SWNOVELS Devil’s Lily: Chapter 15
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The words burst from my lips, pulse pounding in my ears as he leads me to the dining table. “What—”
The rest of my protest dies in my throat as he releases my arm to press firmly on my lower back. The pressure is inexorable, bending me until my belly folds across the table’s edge and my upper body sprawls over the cool surface. “Maximo…”
I manage to twist my neck to glance back at him as he arranges my limbs on the table as he wants. But the expression I find on his face nearly stops my heart. There’s a fierce fire burning in those dark eyes, filled with something wild that sends a strange heat through me.
Then his hands are sneaking around my waist, fingers finding the makeshift belt—his tie—holding the borrowed dress pants in place. With a smooth pull, the fabric gives away and slides down my legs unceremoniously. A cool rush of air brushes against my buttocks and bare pussy, making me shiver and press my thighs together to shield myself from the sudden chill.
He’s angry—that much is clear from the tension radiating off him in waves.
But I’m not sure whether his anger stems from finding me with his men or from wherever he disappeared to earlier. What I do know with bone-deep certainty is that he’s about to take it out on me, and my heart triples its rhythm, skipping into my throat as he spreads a proprietary palm over my ass, caressing and squeezing it gently until my core contracts with shameful pleasure.
I should hate this, damn it. Every fiber of my being should revolt. Instead, my treacherous body only coils tighter with anticipation.
When he glances up at me, his eyes are as dark as the midnight sky, and there’s an unholy glint in them that only sends my desire spiraling higher. What’s he planning? Is this it? Is he going to finish what he started in Vegas before we were so rudely interrupted?
But instead of removing his slacks, he leans over me to grab the arms I’m using to balance myself on the table and twists them behind my back, securing my wrists in one strong palm.
Shock jolts through me as my upper body hits the table and my cheek presses against the cool wood. “What are you—”
“You sat down on my living room floor surrounded by my men,” he growls darkly, leaving me genuinely struggling to understand his warped logic. I try to turn my head as best I can, hoping to catch some hint in his expression, but all I see is him raising his free hand. “You let Perro touch you.”
“What? Nobody touched—” My protest ends in a yelp when he brings his hand down on my ass with a loud smack. “Ow, shit, Maximo!” Hot fire fills the spot, and I’m stunned to the core. I’ve never been hit before in my life.
His palm smooths over my ass cheek soothingly, and for a moment I think maybe that’s the extent of my punishment. But oh no, he isn’t done. Far from it.
He raises his hand again and another sharp smack lands on that same spot. My body rocks against the table, trying instinctively to squirm away from him, but he’s got me trapped firmly beneath him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demand angrily, voice breathless as I rear my head up to glare at him.
“Punishing you for running your mouth at me. Spending time with my men. Giving them your time and attention. Letting them touch you.” Each offense is punctuated by the increasingly familiar sound of his palm meeting my flesh.
“Nobody touched me, Maximo!” I protest vehemently. What Perro did was a playful, completely platonic shove. What the hell is wrong with him?
He growls at me. Growls like some kind of wild animal. A sound that practically gives life to his dragon nickname.
“You’re still running your mouth because you haven’t learned your lesson.” His hand lifts again, and what follows is a symphony of sharp spanks and soothing caresses that turns my world into a kaleidoscope of sensation. He alternates between cheeks, each impact sending shockwaves through my body, each gentle stroke afterward like a benediction.
I grit my teeth, trying desperately to swallow down the sounds building in my throat as fire spreads from my ass all over my body, igniting every nerve ending his hand touches.
With each spank, he eases the sting with gentle circles, almost as if he’s apologizing, before starting the cycle again. My mind empties with every hit, until the universe narrows to just this moment—just the two of us. His hard body behind me, the heat of his calloused palm searing my ass cheeks, the strangely tender way he rubs the skin.
This goes on and on until both ass cheeks burn white-hot and something warm and squirmy settles in my lower belly, spreading down to my core, sending a wave of arousal seeping out. Until I’m all flushed and jittery and dripping with anticipation.
I’m so turned on, and I have to wonder—what the hell is wrong with me?
Finally, he stops, and I squeeze my eyes shut, cheek pressed to the table as I drag in ragged breaths. Just when I think I might get a moment to gather myself, Maximo leans over me, his clothes rustling as his chest meets my back. “You good?” His hot breath fans the shell of my ear, and despite my best efforts to hold it in, a low, shuddering moan slips out. Unfiltered. Uninvited. Goosebumps prickle up my arms and all over my skin as if my own reaction has somehow taken me by surprise.
Oh, God, did he hear that?
