The sound of dead weight hitting the floor echoed throughout the suit, and it pulled Aiden into the room on high alert. The sight of it left Kalon's hands shaking with pure, untamed anger. Kalon had fired without thinking. Had killed without query of the consequences. Amara stared up at him with dying eyes and ringing ears. The anger and fear faded from her blue orbs and they filled with regret.
She was still breathing.
Amara Martin was still standing in front of Kalon, still breathing.
But a body fell. She heard it beyond the ring of her ears, beyond the gunshot. But it wasn't her. Slowly, her head turned and she stared at the body slumped against the door. Blood poured from the center of his skull, stained his shirt, the carpet, and pieces of his blond hair. Amara's subconscious wanted to move her body, wanted to give Reese some kind of warmth as he passed, but she didn't move. She had no right to hold him when she was the reason he was dead. Not Kalon, her. She didn't pull the trigger but she brought him in front of a loaded gun. Tears welled up in her eyes. She didn't know Reese all that well but he didn't need to die. He didn't do anything to her for him to deserve a tomorrow.
Her voice shook with anger. "Why?"
"Why?" Kalon repeated, his voice leveled and unfazed. "Because he asked for it; because you wanted it."
Amara faced with a fierce gaze. "I did not want this! You weren't supposed to hurt him!"
"Really because someone was going to get hurt."
"Yes! Me!" She snapped. "I seduced him, I told him to touch me, I brought him here! You were supposed to shoot me!"
The sides of Kalon's lips curved before they formed a bright smile and a laugh, soaked in pure amusement, poured out his lips. He laughed like a child at the circus, tears fuelled by the exuberance of it all filling his eyes. Amara's face didn't change, it simply grew more twisted with several layers of anger. Then he finally stopped. In a second his hand was around her throat, tight like a collar a size too small, and he pulled her close. Their lips were centimeters apart, the essence of their liquors mixing with each breath.
"Shoot you, Mbretëresha Ime (my queen)? Never. I've said it once, and it seems you forgot you signed to it, so let me remind you. If a man other than myself touched you, they die. If you touch another man, they die. If you fraternize with a woman, she will cease to exist. And I will spend as long as I see fit removing the essence of them from your body and replacing it with my own. Every touch, every kiss, every carnal feeling I'll replace till your mind can only connect pleasure to me."
"I didn't consent to that, I was drunk," Amara said.
Kalon smirked. "That's why I'm reminding you."
His lips touched hers. His tongue slipped into her mouth and she tasted the faint flavours of whiskey. Amara didn't fight him but she didn't kiss him back. Didn't reciprocate his twisted love. He pulled back, a smile on his lips as he holstered his gun and stepped past her.
"Don't worry Kotele, in due time you'll apologize for this little shenanigan."
Amara scoffed as her eyes followed him to the door. "Apologize, to you? I'll die first."
Kalon scoffed. He opened the door and watched as the lifeless body folded exposing the gold desert eagle. Kalon chuckled, more amused by the second.
"Don't worry, by the time we get back all evidence of him will be gone."
Amara said nothing as she stepped past Kalon but the hate she had was slowly growing. There was no point in fighting a situation she had created, especially when it was a war she was designed not to win. The body at the door was proof of that.
It was a two-hour drive from Milan to dinner and Kalon stopped on the way for reasons unknown. With all that time in silence, all Amara could do was think. She could have blamed Kalon for pulling the trigger on the wrong person but a part of her was grateful he did. Amara didn't want to die, she wasn't suicidal, just angry. Angry at all her choices that stacked with consequences of brick-like thickness. Yet trying to solve them, trying to shake the anchor of her problems, was like adding a layer of titanium to her already depressing issues.
The salty smell of the ocean slapped Amara in the face as they stepped out of the car onto the soft sand lined with cars. Waves kissed the shore under a cloudy sky blessed with the soft light of a full moon. Amara took a moment and adored the moon. Adored the way it shone in the darkness, the way it humbly grew night after night, only to show its true face for a moment. The moon was soft and lovely, and at the same time oh so magnificent. She closed her eyes, marked the image in her memory, took a deep breath, then finally stepped. It was time to be Kalon's wife, whether she loved him or not.
Amara walked by Kalon's side into the building and stepped past him into the softly lit, customer-empty restaurant. The beach was lined with cars but in the restaurant there were only two people who could present themselves as customers. The other twenty-two stood with their fingers on the triggers of their loaded weapons as if the zombie apocalypse had finally started. They were all guards to the man and woman who sat at the table in the middle of the room and at that moment the possibility of someone being more dangerous than Kalon hit Amara. The door closed behind her and she felt the heat of Kalon's hand on the small of her back. He was her enemy but so were the set at the table and everyone else in the place. The only difference was he was an enemy she knew. She'd stick to the poison she knew.
