Chapter 3: Claiming What's His
The bitter salt-taste of their mixed release still coated Raven’s tongue, thick and cloying. He slumped against the grand piano, cheek pressed to the cool, vibrating wood, trembling uncontrollably. Every muscle felt liquid, useless. The sting where Dante’s fingers had gripped his jaw throbbed in time with his pounding heart. He heard the rasp of Dante’s lighter, the sudden flare illuminating Dante’s grim profile for an instant before the cigar tip glowed red in the dimness. The rich, acrid smoke curled towards the high ceiling, another layer in the heavy air already saturated with sex and sweat and power.
Dante took a slow drag, his dark eyes fixed on Raven’s wrecked form. He exhaled, a plume of smoke obscuring his expression for a moment. "Look at you," he murmured, voice rough from exertion and smoke. "Smeared makeup. Skin flushed. Mine." He took another deliberate step forward, the polished marble floor reflecting the dim city lights bleeding through the vast windows. His shadow fell over Raven, immense and consuming. Raven flinched, trying to push himself upright, but his arms buckled. He slid gracelessly off the piano bench, landing hard on his knees on the unforgiving marble.
Before Raven could even register the shock of impact, Dante was on him. A hand fisted viciously in his dark, choppy hair, yanking his head back so sharply Raven cried out. Dante’s other hand clamped around his jaw, forcing his mouth wide open. Raven’s bright blue eyes, smudged with running kohl, widened in fresh panic, reflecting the cruel indifference in Dante’s gaze.
"Tasted yourself," Dante growled, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through Raven’s skull. "Now taste me properly. Clean it off." He didn't hesitate. Still hard, thick and glistening with Raven’s earlier slickness and their combined spend, he shoved the head of his cock past Raven’s lips, ramming it hard against the back of his throat.
Raven gagged violently, a strangled, wet sound tearing from him. Tears, hot and immediate, blurred his vision again. Dante’s grip on his hair and jaw was iron, holding him immobile as he thrust forward, burying himself deep into Raven’s mouth. The thick, veined shaft stretched Raven’s lips wide, filling his mouth, hitting his gag reflex with brutal force. Precome and the lingering salt-bitter taste flooded Raven’s senses. He choked, saliva dripping down his chin, unable to breathe, unable to scream.
"Fucking take it," Dante snarled, pulling back just enough to slam forward again. The blunt head bumped the soft palate, triggering another convulsive gag. "Suck it clean, little raven. Every fucking drop belongs to me." He began a ruthless rhythm, short, brutal thrusts fucking Raven’s throat with piston-like precision. There was no tenderness, no coaxing. This was use. Possession. Degradation made physical.
Raven’s throat spasmed around the invading thickness. Tears streamed freely, tracing paths through the ruined makeup on his cheeks. He tried to breathe through his nose, desperate gasps that hitched every time Dante shoved deep. Each inward thrust forced his cock down Raven’s constricted airway; each withdrawal brought a gasp that was half-sob. Dante’s thumb dug into the hinge of Raven’s jaw, forcing his mouth wider still. The sheer size of him was overwhelming, the salty-slick taste inescapable. Raven’s body trembled violently on his knees, his hands scrabbling weakly at Dante’s powerful thighs, finding no purchase, no mercy.
"Tighter," Dante commanded, grinding his hips forward, holding himself deep for a long, suffocating moment. Raven felt the cockhead pulse against his clenched throat. "Suck like you mean it. Like you fucking crave it." He pulled back slightly, watching Raven struggle to drag in a ragged breath. "Show me you know who owns this mouth."
Driven by terror and a horrifying, ingrained need to please, to obey the command in that voice, Raven applied suction. It was weak at first, hindered by his gagging, but he forced his lips tighter around the base, his tongue flattening against the underside of the shaft as Dante withdrew. He sucked, drawing Dante’s cock back into the wet heat of his mouth, tasting skin, sweat, and the potent musk of him. The sensation drew a guttural groan from Dante, a sound of dark satisfaction that vibrated through the cock filling Raven’s throat.
"That's it," Dante rasped, his thrusts becoming slightly deeper, more controlled, allowing Raven to work. "Swallow it down." He pushed in again, and Raven choked, but forced himself to swallow around the intrusion, the muscles of his throat working desperately. He could feel the slick slide, the veins pulsing against his tongue. Dante watched him, eyes burning with predatory intensity, studying the tears, the stretched lips, the utter helplessness. "Good," he breathed, the praise a harsh scrape. "Such a pretty fucking cocksucker when you try."