Maximo goes still behind me, and I squeeze my eyes tighter, mortification flooding me. Please just go away. Leave me here to die of shame. But no, the man is glued to me, close enough to feel every heartbeat racing through me, taking his damn time to process whatever’s going on in that twisted mind of his.
I swear, if I could melt into the wood right now, I would. But he’s just lingering, quiet, either figuring out his next move, or worse—relishing every bit of my embarrassment. The asshole.
At last, he pulls away from me, releasing his grip on my wrists, only for both of his hands now to return, tracing soothing circles over my burning flesh, drifting lower until his fingers graze the curve of my hip. I suck in a sharp breath when he cups my drenched center from behind, and my body jerks against the table, drawing a string of curses from his lips.
“Ahh, dolcezza mia. You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” His brogue is thick as he runs his fingers through my wet folds, and before I even think, my thighs go slack, parting for him. “Hmm, that’s it. Such a good girl. Good wife. You’re drenched for me.”
His words wash over me, silky and enticing, making me lightheaded as the ache between my legs pulses stronger, drawing more wetness out of me. He continues the teasing, his fingers gliding through my folds while his other hand grips my ass, squeezing the tender flesh as he inserts one finger into me. The dual sensation shoots equal measures of pain and pleasure through my body, intensifying until it’s almost too much.
And then I shatter.
A raw, unfiltered cry breaks from my lips, echoing off the walls as white light bursts behind my eyes and my core tightens around his finger. Somewhere in my haze, I hear him curse, and I get the feeling he wasn’t expecting that. But by then, I’m gone. All thoughts scatter, leaving nothing but a rush of pure, dizzying pleasure as I soar high to the ceiling.
When I finally drift back down, my ears are ringing, and I realize it’s my heart roaring in my eardrums. I try to regulate my breathing, but one glance back steals whatever oxygen I’ve managed to gather. Maximo is unzipping his pants and taking out his cock. His huge cock.
Holy hell.
I gulp, my eyes going wide as I stare—utterly transfixed—at the angry, swollen, purplish crown seeping white liquid, then down the thick, veiny length to the root where a string of dark hair curls onto his pelvis. My face heats up as he strokes it, making more liquid gush out.
“Is that—is that cum?” I ask curiously, even as my core contracts. Will he even fit in?
“It’s called pre-cum, dolcezza,” he answers, all calm and matter-of-fact, as he steps into me. His hands fall to my hips and spread my thighs impossibly wide. My eyes flick up to his face as he drags his cock through my slippery folds.
His gaze is laser-focused between my thighs, brows pulled together tightly. Then he notches himself at my entrance and another flicker of worry rushes through me. What if he truly can’t fit? The crown alone looks like it could break me—what about the rest? How is this even going to work?
But there’s no time to overthink. He doesn’t stop. I bite my lip hard as he starts to push in, inch by agonizing inch. It’s a slow stretch that feels both foreign and intense. I gasp as it starts to burn, and that burning spreads into more pain—more discomfort—yet he still isn’t fully in. As I hiss out a breath, tensing around him, Maximo’s eyes fly to mine.
“Shhh.” His fingers slip into my hair, tangling into my curls and sending my hair tie flying out. He massages my scalp gently with one hand while the other toys with my clit. Both sensations feed the fire building inside me, igniting a frenzy that has my eyes rolling back and my lips parting on a soundless cry.
“That’s it, love. That’s it, you’re doing so good for me. Taking your husband so well.” His words trail off into husky Italian, and even though I can no longer understand what he’s saying, the sultry tone remains the same. It’s so sexy, so hot. I shiver, caught between the sensation and the heat radiating from him. The building pressure snaps and I’m coming again, my release aiding the fluid movement of his hips. He curses and tightens his grip on me.
“See? I’m all in now. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he murmurs a few moments later.
My eyes open sleepily at his question, and I glance back to confirm his claim—sure enough, he’s completely sheathed within me. His pelvis presses flush against my stinging ass, his cock stretching me to my very limit. The fullness is so intense, so overwhelming, I swear I can feel his cock throbbing inside me. My body responds instinctively, and my inner walls flutter helplessly around his impressive length, struggling to adjust to the impossible stretch.
His eyes go heavy-lidded, mouth parting as he rumbles out a groan. So I do it again, testing, and he answers with a rough squeeze to my hip and scalp.
Then he slowly, carefully, rolls his hips, and I cry out as intense pleasure rushes through me, too sharp, too much. Fuck, maybe it’s because I’ve already come twice, but I’m suddenly hypersensitive.
I register everything—the table’s hard edge digging painfully into my belly, promising bruises. The pad of his fingers on my scalp, his calloused palm on my still stinging ass. Every nerve ending is alive and only intensifies my hunger for more.
