Chapter 117: My Turn To Punish Him
Gianna’s POV
“Pretty doll,” he groaned, his hips jerking forward without control. “Both. Either. Fuck, I don’t care, just don’t stop.”
I started slowly, learning the weight and feel of him in my hand. His cock was thick and long and hard, and I watched his face as I stroked, memorizing what made his breath hitch, what made his eyes shut, and what made the vein in his neck stand out.
“Like this?” I asked, increasing my pace slightly, twisting my wrist on the upstroke like I had seen in the videos.
“Yes,” he hissed, gripping my shoulder hard enough to leave marks. “Exactly like that. Brava ragazza.”
The praise sent a thrill through me. Then I slowed down again, teasing, using just my fingertips to trace the prominent vein along the underside. “Or like this?”
“Gianna.” It was a warning and a plea, his accent thick with need. “Don’t tease.”
I am doing it right, I realized, a shiver of triumph rolling through me. I am making him lose control.
I leaned forward, maintaining eye contact, and let my tongue dart out to lick the bead of precum from his tip. Salty and musky and purely him.
His groan echoed off the tiles, raw and desperate. “Pretty doll, yes. Just like that.”
“What about this?” I asked softly, swirling my tongue around the head, feeling him twitch against my lips.
His hand fisted in my wet hair. “Fuck, yes. Exactly like that. You are so good, tesoro.”
Emboldened by his praise, I took him into my mouth, just the tip at first, hollowing my cheeks and sucking gently. His whole body went tight, every muscle pulled taut.
“Tesoro,” he breathed, his voice already wrecked. “You do not have to. Cristo, your mouth…”
“I want to.” I pulled back slightly, stroking him while I looked up at him. “Tell me what you like. I want to learn. I want to make you feel good.”
“You are doing perfect,” he groaned. “So fucking perfect. Take me deeper, bella. I want to feel that pretty mouth stretched around me.”
I took him deeper, forcing myself to relax my jaw, using my hand to stroke what I could not take. His reaction hit instantly. His hand slammed against the glass wall, his breathing turned ragged, and his hips began to move in small, helpless thrusts.
Do not gag, I told myself. I have done this before, so why did it, still feel frightening now?
“That is it,” he praised, his voice rough. “Just like that. Fuck, you were made for this. Made for me.”
I pulled back, gasping slightly, a thin string of saliva connecting my lips to him. The sight seemed to drive him wild. His eyes blazed.
“Pretty doll,” he groaned. “You look so fucking beautiful like this. On your knees for me, your lips swollen, your mouth wet…”
“Do you like when I use my tongue?” I asked, licking along the underside, tracing the vein with the flat of my tongue.
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Chapter 117 My Turn To Punk Him
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“Yes,” he groaned, his voice almost unrecognizable. “Fuck, yes. Everything you do is perfect.”
“What about my hands?” I stroked him firmly while my tongue danced over the sensitive head, swirling around it and dipping into the slit.
“Both. Use both. Cazzo, do not stop. You are going to make me come so hard, tesoro.”
I did, finding a rhythm, mouth and hand working together. I took him as deep as I could, fighting my gag reflex, then pulled back to breathe before taking him again. Sucking, licking, stroking. His taste filled my mouth, and the sounds he made, those desperate groans and filthy Italian praises, made me impossibly wet.
My other hand came up to cup his balls, rolling them gently the way I had read about, and he nearly came off the wall.
“Damn,” he swore. “Gianna, where did you learn…”
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I loved it. I loved having power over him, loved making him feel the way he had made me feel. Loved reducing this controlled, dangerous man to a cursing, trembling mess. Loved hearing him praise me.
I took him deeper, relaxing my throat. His hips bucked forward involuntarily, pushing himself further into my mouth and hitting the back of my throat.
I gagged slightly, tears welling in my eyes, but I did not pull away.
“Mi dispiace,” he gasped, trying to pull back, his hand gentle in my hair. “I am sorry. I did not mean to. Fuck, I did not mean to hurt you.”
But I grabbed his hips and pulled him back. I showed him it was okay, that I wanted it. I wanted him to lose control completely. I looked up at him with watering eyes and took him deep again.
“Cristo,” he groaned, his voice breaking. “You are going to kill me. You are so perfect. So fucking perfect. Look at you, taking me so well.”
I hummed around him and he cursed.
“Gianna,” he warned, his voice strained, his thighs trembling under my hands. “If you keep that up, I am going to come. I am so close, bella.”
I pulled off with a soft pop, still stroking him, looking up at him through my lashes. My lips were swollen and wet, my chin slick with saliva.
“Do you want to come in my mouth, Don Dante?”
“Yes,” he breathed, raw and desperate, his eyes dark, his voice breaking. “Please. Yes.”
I smiled, slow and wicked. Just like he had teased me, I decided to play my own game. I lingered at the edge, letting him rock against my hand and dragging out the tension. He cursed, his body stiffening, his breathing ragged.
“You… fuck… Gianna,” he hissed, his hips jerking.
I chuckled softly, pulling back just enough to let him ache, watching his frustration rise. This is your punishment, I thought. My pulse raced. For not staying still. For making me beg. Now you get a taste of what it feels like to be on the edge, desperate and helpless.
I stood up slowly, my hand still wrapped around him, stroking once more before letting go. His mouth fell open slightly, confusion and desperation warring on his face.
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Chapter 117 My Tum To Punish Him
“What are you…” he started.
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“That is your punishment,” I breathed, stepping away before he could drag me back. “For not staying still.”
Perfect, I thought, watching him standing there with his cock hard and dripping, his whole body trembling with need. This is what he did to me. This is what it feels like.
“Gianna.” His voice was a warning and a plea.
But I was already turning away, stepping out of the shower, water dripping from my body.
“Fuck,” he swore behind me, his voice raw. “You cannot just… bellissima, get back here…”
I glanced over my shoulder, giving him a small smile. “You will survive.
“Cristo,” he cursed again, and I could hear the frustration, the need, the disbelief in his voice. “You are going to pay for this.”
“Looking forward to it,” I said sweetly, and walked away, leaving him there.
I felt a thrill knowing I was paying him back, just like he had done to me before.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