As they got closer the man at the table stood and extended a hand to Kalon. Kalon never took the hand. He pulled the chair for Amara, seated her then himself, and left the man standing hand out and waiting. Immediately anger flickered across the man's face but he said nothing.
"Glad to see you Osiris," the man said as he sat down, his English laced with a heavy Italian accent.
Kalon didn't answer.
The lack of words made the cool air heavy, and made Amara wonder if she was about to be in the middle of a gunfight. Unconcerned with the tension he created Kalon waved the waitress over, took two menus from her, and gave her a small order in clean, crisp Italian. Then they waited. In the heavy silence, Amara looked over the menu that had been written in English with images and descriptions of every item on it. She looked through it and followed in the undisturbed silence until it was finally broken by the man across the table.
"What the hell do you want Osiris?! You call me here to stare in my face!?" Nothing. Not one word left Kalon's mouth nor did a reaction show on his face. He didn't move, shift, or even breathe slightly differently at the outburst. It peeved the man across the table, made his temper spike.
"You think you can just threaten me to come and then just fucking sit here? I should have one of these men plant a bullet in your skull for wasting my time!"
The man stood, yanked his wife out of her chair, and headed for the door. The waitress came back and placed a bottle of Pinot Noir along with a wine glass in front of Amara and then a fourteen-year-old bottle of whiskey in front of Kalon before she stood and waited for his next order.
"You're going to clean a warehouse for me," Kalon said to the man that already had a foot out the door as he poured a glass of wine for his wife and whiskey for himself.
He finally spoke and his words created optimal silence. The footsteps stopped and the door slowly closed before the sound of footsteps reoccurred, louder and heavier till a shadow loomed over Kalon.
"Do I look like some maid to you? I'm not at your beck and call like the whore bes-"
Guns didn't raise fast enough to react to the full glass of whiskey that Kalon shattered across the man's face. His actions came without warning and left not just Amara, but everyone frozen with wide eyes, watching and waiting for what was to happen next. Kalon had twenty automatic weapons aimed at his head yet he still moved closer to the bleeding face of his guest of honour.
"That is my wife Matteo, not a whore. If you disrespect my wife again I will not hesitate to cut out your tongue and have you swallow it. Is that clear?"
Matteo nodded, the glass jutting from his face like a wake-up call to the stories that sounded just short of fiction. He didn't know if it was the shards of glass coated with whiskey or the initial hit that had his brain feeling like a scratched CD, but at the moment all he could think about was not only the fact that his wife had watched the scene play out but his men had their eyes glued to him. The man looming over Matteo thrived off violence like a vampire thrived off blood, and it occurred to Amara that she had and would always be sitting with the most psychotic and dangerous man in the room.
"Mi dispiace, non succederà più," Matteo apologized.
"Not to me," Kalon answered as he sat and wiped the blood and liquor off his hand. Matteo's eyes met with Amara's. "Signora, I'm sorry for my tongue."
Amara nodded, accepted his words, afraid of what would happen to that man if she didn't. Just like the waitress who stood with their hands shaking and mind whirling, Amara didn't know what to say or who to say it to. Pain flowed through Matteo's veins more than neurons as he struggled to stand till his men stepped past his frozen wife and pulled him into a chair. She was frozen in place staring at the blood that stained the floors, but it wasn't fear that had her feet glued, it was anger, embarrassment, disgust even. She had married for power, in this room her husband had no power. In this room, she was second.
"Good," Kalon hummed as he turned an empty glass on the table and poured himself more whiskey. "Join us Sophia."
Like a child who heard the head of the house speak, Sofia went to the table and sat with nothing to say. With everything settled the way he wanted it, Kalon turned to the waitress with a softened expression. The young waitress was nothing more than a college student trying to earn extra euros, but here she was in the middle of something that wasn't worth the wage she thought was too good to be true.
"Ragu di maiale su una polenta cremosa a..." Kalon's words faded as his eyes rested on Amara. (pork ragù over creamy polenta.)
She wasn't very hungry after the scene Kalon created yet her mind was afraid of what could happen if she said that.
"Risotto," she told him.