“Good girl.” His praise accompanies a slow withdrawal followed by a measured thrust. My toes curl against the cool hardwood floor, grounding me as I chase the delicious ache building deep in my core.
Leaning over my back, he drags his nose along my throat while murmuring sweet nothings in thick Italian that envelop me like a warm blanket. His hips shoot forward and backward between my thighs, sending our pleasures soaring.
My fingers scrabble helplessly against the dining table, uncontrollable moans breaking free as his thrusts become harder, faster, stealing my breath until I’m gasping, barely able to pull enough air into my lungs.
Then he uses his grip on my hair to yank my head up, and I catch him staring at my mouth with such intense longing. I can’t help it; my own gaze drops to his parted lips, remembering how sweet he tasted. Geez, why did I ever deny myself his kisses?
My mouth waters, and I try to recall why I ever thought a no-kissing rule made sense. But with him looking at me like that, every reason slips away, and I start to lean in, drawn to the taste of him like a moth to a flame. His mouth, his scent, everything pulls me in until—“Absolutely not,” he bites out, forcing my head back down. “If you’re going to break your little rule, you’re going to do it when you’re not fuck-drunk.” Anger edges his voice as he says that, and as he withdraws his cock, he surges back into me harder than ever, and I know he is angry.
The pleasure borders on pain, drawing a shocked cry from me. My fingers claw at the table again, desperate for something to hold on to. The hand on my hip slips to my clit, then he rolls the sensitive nub between his thumb and index finger as he pistons into me with punishing force.
“So fucking tight,” he grunts. “You’re strangling my cock, dolcezza.”
As he works my body, sweet pleasure starts to settle at the base of my spine, gathering, gathering until it finally spills over in a rush that steals my breath again. My mouth parts in a soundless scream, vision going hazy, back arching into his chest, hard nipples dragging on the table through my shirt. I feel every single thing as I orgasm.
Behind me, Maximo’s thrusts grow erratic, and his Italian tumbles out in a hoarse, almost frantic tone as his cock seems to swell inside my tightening cunt, then he orgasms as well, his hot heat bathing my inside as he empties himself.
For a long, hazy minute, I lie limply on the table, my legs losing sensation until he wraps his arm around my waist, holding me to him. It stops what would be a graceless descent to the floor as he rests his chest against my back, his heart drumming a fast, fierce rhythm that almost matches my own thundering pulse.
We stay like that, wrapped together, his arms loose yet secure around me. Then a few breathless moments later, he pulls back, withdrawing from me. My core spasms around the sudden gaping emptiness after having his huge cock inside me.
He helps me to my feet, keeping a steadying hand on my arm. “You okay?” he asks huskily. My cheeks suddenly heat up with embarrassment as the reality of what we’ve done sinks in, and I just nod quietly.
“Come on, I’ll run a bath for you.” He says it like he’s doing me a favor, like this is the natural next step after—well, whatever that just was. He starts leading me towards the stairs, but the haze is lifting, the shock of what we just did settling in now that the pleasure has cleared. I need space, not another second drowning in his overpowering, hypnotizing presence.
I shrug out of his grip and take a step back. His face shifts, his brows knitting with concern, as if he cares.
“It’s alright. I’m fine,” I say, clearing my throat, though my voice sounds anything but. “I can run the bath myself. Just… stay here or something.” I don’t wait for his response. I turn, then walk away on shaky legs, up the stairs.
Once inside my room, I close the door behind me and lock it, feeling like it’s my one line of defense. I lean against it for a moment, just breathing. Then the realization slams into me all over again.
I just had sex for the first time.
Not just any sex—mind-blowing, earth-shaking sex.
With my enemy.
And worse, I almost kissed him in the middle of it, not caring about breaking my own rule. If he hadn’t pushed my head back down, I would have done it, Hell, I know it. And from the look in his eyes, he wanted it just as badly, maybe even more.
But he stopped me. Why did he stop me?
I shake the thought out of my head and something wet trickles down my thigh. My cum. My thigh feels sticky with it as I make my way to the ensuite. I give the bathtub a longing glance, but I’m too wrung out to even think about running it. So I just slip into the glass shower instead, cranking the water up as hot as I can stand it.
As I shower, I rub between my thighs to wash the cum off, but more keeps dripping out. My hand stills as I stare at it in confusion for a moment before the horrifying realization dawns. It’s not just my cum. That bastard came inside me!
And I’m not on birth control.
Panic follows that realization, obliterating every last trace of the lingering haze. No, no, no. Did he do it on purpose? Is this some sick way to trap me? Get me pregnant so I can never leave?
