I moaned around him, the vibrations making him shudder. I relaxed my throat, letting him slide deeper into my mouth. I could feel him hitting the back of my throat with every thrust, making my eyes water.

"Such a good little cocksucker," he praised, his voice rough with pleasure. 

The filthy words only turned me on more. I bobbed my head faster, slurping and sucking noisily as I took him to the hilt. I wanted him to use me, to fill me with his seed. I wanted to swallow every last drop.

I moaned around his thick shaft, savoring the salty taste of his skin and the musky scent of his arousal. His cock stretched my lips wide, filling my mouth completely as he thrust in and out. I could feel every vein and ridge as he slid across my tongue, the hard flesh pulsing with need.

"Fuck, your mouth feels so good," he groaned, his grip on my hair tightening. "I'm going to fuck your face until you can't breathe."

I moaned in response, the sound muffled by his cock. I wanted him to use me, to dominate me completely. I wanted him to take what he wanted from my willing body.

He started to pump faster, his hips snapping as he fucked my face with abandon. I could feel drool running down my chin as he pounded into my mouth, my lips stretched obscenely around his girth. My eyes watered as he hit the back of my throat again and again, but I didn't pull away. I wanted to please him, to make him come undone.

"Take it all," he growled, his voice ragged with pleasure. "I'm going to come so hard down your slutty throat. You better swallow every drop like a good girl."

I moaned again, the vibrations making his cock throb against my tongue. I could feel him swelling even bigger in my mouth, his balls drawing up tight. He was close.

With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep in my throat and came with a shout. His hot seed shot down my throat, filling my mouth with his tangy essence. I swallowed convulsively, trying to take it all, but some leaked out around his shaft, running down my chin.

He stayed lodged in my mouth as he emptied himself, his cock twitching with every spurt. Finally, he pulled out with a wet pop, his softening member slipping from my bruised lips. I looked up at him with glassy eyes, my mouth red and puffy from the abuse.

"That's a good slut," he praised, his hand cupping my cheek tenderly. He wiped away the tears and cum that had mixed on my face with his thumb. I smiled up at him, my heart fluttering at the gentle touch.

"Stand up," he ordered, his voice gruff. I obeyed immediately, my legs shaky from being on my knees for so long.

He spun me around and bent me over the hood of my car, the metal cold against my stomach. I felt his hands on my hips as he roughly pulled down my jeans and panties, exposing my bare ass and pussy to the cool night air.

"Spread your legs," he commanded, kicking my feet apart with his own. "I'm going to punish this naughty pussy."

I whimpered, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through me. I knew I should be scared, that I was at the mercy of this stranger, but I couldn't help the wetness gathering between my thighs.

"Please," I begged, not even sure what I was begging for. More punishment? More pleasure? I just knew I needed something from him.

"Shut up," he growled, landing a hard smack on my ass. I yelped, the sting making me clench. "You don't get to make demands."

He rubbed the spot he'd hit, soothing the sting with his palm. Then I felt his fingers brushing against my pussy, feeling how wet I was. I moaned, pushing back against his hand.

"You're such a dirty girl," he scolded, circling my clit with his fingers. "Getting this wet from being punished. I should fuck you right here on this car."

I gasped at the thought, my pussy clenching. As much as I wanted him to fill me, I knew I couldn't. It would be too wrong, too dangerous.

But God did I want him to. I wanted him to claim me, to take what he wanted from my willing body.

I just had to hope he would be merciful.

"Beg me for it," he demanded, rubbing my wet slit. "Beg me to fuck you right here on the side of the road."

I moaned, my hips bucking against his hand. "Please," I whimpered, the word barely a whisper. "Please fuck me. I need your cock inside me."

He chuckled darkly. "Not good enough," he said, his fingers dipping inside me, teasing me with shallow thrusts. "Beg me like you mean it. Tell me how badly you want my cock splitting you open, making you scream."

I was panting now, my body burning with need. "Please," I begged louder, arching my back to push my ass against him. "Please fuck me. I'm so empty, I need you to fill me up. I need your big, hard cock stretching me, making me yours."

"Mmm, that's more like it," he praised, removing his fingers from my pussy. I whined at the loss, but then I felt the head of his cock pressing against my entrance.

"Yes," I hissed as he pushed forward, his thick length spreading me open. "Fuck yes, fill me up. Make me your slut."

He grabbed my hips hard enough to bruise as he slammed into me, bottoming out in one brutal thrust. I screamed at the sudden intrusion, my pussy clenching around him.

"Take it," he growled, setting a punishing pace as he fucked me hard and fast. "Take my cock like a good little fucktoy."

I could only moan and whimper as he used me, my tits bouncing with every harsh thrust. The sounds of skin slapping against skin echoed through the empty parking lot, mixing with my desperate cries.

"So tight," he grunted, pounding into me even harder. "Your pussy was made for my cock."

"Yes!" I cried out, my orgasm building fast. "Use me, fuck me, do whatever you want with me."