"...e risotto per il principale. Inizieremo con una porzione di caponata e voglio anche andare a gnocchi." (and risotto for the main. We'll start with a serving of caponata and I also want a gnocchi to go)
The waitress took the order, repeated it in detail, asked him once again if he needed anything, and then scurried off the kitchen without looking back. She didn't want to make any mistakes, didn't want to piss off the white-haired man in the slightest. The swinging door of the kitchen slowed to a stop and Kalon turned his eyes back to Matteo's bleeding face.
"As I was saying before I got distracted, I want you to clean a warehouse for me."
Matteo dabbed the blood from his face with a napkin. "I'm not a cleaning service Osiris. Plus after what you did at the bank why would I help you.?"
"Correction Matteo, you're not as good as your father was or even as good as I am, but you took over his business, you are a cleaning service. Furthermore, what I did at the bank has nothing to do with you."
"You robbed the bank that had my money!"
"Again, wrong," Kalon said calmly, taking a sip of his whiskey. "If you need to know I took compensation for a bank mishap. It sounds like the bank lost your money and you should talk to them about that. That is not my problem."
The waitress entered and silence fell as she placed a bowl of caponata and a plate of crostoni. Though it should have stopped everything her presence didn't mean an end to what was happening. Aiden handed a file to Kalon which he tossed across the table as he watched his wife indulge in the food and completely ignore the world she didn't want to be a part of. The waitress left again and business proceeded.
Kalon spoke again. "Those are the details of the warehouse and a list of men that you will use. Total payment is fifty million."
Matteo's eyes focused on Kalon with several layers of hatred.
"You're going to pay me with the money you stole from me?" he asked.
Only a smile played on Kalon's lips. "You'll leave tonight, arrive in the morning and attack four hours after sunset."
Matteo's jaw tightened. "You intend to pay me with the money you stole from me?"
"That or I can pay you in full for your consistent disrespect," Kalon finally answered.
The tension grew thick in the sea scent air and Matteo's hand shifted towards his gun.
"Do you want to play a game of powerhouse, Matteo?" Kalon asked. "Or maybe battleships, see who wins in the end. Would you like to find out how many of your men can pull the trigger before you're deformed? From what I've seen, they're not quick draws."
Matteo sighed a heavy sigh that said no to all things Sofia wanted to hear yes to as he relaxed his hand. Her husband didn't have the confidence, the back backbone, or the power to challenge the man that sat on the other side of the table. She married for power and it was sitting across the table, not beside her. Matteo stood, glass jutting from his face and blood running down the side of his face with nothing to say. In the last half hour, Matteo had been disrespected more times than he could count, but Osiris was never talking about the disrespect if words and Matteo knew that. Osiris was talking about the disrespect of power. Matteo came from a long line of criminally powerful men who did criminally powerful things, and Osiris came from the backwaters of hell as far as anyone knew. But he held power like a gambler held dice. Osiris held power that thrived far beyond his last breath, and he knew it. So did Matteo.
The waitress returned, two hot plates in her hands, one a perfectly made risotto and the other a perfectly seasoned Ragu di maiale su una polenta cremosa. She walked into the tension with her eyes low and her hand shaking ever so slightly but her presence, once again, stopped nothing.
"I want my payment," Matteo said as he grabbed the file off the table.
"Half has already been made, you'll get the other half once the job is done." Matteo never answered but he took the file along with his wife and league of shitty shooters and left. Aiden followed them out and the young waitress rushed back to the kitchen as if she heard God's voice beyond the swinging doors.
With everyone gone Amara and Kalon were left alone with each other, and the thick sea-scented tension belonged purely to them but neither spoke. Both were seething in their own sea of chaotic emotions. From here to the end of the sphere earth Amara would never understand the true motives behind Kalon's actions. Over and over his actions played in her brain, but not one made sense. Not one blade, or bullet, or shattered glass clarified to her the reasoning of his mind. But Kalon's sea of emotions was mixed with the whiskey he consumed like medicine. Amara had him dancing on the thin line between impulsive stupidity and controlled rage. He had been waiting for her anger to boil over, but what she had done shook even him to his core. Messed with his mind. She had gone as far as to pull a pawn into the game and it impressed him, but she knew the risks of it and yet she was angry that her pawn had caught a bullet.
As they ate in the coarsest of silence neither of them spoke, but when the ragu was finished and the risotto was gone there was nothing but wine and whiskey and thoughts that needed clarification.
"Why did you hit him?" Amara finally asked the question that was burning in her mind.
"I lost my temper," Kalon answered plainly as if those words were enough. Those were the same words he had given her in New York the night he stripped her of her last remanence of peace. They weren't enough. They would never be enough.