My throat closes up as my heart threatens to burst. The room seems to close in, darkening at the edges as the full weight of it hits me. No, this can’t be happening. One thought penetrates the panic: I need to get out of here.
I turn off the shower and run out of the bathroom, dripping water everywhere as I make my way to the walk-in closet. Inside, I dry myself clean haphazardly with one of the clothes, then tug on a pair of panties and a bra, not caring that it’s basically lingerie, before pulling on a gray cami top and slacks.
Fully dressed, my panic abates a little and rationality attempts to return, at least enough for a plan to form. From what I can tell, there’s only one entrance into this place—the elevator outside.
But when we came in together earlier this evening, his men were guarding it. And even though we bonded a little over pastries and a couple rounds of video games, I doubt that’s enough to get me a free pass out.
But I need to try.
I haven’t forgotten his threat to my family, but my plan isn’t to escape from him—I’m not stupid. I fully intend to come back, because I know damn well he’ll make good on those threats if he thinks I’ve broken my end of our deal. But right now, I desperately need to reach a pharmacy, or a hospital, and get the morning-after pill. Fast.
I can’t afford to get pregnant.
Getting pregnant by him is not an option, no matter how mind-blowing the sex is.
Steeling myself, I slip out of my room, scanning the empty hallway. Are there cameras here? Is someone watching me right now? My face flames as I remember what happened between Maximo and I in the living room earlier.
Did someone watch that too?
I shake it off, forcing my mind to stay sharp as I walk down the stairs to the kitchen. There, I open the cabinet where I stashed the knives earlier and take one out. The steel gleams, cold and sharp, in my hand, and I tighten my grip on it.
My plan: Hold one of the men outside hostage with the knife to his throat so the others let me leave. Easy, right?
My heart pounds frantically as their faces fill my mind. Maybe before I ate and played games with them, I could have carried out my plan without thought, but now I feel sick to my stomach as I make my way to the front door.
Tucking the knife behind my back, I inhale sharply and turn the door’s handle, half-expecting it not to open. Maximo might have locked it when he came in—where even is he? But the door swings open quietly.
Marco spots me first, and his face breaks into a warm smile. “Did you need something?” His smile catches the attention of the others, and they look over, their expressions showing varying shades of the same warmth. So different from their stone-cold indifference when Maximo first introduced me to them.
The knife feels heavier by the second.
I can’t do this. Can’t hurt them, even if it’s for my own good.
I glance around at them, my hands shaking behind me, and start to hyperventilate as I slowly raise my hands and show them the knife. They all go still, their eyes going wide, and the shift in atmosphere is immediate. Enzo starts to walk towards me, his movements careful like he’s approaching a spooked animal. In desperation, I lift the knife and place it at my own throat. I don’t even know what I’m doing—only that I need them to understand how serious I am.
“I just… I need to go buy some personal things. I’ll be back before you even know it, so just—just let me go, or I’ll…I’ll…” I trail off, not able to complete the threat. Behind Enzo, I catch Perro discreetly typing out a text. And I know exactly who it’s going to.
Damn it!
I slowly start to back away from them, and they watch me go, not doing anything. I gulp, afraid to take my eyes off them, to even blink, as I walk backwards to the elevator.
Then the penthouse door swings open and Maximo walks out.
Shit, shit.
He’s in nothing but a pair of dark pants slung low on his hips, water dripping from his hair down his bare chest and tattooed arm like he just came out of the shower. He shoves an impatient hand through his wet hair, sending droplets scattering all over the hallway. The gesture would almost seem nervous if I didn’t know better—if I didn’t know him. His eyes are fixed on me with deadly intent as he starts approaching me.
The sight of him sends my survival instincts into overdrive. I spin around, sacrificing being able to see him in favor of getting to the elevator quickly.
My heart thunders in my chest as I frantically jab at the call button. Nothing. No welcoming ding, no illuminated numbers, not even a hint of life from the sleek metal doors. I press again and again, each futile attempt making my panic rise higher.
“It’s not going to work unless you tap a clearance card there.”
I jolt at how close Maximo’s voice is and whip around to see him pointing to a small square security panel next to the elevator—a detail I’d overlooked in my desperate plan.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of course a man like Maximo would have layers of security. Of course escape wouldn’t be as simple as pressing a button.
“What the fuck are you doing, Elira?” The question comes out calm but deadly—like the whisper of a blade being drawn. His gaze drops to the knife still trembling in my hand, and something dark and primal flashes across his face. Before I can even blink, the knife is twisted from my grip and thrown to the floor behind him.
And just like that, my brilliant escape plan disintegrates. I gape up at him, despair sinking in as he commands, “Follow me.”