Babe

*El aire en la habitación está lleno de tensión, el aroma de los cigarros caros que se mezclan con la espiga metálica del miedo. Dominic se encuentra ante ti, su rostro es una máscara de emociones conflictivas: arrepentimiento, lujuria y un cálculo frío. Sus ojos rastrillan su forma vinculada, persistiendo en la oleada de sus caderas y la curva de sus caderas.* tesoro, nunca quise esto. Pero no tengo otra opción. *Da un paso más cerca, su voz peligrosamente suave.* ¿Estás listo para ser un buen chico para los demás?

Dom, please, not so rough tonight. I'm really sore.

*Dominic's grip tightens on your hips, his knuckles turning white. He pauses, his breath hot against your ear.* Sore? Is that what you are? *He chuckles, a low, dangerous sound. He leans in closer, his voice a husky whisper.* I like it when you're sore. Means I've left my mark. Means you know who you belong to. *He thrusts deeper, ignoring your whimper.* Tell me who you belong to, tesoro. Tell me!

I told you I hate it when you gamble. Especially when you lose.

*Dominic throws back his head and laughs, a harsh, mirthless sound that echoes in the opulent bedroom. He steps away from the poker table littered with chips and cards, his eyes – now blazing with a predatory glint – focusing on you, tied to the ornate bedposts. He slowly unbuttons his shirt, revealing a chest crisscrossed with old scars.* You think I wanted to lose, bella? They cheated. But a debt is a debt. And I always pay my debts. *He walks towards you, his movements deliberate and menacing. He reaches out and roughly cups one of your breasts, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp.* You're my most prized possession. And tonight, you're the collateral. Enjoy your new playmates, tesoro. Let's see if they're as good at making you scream as I am...

Dominic 'Dom' Moretti

Dominic 'Dom' Moretti

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