"You lost your temper," Amara mocked. "You shattered glass across a man's face because he called me a whore."
"There is a difference between disrespecting me and disrespecting my wife and he needs to learn tha-"
"Well, your friend wasn't wrong. If you hadn't thrown a fit and killed him I would have been on top of Reese halfway to euphoria for the fifth time by now instead of watching you maim people because you have no control of your temper."
Kalon's jaw tightened as his mind replayed the scene he had witnessed a few hours ago then a smirk played on his lips as he remembered the body. He had control of his temper the same way insecurity had control of beauty, but when things came to the little woman beside him his temper was explosive. She made it uncontrollable.
Kalon sipped his whiskey. "And somehow you're angry and stunned I shot him."
"You did not just shoot him, you killed him, and you did not have to!" Amara snapped.
"You wanted him dead."
"I did not!"
"You wanted me to shoot him."
"I didn't want that!"
"Oh? Then why did you take him there?!"
Silence fell. They both glared at each other. Each daring the other to succumb to the worst part of themselves and make a move they'd regret.
Kalon sighed. "You knew I'd kill him. He was a pawn you used to raise hell and deep down you knew you were risking his life. Admit it or not, he was a sacrificial pawn in your game."
Amara didn't answer. She knew what she had done, it was all she could think about. Whether Kalon had pulled the trigger or not, Reese would have never been in the line of fire it wasn't for her. It was a weight she'd have to carry on her shoulder even if she didn't want to. She didn't need Kalon to remind her, didn't need him to rub salt on her open wound.
Kalon spoke. "Be honest, you wanted him dead."
"I did not."
"So explain, why would yo-"
"Because you broke your promise!" Amara finally snapped. "You promised me you wouldn't hurt Richard and you did, so I kept mine. The only mistake I made was not picking a guy that shoots first."
Amara stood and left before he could say anything that would turn her into the very thing she was and had always been running from.
Kalon sat there for a moment and let her words seep in as the memories played. He had kept his promise, hadn't touched Richard in the slightest, but he couldn't prove that without breaking a piece of her heart. He downed his whiskey, left enough money on the table to cover the bill and the waitress's silence before he followed his wife.
Angry waves crashed against the almost empty shores as Kalon took brisk steps to catch her. Amara took rushed steps with nowhere to go. She needed to breathe but at the same time she wasn't running from the man that was on her heel. He was right, she had killed Reese. She had taken a turn she never wanted to take, all for revenge. All over a promise. Her actions were breaking her more than they would ever break her intended target. At this point she knew Kalon had no humanity to spear, she understood she couldn't make him feel regret. But back then, in Richard's office, she had given him a chance, the least he could do was apologize. Kalon's hand grabbed Amara's and he pulled her back. Pulled her to meet his gaze. And for the first time that night, their eyes properly met under the moon as the waves lapped at the sand.
"Fine! I killed him, is this that what yo-"
"I'm sorry." Kalon cut her words. "I'm sorry I scared you and made you worry about someone you cared about."
Amara face softened at the words.
"But a part of you knows I didn't hurt him..."
"Let go," Amara hissed.
"...because when I hurt people I maim them."
Amara pulled against his grip. "Let go Kalon!"
He refused, held her tight.
"You're angry because you don't know the truth, because you've witnessed things that give you a logical reason to be angry, because you're supposed to be." Amara's fight for freedom stopped and Kalon stepped closer testing fate. She didn't move. "But you're not angry or afraid of me after all I've done because you know there's no need to be. Amara you know as sweet as sugar is it can give you diabetes. As bitter as medicine is it heals the sick. You know that just because something is red means it's made of blood, and you know just because something is white means it's pure. Underneath it all you know there was a reason for it all. Kotele you're only angry because it is safer to be angry than to trust something, especially when it's something you've been told a thousand times and no one had ever stuck to it."
Amara's throat felt dry. Her eyes filled with tears and her chest tightened as if she was losing oxygen with each breath. She felt hot and cold all at once. Amara felt as if she was drowning in the sea of every single emotion she had ever felt in the span of her life, and she was being pulled under by all the thoughts she didn't understand and all the truth she wasn't ready for. Once again there was a truth hanging over her head that she could understand but couldn't comprehend. She felt like the little girl in the back seat of that car watching her mother walk away. Things and thoughts were forcing their way into the unhealed cracks of her soul and Amara didn't like it.