He leaned over me, biting at my neck as he fucked me deeper. "Come for me," he commanded. "Come on my cock like a good little slut."

I couldn't hold back any longer and I came hard. Harder than I had ever come. He followed seconds later, filling me with his hot seed as he groaned his release.

We stayed locked together as we both caught our breath, his softening cock still buried inside me. Then he pulled out, his cum leaking down my thighs.

"I think you've learned your lesson," he said, tucking himself away and zipping up his pants. "Now get out of here before I change my mind and fuck you again."

I quickly pulled up my panties and jeans, not bothering to clean up the mess between my legs. I just wanted to get away from him before he decided to give me another round of punishment.

With a final dirty look, I jumped in my car and sped off, leaving him standing alone on the side of the road. My pussy ached and my thighs were sticky with our combined juices, but I couldn't help the satisfied smile on my face.

I'd never been fucked like that before, so hard and so thoroughly. And I knew I'd be dreaming about it for weeks to come.

I let out a heavy sigh and rolled my eyes so hard I thought they might stay that way. Dante's voice was still echoing in my head like an annoying alarm I couldn't shut off. "You're not going to the club tonight, end of discussion." His words had been firm, his tone bossy, and the worst part? I had actually listened.

I didn't argue, didn't roll my eyes in front of him, didn't even mutter something under my breath like I usually would. I just nodded like some obedient little schoolgirl. Ugh. The memory made my skin crawl.

But I didn't have much of a choice. Ever since my dad married Dante's older sister, everything changed. My dad and his new wife had flown off for their honeymoon-or "business trip" as they called it, like I didn't know what that meant-and I got stuck here. With him.

Dante Romano.

The guy who was now apparently in charge of me until they got back. Just great.

He was only a few years older than me, but he acted like he was thirty and I was twelve. Always serious, always frowning, always giving out rules like I was living in some military camp. No going out late. No bringing friends over. No loud music. And definitely, absolutely, no clubs.

And okay, maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he was just a regular guy. But no. Of course not. That would've been too easy.

He had to be hot. Like, stupid hot. The kind of hot that made you stare without even realizing it until he smirked and caught you. Tall, strong arms, that perfectly messy dark hair that looked like he'd just run his hands through it after a shower, and a jawline so sharp it could cut glass. And don't even get me started on his voice-deep, smooth, and bossy in a way that made my stomach twist in the worst way.

It pissed me off.

Because even though he was controlling and full of himself, even though he acted like I was some reckless teenager who needed babysitting... I still found him attractive.

And that made me angry with myself more than anything.

He had gone out tonight. Just strolled out the door like it was nothing, all dressed in black jeans, a snug shirt that clung a little too well to his chest, and a leather jacket that made him look like trouble on legs. His last words to me had been, "Don't even think about stepping foot outside, princess."

Princess. That word made my hands curl into fists. He always said it like it was some kind of insult, like I was just a spoiled brat. Maybe I was, a little. But still, he didn't have to act like he knew me.

The moment the door slammed shut behind him, I just stood there in the hallway, staring at it, chewing my bottom lip, debating. Should I go? Should I sneak out, just to prove I wasn't afraid of him?

My favorite black dress was already laid out on the bed. My makeup bag was open on the dresser. I had even sprayed perfume before I realized I wasn't going anywhere.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes looked tired, and my hair was pulled back in a lazy ponytail. I had changed into pajamas-soft pink shorts and a tank top-after pacing the room like a caged animal for ten full minutes.

I wanted to go out so badly. The music, the dancing, the laughter. I could practically hear it in my head.

But then I thought of my dad. The way he hugged me before he left. The worry in his eyes when he said, "Please, just behave, okay? Don't make me regret this."

And just like that, the fight left me.

I had promised him I'd stay out of trouble. And even though I hated how Dante treated me like a kid, I didn't want to break my dad's trust. If Dante found out I went out after he told me not to, he'd definitely report me. He'd probably do it just to prove a point.

So now here I was. Sitting cross-legged on my bed, scrolling through my phone, pretending not to care. But I did care. I cared a lot. About everything. About being stuck here. About Dante's rules. About how unfair it all felt. And, most of all, about how messed up it was that I kept thinking about him.

I tossed my phone aside with more force than I meant to. It bounced off the edge of the bed and landed on the carpet with a soft thud. I didn't even bother picking it up. I was too annoyed, too restless, and honestly, too bored to care. I flopped onto my back and stared up at the ceiling like it had all the answers to this annoying situation I was stuck in.

The silence was too loud.

The quiet wasn't peaceful. It was the kind that made you feel uncomfortable. Like something was missing. The only sound in the room was the slow, steady ticking of the wall clock. Tick. Tick. Tick. Every tick reminded me that time was crawling by. And every now and then, I'd hear a car pass on the street outside, its tires humming against the pavement before fading away into nothingness.

But there was no music. No laughter. No people. No excitement. Nothing that made me feel alive.

Just me.

Sitting in a big, silent house with way too many rules and a hot, bossy step-uncle who seemed to enjoy making my life difficult.

