“Good girl. Like that. Just open and let me fuck your face.”

I want to slide my hand under my skirt but he’s moving too fast, and I can’t breathe when he pushes so deep, so I push against his thighs, try to pull back, but he won’t let me.

“Shh. Relax, Natalie.” He’s not coaxing me. It’s a command. “Look up. Look at me.”

I do, and he nods his head and pulls out a little, lets me gulp in a breath, then slides his length back into my mouth.

“That’s it, like that. I’m going to go deeper now. I want to watch you take my cock. Want to watch your face when I come down your throat.”

He starts to pump and I panic when I can’t breathe but he leans down and pets my hair and now he’s coaxing me. Whispering something over and over again.

“Trust me, Natalie. Trust me.”

I do. I trust him. And when I relax my mouth, my throat, he grips me so hard that I can’t move, and thrusts in deep and I know he’s going to come. I feel him grow even thicker and his eyes get that glow, that sheen, and a moment later, I feel the throbbing, feel his release, see it on his face as he empties down my throat and I swallow. I swallow and when he pulls out, I cover my mouth, but he doesn’t release me. Instead, he crouches down.

“Natalie.” He smiles at me, kisses me softly. “Sweet, pretty Natalie.” He touches the scruff of his jaw to my temple. “You have to learn to swallow it all,” he whispers, and smears what I couldn’t swallow across my cheek, over the ruined lipstick, and kisses me, kisses me hard, his tongue where his cock just was, tasting his own cum, messing up my face, like he said he would.

“I love you,” he says, holding me close, so close with his hand wrapped around the base of my skull, keeping me against him. “I love you and you’re it for me. Mine. No matter what. Understand?”

I don’t know how much he drank, but I taste whiskey on his breath and the way he’s talking, the way he’s holding me, it’s strange. Too much. Too dark.

“Did something happen?” I dare to whisper. I don’t want to pull away, to interrupt this intimacy. Because what he’s saying, it’s true. I’m his. I know it and I want it.

He draws back, his face an inch from me.

“Mine, Natalie. Always. No matter what.”

18

Natalie

Sergio and I are the last to walk into the dining room. Everyone is already seated, his whole family, and one other man who’s reading something on his phone. I feel myself tense when he looks up and our eyes meet.