Amara didn't have to deal with it, not yet, not right now, not with poison at her fingertips, holding her hand. The man that held her with his white hair was a poison, a lethal poison she was daring herself to take. She wondered who it would kill first, her or her thoughts. She wondered if the first drop of him would decimate her organs or if she'd make it to the end. She wondered if the last drop would give her a beautiful sight of delusion or hallucination as her mind shut down. Maybe it would be horrendous and excruciating, and she'd be left to battle him and her thoughts. There was only one way to find out. One way to know if for a moment, no matter how short, he could use his poison and take it all away. One way to know if something could and would kill you.
Taste it.
Drown in it.
Take it all till you were numb.
Immunity or death.
Nothing in between.
Amara grabbed the back of Kalon's neck, pulled him into her, and for once she kissed him. Slipped her tongue into his mouth and force him to taste the flavors of the wine she had consumed. She kissed him like he was her favorite thing. And maybe he was, maybe she liked the special poison he carried in his veins. The first drop of poison ran through her veins with heat and power. It didn't kill her, it released her from all the thoughts holding her. It made her need more.
Kalon didn't pull away, didn't stop her. He let Amara her way and melted into it. He freed her wrist and slipped his arm around her waist, pulled her closer, kissed her deeper. She filled him with a warmth that moved through him like the first sip of coffee in the morning. It ran through his veins, touched the farthest parts of him, made him forget the world. Amara's kiss was needy and vicious yet soft and so dangerous. Kalon should have stopped her, should have pulled away from the woman that was numbing his senses with her simple taste. But he couldn't, he didn't want to. He loved it, every ounce of it.
They shifted on the sand. Moved towards something stable, pressed against the cold steel of the car.
"I hate you," Amara whispered as she kissed him again, so gently it left him confused.
Her words were void of the truth, contrasted her actions. Kalon touched her. His hands moved down her body, caressed it through the fabric of her dress as he kissed her neck.
"I hate you," she mumbled through shaky breaths.
He didn't stop. He marked her skin as he undid her dress. Want flowed in her veins.
She moaned softly. "I hate you, so much."
"Tell me you believe me Kotele," he spoke against her skin.
Amara shuddered from the warm breath. She thought about his words as best as she could without letting his touch affect them. She thought about Charlie, thought about Carlton, even thought about Reese's bloody body, and compared them all to Richard. They had all been maimed and damaged, left with scars they carry into their next lives. But Richard, Richard was in one piece, with no holes or wounds. He had been sweaty and weak and struggling to breathe, but he wasn't bleeding. Was that a good enough reason to believe Kalon? No one else was in the room to hurt Richard, but Kalon never cared about blood or witnesses. Would he go for silent killing just so he could lie to her?
A sweet moan left Amara's lips as Kalon's hand moved to her breast. She finally nodded.
He pinched her nipple. "Use your words."
"Yes," she answered with a shaky voice. "I believe you."
"Good. Then apologize."
Amara stared at him, her breaths as choppy as the waves that rushed to the shore, but her eyes were focused. He wanted an apology. An admittance that her actions were wrong and bad. She couldn't give him that. Her actions were conniving and sneaky but if she apologized she'd only be telling him that his were appropriate. That his were acceptable.
She smiled, kissed him again. "Fuck no."
As if those words had summoned the devil, thunder clapped and Amara watched Kalon's eyes change and molecules froze. His hand stopped. The gentleness of it all faded away like smoke in the wind. He grabbed her throat.
"Apologize Kotele because you've earned your punishment and I am desperate to give it to you."
His voice was rough and threatening but there was nothing he could say that would make the words I'm sorry pour from Amara's heart lips. Kalon smiled. He yanked her off the car door and pressed against the hood like a suspect under arrest. Her nipples kissing the cold steel. She couldn't see him, but beyond the sound of the crashing waves she could hear his belt. The sound of metal against metal. It made her heart race. She felt the pressure ease off her neck and felt the fine leather wrap around her wrist.
"Safeword," Kalon demanded.
Amara chuckled. "I don't need a safe wo- Fuck!" Kalon's gloved hand came down on Amara's ass with no form of compunction. Pain rippled through her body. This wasn't the same Kalon she had laid with in New York. She thought of a time she needed a safe word, thought of a time she used one, and said the only thing that came to mind.
"Blue."
Her breathy words were permission and they set off Kalon's deepest desire to see her begging and submitting. His warmth radiated through her skin as he placed a kiss on the nape of her neck. It was a small reminder that he didn't hate her, a reminder that he didn't want to hurt her. But just as quickly as it came the warmth of his body and the heat of his erection faded away and were replaced by cold air.
