The Billionaire's Forsaken Wife

Chapter 17

"Get on your knees."

He didn't bother shouting, the low, gravel-rough command landed straight in my heart , rippling straight down my spine before my brain even caught up. Zyran loomed above me, his eyes were unreadable and glazing over me.

The carpet scraped my bare knees raw, fibers biting skin already sore from earlier. The heat rolling off him pressed against my face as I stared down at the mirror shine of his shoes. A bead of sweat slipped past my temple. The air was suffocating with him I was literally unable to breathe because he looked totally out of it.

"Open."

I didn't know which to open so I ended up opening my mouth, the first slide of his fingers across my tongue jolted me—cold metal, faint salt, the heavy signet ring and something rawer beneath it. He didn’t push; he simply rested there, letting me feel the weight, that those long fingers could split me open whenever he chose.

"Wider." The word came out almost lazy, but I heard the tiny hitch in his breathing when I obeyed. His free hand slid into my hair holding me steady. I could see his pulse hammering at the base of his throat, knuckles bleaching white around his belt buckle.

Then he pressed deeper without warning. The ring scraped the back of my throat; I gagged hard, eyes watering instantly. My body tried to jerk away, but his grip turned hard, pinning me exactly where he wanted me.

"Swallow it." His voice scraped low and rough. "Every inch. Or I’ll make you."

The thumb pressed down, forcing my jaw wider. Saliva spilled over his knuckles, slick and humiliating. When I choked again he didn’t pull back—he drove deeper, until tears streamed freely. Above me his breathing turned jagged, I was wondering if this was really my husband or someone else because he has never been like this.

"Good girl," he rasped, the praise sounding torn from somewhere deep. His thumb dragged slowly across my lower lip, smearing spit down my chin. "Now suck."

His fingers twisted cruelly, my back arched on reflex; a broken noise vibrated around the intrusion. He yanked my head forward until my nose pressed into the heel of his palm, cologne and sweat flooding my senses.

"Zyran please just let me go."

"Tighter," he growled ignoring my plea. His other hand shoved between my thighs without ceremony, wrenching them apart. Teeth sank into the tender skin of my inner thigh—I jerked, the sound muffled and wet around his fingers.

Two fingers plunged into my p***y, no warning, no gentleness. The stretch burned me immediately, my body clenched against the invasion even as wetness betrayed me. He hissed through his teeth.

"f**k. So tight—like you’re trying to pull me in deeper."

His palm ground against my c**t with every brutal thrust, heel pressing hard enough to blur the line between pain and something worse. My choked whimpers hummed around the fingers still filling my throat, spit trailing in obscene strings down his wrist.

"You like this?" His said darkly. "Like being used?"

The fingers left my mouth with a wet pop. I gasped, chest heaving, spit glistening on my chin. He wiped his slick hand across my lips, smearing the evidence of my own humiliation.

"You’re dripping," he murmured, dragging damp fingertips down my throat. "Everywhere."

Before air could steady me, his hand returned, harder and meaner. His fingers curled inside me dragging against every sensitive place until my back bowed off the desk. A ragged cry ripped free, "Zyran ple.... he caught it with his mouth, kissing me bruisingly deep. I tasted copper, mine, his, but it didn’t matter.

"Pathetic," he breathed against my lips, dark satisfaction curling through the word. "Shaking like a whore." His thumb circled my c**t with ruthless focus, my hips jerked despite myself. "Tell me you like it."

When I didn’t answer fast enough, he yanked my head back by the hair, throat stretched taut.

"Your cunt’s telling the truth your mouth won’t."

Fingers curled sharply, hitting that spot that made light fracture behind my eyes. A sob broke free, saliva slicking my chin.

He pulled out of my mouth only to replace the taste with my own arousal—wet fingertips painted across my lips.

"Lick."

My tongue moved before shame could catch up, lapping at the musky slickness he’d smeared there. His breath caught, voice fraying.

"Good girl. Swallow every drop."

The cycle started again—fingers back in my throat, cold metal scraping teeth, jaw aching from the stretch. Spit pooled, unavoidable, dripping in thick trails down his wrist.

"Swallow," he ordered

once more, his thumb pinning my tongue flat. "All of it."