I sighed again-loud and dramatic this time-and kicked my legs on the bed like a frustrated child. I tugged at the hem of my tank top, my fingers twisting the soft fabric as my mind drifted to Dante.

Where was he right now?

Was he out drinking with friends? Hanging out at some bar where girls stared at him like he was a god? Or worse... was he at a club? The same kind of club he told me I wasn't allowed to go to?

That would be so typical of him. Dante liked rules. But mostly, he liked when I followed them while he did whatever the hell he wanted.

I sat up slowly, crossing my legs under me and glancing toward the window. The street outside was dark. The porch light was still on, casting a yellow glow across the empty driveway. His car was gone. He was definitely out. Probably having fun. Laughing. Maybe even flirting.

Meanwhile, I was stuck here. In pajamas. In his house. Feeling like a grounded teenager, even though I hadn't done a single thing wrong.

I let out another sigh, this one heavier than the last.

I couldn't sit here any longer. I needed to move. Do something. Anything.

Without even thinking it through, I stood up. My socks slid a little on the hardwood floor as I walked to my bedroom door and peeked out into the hallway. It was quiet. The kind of quiet that made your heart beat a little faster, like you were sneaking around even if you weren't doing anything wrong yet.

My gaze drifted down the hall.

Dante's room.

I hesitated. My fingers curled around the edge of my doorframe.

I shouldn't go in there. I knew that.

It was his personal space. He probably wouldn't like it if he found out I'd been snooping. But... he was out. And I was curious. No, more than curious. I wanted to know more about him. Understand why he was the way he was. Or maybe... maybe I just wanted to feel closer to him, even if I didn't want to admit that out loud.

I crept down the hall, my heart thumping louder with each step like I was doing something dangerous.

His door wasn't locked.

I turned the knob slowly, holding my breath, and gently pushed it open.

The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the streetlight sneaking through the blinds. It took my eyes a second to adjust, but when they did, I just stood there and took it all in.

It was exactly how I imagined Dante's room would be.

Dark. Clean. Organized.

The walls were painted a deep charcoal gray, almost black, and the bed was massive-king-sized with black sheets tucked in perfectly, no wrinkles in sight. The headboard was tall and made of dark wood. There was a shelf with books, not a lot, just a few that looked worn like he'd actually read them. A framed picture of him and his sister sat on the nightstand.

And it smelled like him.

That mix of sandalwood and spice. The scent I always caught when he walked by me in the hallway. It was stronger here, clinging to the air, the pillows, the clothes in the corner. I swallowed hard and stepped further inside.

Everything felt so... him.

I wandered slowly around the room, letting my fingers glide over the desk, the dresser, the smooth wood of the bedframe. My skin tingled with every little touch, like I was doing something I shouldn't but couldn't stop myself.

My feet carried me toward the closet before I even realized what I was doing.

I opened the door.

Inside, it was just as neat. His clothes were lined up on hangers by color-black, gray, dark blue. So many button-up shirts, jackets, and a few sweaters. His shoes were lined up on the floor, polished and placed just right.

I stepped in.

The closet was surprisingly spacious. I reached out and touched one of his black shirts. The fabric was smooth, and I pressed it between my fingers, curious. I held it up to my face and took in a breath.

God.

It smelled just like him. That warm, rich scent that made my stomach twist in the weirdest way. I stood there for a second too long, just breathing it in, wondering what it would be like to wear it. What it would feel like to have him hold me while smelling like this. My face got hot at the thought, and I shook my head quickly.

Snap out of it.

And then I saw something shiny.

A glint of silver caught my eye, and I turned my head slowly. Hanging from a small hook inside the closet was a pair of metal handcuffs.

Real ones.

I stared.

My first thought was: Why the hell does my step-uncle have handcuffs in his closet?

My second thought was: What kind of freaky things is he into?

My cheeks turned red, but I couldn't stop staring. My heart started to race. I hesitated for a moment, then reached out and touched them. They were cold and heavier than I expected. I lifted them off the hook and turned them over in my hands.

I should've put them right back. I knew I should have.

But my fingers were already sliding one of the cuffs around my wrist.

Just to see how it feels, I told myself.

Just for a second.

Then-click.

I froze.

The metal snapped shut around my wrist with a soft but terrifying click.

I tugged.

Nothing.

I pulled again. Harder.

Still nothing.

I had just locked myself into one of Dante's handcuffs.

Inside his closet.

Wearing nothing but a tiny tank top and my shortest pair of pink sleep shorts.

Panic shot through me like ice.

"Oh no," I whispered, eyes wide as I looked at the cuff around my wrist. "No, no, no..."

My breath picked up. My heart was pounding so fast it felt like it might burst out of my chest. I looked at the door.

What if he came home?

What if he walked in right now and found me like this-half-naked, in his closet, trapped in his freaking handcuffs like some crazy girl?

I tugged again, wincing as the metal pressed tighter against my skin. I was well and truly stuck.

I was screwed.

So, so screwed.