The first slap came down on Amara's ass with no warning and forced curses from her lips. Her body stiffened as the pain ran through her nervous system. Kalon's hand slapped her again. Her hands pulled against the leather binding as she stiffened and held in sounds that dared to break free. Again and again, over and over, he spanked her in the same spot, sent waves of stinging pleasure running through her. Every hit of his gloved hand hurt more than the last, but with each one a hint of raw, uncouth pleasure followed.
Amara's right cheek glowed a bright red hue under the cloudy sky. Kalon could see his handprint glowing clearly on the soft, irritated flesh. He soothed it, ran his fingers over the sensitive spot gently. Amara's body tensed, anxiously waiting for the next hit. Her breaths were erratic and heavy, hazed with whimpers she didn't want to set free. Kalon touched her left cheek. Touched the untainted skin and watched his wife squirm in anticipation, craving the next round.
"You're going to cut your lip trying to hold in all those emotions," Kalon warned.
She didn't speak.
He hit her again, hit her harder and firmer than he did the first ten times. A cry mixed with pain and euphoria left her lips.
"There you go baby, let it out," Kalon praised. "Now I want you to count for me, and if you miss one we start over. Understood."
Amara's heavy breaths filled the air as they left her lips. "Yes sir."
Like his warmth, the gentleness of Kalon's hand disappeared and the first hit came down on her left cheek. Her back arched, her body tensed, and she stifled a moan.
"One," she murmured.
Again, he spanked her. "Louder."
"T-two," she stuttered.
Another hit came down on the same spot. A cry of pain left Amara's lips as her hands struggled with the belt. It hurt. The pain from each slap stung but Amara never considered stopping him.
"Three," she groaned out, her voice strained with all kinds of emotions.
Kalon hit her again and again and again. With each one, Amara counted and made sure he heard. Her body shuddered from his touch and her legs shook as her heavy breaths mixed with whiny groans and filled the air. The sound of Kalon's hand echoed with each hit and integrated with her sweet voice.
"T-t-ten," Amara murmured, struggling to keep the tenacity she started with.
"Didn't I tell you to speak louder?" Kalona asked as his hand dipped into his pocket. Amara nodded.
He slapped her hard. Made her body jerk and her scream fill the air.
His voice dipped. "Don't fucking nod at me!"
"Yes!" she cried.
"You have a mouth when you're pissed and you want to tell me to fuck off, don't you?"
"Yes sir."
Kalon's hand moved to her heat. He touched the soaked, thin fabric that clothed her dripping wetness.
"Then why..." he asked as he pulled off her panties, "...are you mumbling to me?"
Amara didn't answer, couldn't find a response. His fingers spread her wet lips and something filled her walls. It was cold, made her walls tighten.
"Start again," he ordered.
As those words left his lips vibrations filled Amara's core. Her knees buckled as fresh waves of pleasure rushed through her body. Kalon's hand came down on her throbbing ass with power and little mercy, and it forced delighted screams to fill the air as thunder rolled.
"Count Amara!"
"One," she moaned.
They were separate anymore, with each wave of pain that filled Amara a shot of pleasure followed. She couldn't think, couldn't process the two together. Her mind and body were begging for more of both. Her body growing needy for the source. With each slap her words spilled out in both a cry and moan. Her nails were digging into the palm of her hand as she endured the punishment she earned. As good as it felt, as much pleasure as the pain was giving her, there was an emptiness in her heat. An emptiness she needed filled.
Kalon spanked her again in the same spot and a new pain-guided feeling filled her. The little vibrator that danced inside her walls had touched something special.
"Louder," Kalon ordered as he slapped her again.
Amara's brain couldn't function. She couldn't think.
"More!" She screamed out, her voice intoxicated with want.
Kalon froze, stared at her. She was shaking, moaning, breathing the heaviest of breaths as the toy danced inside her dripping walls.
"You're getting close Kotele," he whispered in her ear as his hand touched her clit. "Do you want cum, do you want more?"
"Yes!" she moaned out.
"Apologize."
He spanked her again, gave her a preview of what her pleasure could be.
"Apologize or I take it all a-fucking-way."
She wanted it. The pain, the pleasure, the release. She needed it like an addict. She was close to the edge. Seconds away from drowning in the poison of ecstasy that Kalon gave her. She needed to drown in it.
"I'm sorry," she cried out. "I'm sorry, so please fuck me. Please make me cum."
