timebcmb-xxâ:
There was something about every interaction the beauty had with Alistair that left her wanting more ââ perhaps, it was the way he left her feeling hungry despite filling her to her core or maybe, it was the fact that he knew every single kink she had without ever having a real friendship between them. Nevertheless, Demetria found it SATISFYING that Alistair obviously depending on her to some extent. There clearly was nobody else that he could share encounters like this with, otherwise he would go to them. Why would somebody who hated you keep on coming back for more? Whimpers crawled past the berry colour of her lips, hazels fluttering to a close and screwing up tightly as the feeling of delirium overpowered her mind, sending her into an oblivion. There was something about the DOMINANCE he inflicted upon her that left her feeling so helpless, yet empowered ââ his words sending her over the edge as he spun her around like a damaged ballerina, throwing her back against the wall. A small grunt left her lungs, silk pink of her vest beginning to grow creased as the straps had sunk down past her shoulders, leaving her neck and collarbones exposed to his burly palms and mouth, should he wanted to coat her in anymore bruises. Her panties were torn to shreds on the floor already, her lower half completely bare and there he stood, fully clothed as his stance showed who was in charge. âIf you donât want me saying your name then what do you want me to call you instead? And if you want to see your cock in my mouth ââ youâre going to have to ask a little nicer.â
Demi always knew exactly what to say to make Alistair completely crazy. Her give-em-hell attitude drew something deep within the man, something that made him crazy and desperate to prove he could knock it out of her if he wanted to. It was still hazy whether or not Demi knew exactly what Alistair was capable of, but if she did she never showed it. She wasnât afraid of him and Alistair had no idea whether or not that was something he hated or respected. While Brielle had done him some good - at least the homicidal tendencies had stopped - he still was who he was. Alistair Malone was a man who always took what he wanted. âLittle whores donât get to use my name,â he breathed thickly, mere inches from her face as his hand pressed more firmly against her throat. His free hand have a firm slap to her exposed, wet lips, âI am your Master,â he seethed, âI own you and I own this,â he hissed, two more firm slaps between her legs resonating off the nearby walls. âAnd I wonât ask for anything. You will willingly give me what I deserve. Because I have what you want. What I want - I will go take from a good girl who knows her place.â














