when she drops her gaze to it and her lips part on a gasp, I’m done.
With my nostrils flaring, my hips jerking, and my low groans echoing around me, I come with a force that’s nearly staggering. I pump my fist faster than before to enhance the sensations, imagining that I’m fucking Violetta’s cunt, and my cock driving into her is the reason her eyes are wide with wonder. It could be all in my mind, but the sound of her voice, a breathy whisper, is as real as my attraction to her.
The physical release is sublime and renders me weak, although my uneven breathing and the roaring in my ears has yet to subside. Eventually, I slow my strokes and then halt them, all without my gaze ever leaving hers. My body shakes, a minuscule trembling that I dismiss, but I can’t ignore the way Violetta shifts her stance and presses her thighs together. I keep my hand on my cock and squeeze until pain shoots through it and down to my balls.
I can’t have her, but how I fucking want to.
“You saw what you wanted,” I say, “now get the fuck out.”
I don’t need to raise my voice, but it’s as though I did because she spins around and disappears from sight. I let my head fall forward to thump against the tiled wall and blow out a harsh breath. In no way do I feel relieved, even though I just came hard as fuck.
There’s absolutely no substitution for a tight, wet cunt.