Her moans, the way she begged, it was the musical sound of victory to Kalon's ear. He spanked her again, over and over, kept a steady pace on her clit and whispered in her ear as euphoria held her.
"Cum for me you slut. You cum for me and only me," he said.
Amara's tiny body shook as the bliss of pleasure ran through her veins and clouded her mind. She screamed, moaned, struggled to catch her breath as every inch of her body tensed. Her juices dripped down her thigh and the vibrator slipped, falling into the sand. But Kalon didn't stop. He laced his fingers with her juices and slipped them inside her. He filled the space the vibrator left. The heat of his body ran through hers as his chest rested on her back and the fingers on his right hand danced on her clit while the fingers of his left moved inside her. They moved easy; curved and teased a spot inside her that was already overwhelmed. He made pleasure move through her veins in an assemblage. His fingers stretched her walls and sent another heated orgasm through her body that bombarded all her senses. Kalon stopped and let her ride the waves alone as her knees buckled.
"Breath Kotele," he whispered against her skin. "Breath."
She did as told, her orgasm calming and reality returning slowly. Amara heard the waves, the soft roll of thunder and the weak sound of a zipper clicking. That sound excited her. It made the walls of her heated sex clench in anticipation. A soft moan left Amara's mouth as she felt the tip of Kalon's heated cock touch her wet lips. It had a heat, a warmth, that nothing in this world seemed to replicate. Amara's hip moved, desperate to be filled but Kalon held her. Her small hands pulled against the leather belt again and again with no success. Her ass stung, her legs felt weak, and here she was his tip danced between her lips simple centimetres away from giving her what she needed. What she was desperate for; and yet he wouldn't give her.
"Please," Amara begged. "You said if I apologized, you'd fuck me." Kalon slapped her ass hard and gave her just an inch of the tip before he pulled away.
"I never said that. I said," he slapped her again, "I'd take away your pleasure if you didn't apologize. And you came, more than once. In fact, I should leave you just like this."
"No, please don't!" Amara begged, her voice high and whinny desperate for more of his blissful touch. Lust clouding every thought and emotion she had.
"I really should fucking leave you like this for all the shit you've done today."
"Kalon pl-"
He shoved his cock inside her without warning. Filled her with every inch till he was deep inside her. Amara's back arched and a sweet, blissful moan left her lips, filling the air. She felt his shaft stretch the wall of her wet sex, felt the tip deep inside her. She was filled to the brim with his hot cock. Kalon pulled out slowly as he undid the belt and set her free. He could feel her heat as her walls wrapped him tightly. For a moment he lost his senses and a soft groan left his lips. The tight wall of her dripping sex made him feel like a virgin. His hands gripped Amara's hips tightly as he struggled to control the lethal mix of carnality and rage that ran through his veins. Kalon thrust deep in her and the sweetest moan filled the air. It set him off. He gave her what she wanted, what she had been begging for from the moment she kissed him. Each thrust was hard yet filling. Amara could feel his tip deep inside her before he slowly pulled out. She could feel the hedonism grow inside her veins each time he filled her. Amara's hands rested on the glossy hood of the car and each time Kalon sunk his cock inside her, her nails chipped the paint.
Kalon's speed changed, and Amara's moans grew sweeter and louder. Her mind went blank. Thoughts, wanted and unwanted, faded away faster than dust in the wind. She moaned his name, cursed him, pulled away only to be pulled back and given every inch.
"Don't run," he said between groans and thrusts, his voice raspy. "You wanted me to fuck you, take every inch."
Amara answered him with sweet, airy moans as he slowed his thrust and sank his shaft deep inside her. In that moment, in that rise of heat where they were too deep in lust and pleasure to think about anything, the first drop of rain fell. That cold, icy drop of rain fell and a million more followed behind it, but neither Kalon nor Amara cared. Cool rain soaked their heated skin yet it couldn't cool the fire that burned. Kalon's hands moved against Amara's hot, wet skin as his slow pace made soft hums of pleasure pour from her lips. His fingers laced in her hair and Kalon pulled her up. He made her body touch his. Made her pussy take him. Made her scream his name in the rain while the waves plunged into the sand.
"Who do you belong to?" he growled in her ear, feeling her walls tighten around his cock.
"Y-you!" she stuttered, feeling the girth stretch her walls.
He thrust, short and hard. "Whose wife are you?"
"Yours!" she whimpered.
He thrust, hard and deep.
"If another man touches you," he thrust, created a pace of sharp and deep thrust, and made her gasp, "I will torture him to death."
He listened to her moans grow strained.
"If a woman touches you," Kalon hand slipped around her throat and he held it tight, slowed the blood to her brain, "I will break her down to nothing before I kill her."
Amara could feel Kalon's shaft pulsing in her.
"If a fucking teenage prick touches you, I will send it to a mental hospital. Do I make myself clear?"
Amara nodded.
Kalon stopped, his dick deep inside her, pulsing and stretching her walls. His grip on her throat tightened. "Don't nod at me!" he growled.
Whimpers filled the air. "Yes sir!"
He fucked her with anger, fucked her with raw desire. Each thrust held all the emotions she made him feel. With each thrust their hips met and the sweet sound of wet skin to skin mixed with the sounds of rolling thunder and crashing waves. The hand around her throat had taken all her ability to think. She stared at the full moon with a thoughtless mind and abstract eyes as her moans spilled out like a symphony and another rolling orgasm rushed through. Her body shook, her nails marked the car, her juices dripped and her walls wrapped around Kalon as if she wanted to drown him in the feverish heat of her sex.
Each moan, each scream, each sound of euphoria that slipped from Amara's lips messed with Kalon's composure. Those sweet sounds made him weak, made rough groans escape him. His hands shifted, moved from Amara's neck and touched her body. As his lips kissed the back of her neck his rough thrust grew steady and deep, and his hands played with her breast. Fingers pinched and tugged her stiff nipples.
"Please she," she moaned out sweetly. "Let me touch you."
Those words, the way she said them, made Kalon stop. His hands, his lips, his thrust, they all ceased and he stepped away. He couldn't tell if this was her way of accepting the marriage or if this was her killing all the thoughts she didn't want to accept.
Slowly, heavy breaths left Amara's lips as she turned and faced her husband. Her blue, lust-coated eyes started into his grey ones. Thunder rolled and lightning struck but nothing shook Kalon more than the tiny hand that slipped around his neck. Amara grabbed him, pulled him close, kissed him. He tasted her. Tasted the lust, tasted the desire, tasted the wine, tasted the need. It made him weak. Made him cave. Made his problems and pains fade away. She was his poison. She kissed him deeper than a thousand words could touch him, and his hands touched her as if she was the most delicate thing in the world. He raked his fingers through her hair before his hot hands moved down her back and grabbed her ass. Kalon squeezed the soft cheeks tightly and lifted the little woman. Her skin was on his, hot and wet, the tip of his cock sitting between her heated lips like a puppy begging to go inside. Amara moved her mouth to his ear, she kissed him, soft and gentle, before she spoke.
"Let me see you try and fuck away your sins horsecok."
He snapped. Filled her. Fucked her. They were both angry at each other, both menaces to the other's peace, and yet they wanted each other the way they did. They wanted to see one another drowning in pleasure. His thrusts shook the world around Amara. The SUV shook each time their hips met. Her nails dug into his skin, pulled at his shirt. She tore the buttons, touched his bare skin, memorized the scars and marks as she gave him new cuts. Her moans poured and his groans slipped out. Kalon's teeth marked her neck, blessed her with more pleasure. Each thrust hit deep inside her dripping sex; each thrust hit her sweetest spot. They voiced the pleasure they gave each other, lost in mother tongues.
"Je te déteste mais fuck!" Amara moaned, her French broken. (I fucking hate you but fuck)
"Ju mut i vogël i brishtë, të dua shumë!" Kalon groaned.
Kalon's grip grew tighter as his thrust shifted from steady to sloppy. Amara could feel his tip hit her sweet spot with each stroke. His body rubbed against her clit with every movement and she could feel the thick long cock pulsing in her walls, stretching her walls. Kalong gripped her ass tightener, thrust harder.
"Fuck!" he cursed as the bliss of it all dared to overflow in his veins.
Amara's back arched and her voice grew quiet. Her heated walls grew tighter and pulled him in.
"Shit!" he cursed, burying himself deep inside her.
Like a virgin, he succumbed to the heat, the pleasure, the pain, and he came. His thick, hot cum filled Amara to the brim before it overflowed in her sex and sent her over the edge, back into the abyss of pleasure where her mind was more useless than a static TV. Amara screamed his name, cut his skin as her body shook and her walls wrapped around him. Kalon held her as he held himself, breathless and muddled. Rain kissed their skin as they both eased off a cloud higher than cloud nine. Kalon placed Amara on her feet and held her steady.
"Say it, say it and let me hear it."
She breathed heavily. "If anyone touches me you'll kill them."
"Good girl. You are my wife. I don't share."