He increased the pace, his hips pistoning with relentless power. Raven focused on sucking, on breathing in the tiny gasps allowed between thrusts, on swallowing the bitter-salty fluid Dante leaked into his mouth. The rhythm was brutal, hypnotic. The wet, obscene sounds of flesh sliding against flesh, Raven’s choked gags, Dante’s low grunts, filled the penthouse, louder than the faint jazz drifting from hidden speakers. Raven’s jaw ached fiercely. His throat felt raw, bruised from the inside. Yet, beneath the suffocating terror and the sharp sting of humiliation, a treacherous coil of heat tightened low in his belly. The sheer force of Dante’s domination, the complete loss of control, the raw assertion of ownership – it resonated with a dark chord deep within him, warring with the panic.
Dante sensed it. He felt the subtle shift, the way Raven’s desperate sucking grew more focused, less purely reactive. He saw the flush spreading down Raven’s bare chest, visible above the bunched jeans still tangled around his thighs. He saw the traitorous wetness tinting the dark fabric at Raven’s groin.
"Getting off on this, slut?" Dante growled, thrusting hard, grinding his cockhead against Raven’s palate. "Getting wet again while I fuck your throat?" He released Raven’s jaw, his free hand snaking down to roughly palm Raven’s wet cunt through the denim. Raven jerked, a muffled whimper escaping around the cock stuffing his mouth. The touch, even through fabric, sent a jolt of electric need through his overwhelmed system. Dante squeezed, hard. "Filthy little thing. Can't even suck cock without your cunt dripping."
He pulled almost all the way out, leaving just the swollen head resting on Raven’s bruised lower lip. Raven gasped, drool and precome slicking his chin, his chest heaving. His eyes, glazed and tear-filled, met Dante’s. Dante’s hand tightened in his hair again, a silent warning. With his other hand, he gripped the base of his cock, rubbing the slick, purplish head roughly against Raven’s parted lips. "Open wide," he ordered, his voice thick with impending release. "Take it all."
Raven obeyed, tilting his head back further, offering his used mouth. Dante thrust forward one last time, deep, burying himself to the root as he came. Hot, thick pulses of semen erupted down Raven’s throat, flooding his mouth with a salty, bitter gush that tasted like pure dominance. Raven gagged violently but swallowed convulsively, forced by the pressure and Dante’s grip. Dante held him there, spurting deep, his hips jerking with each pulse, a deep groan tearing from him. "Fuck! Swallow it! Every fucking drop!"
Raven choked and swallowed, tears streaming anew, the hot flood overwhelming his senses. He felt the pulsing throb against his tongue, the sheer volume forcing some to leak from the corners of his mouth, dripping down onto his bare chest. Dante finally pulled out with a wet, sucking sound, his cock glistening and spent. Raven collapsed forward onto his hands, coughing violently, strings of saliva and come dangling from his lips, his body wracked with tremors. He spat, trying to clear the thick residue from his mouth and throat, gasping for air that burned his abused airway.
Dante stood over him, tucking himself back into his trousers with a grimace of satisfaction. He looked down at Raven, a broken, panting mess on his knees, covered in sweat, tears, spit, and semen. Dante took another long drag from his cigar, the ember glowing fiercely. He exhaled smoke slowly, the scent momentarily overwhelming the stench of sex. He nudged Raven’s trembling shoulder with the toe of his polished boot.
"On your feet," Dante commanded, his voice regaining its cold composure, the only sign of exertion the slight rasp. "Clean yourself up. You’re a fucking mess." He turned, walking towards the bar, the sound of his footsteps echoing on the marble. Raven remained kneeling, head bowed, spitting onto the cold floor, shivering in the aftermath of the storm. The taste of Dante’s release was a brand on his tongue, deeper than any bruise. The penthouse felt cavernous, suffocating, the shadows thrown by the fireplace stretching like grasping fingers. The void, Dante’s void, echoed inside him now, filled with nothing but salt and ash and the terrifying weight of belonging.
The cold marble bit into Raven’s knees, a sharp counterpoint to the burning humiliation coating his throat. He spat again, trying to dislodge the thick, salty residue of Dante’s release, but the taste lingered like a brand. His throat felt raw, scraped, each ragged breath a rasping ache that echoed the void inside him – a void Dante had filled with salt, ash, and the terrifying, undeniable weight of belonging. That word echoed. Belonging. It clawed at his insides, a sickening twist beneath the pain and lingering, unwanted heat low in his belly.
Dante’s polished boots came into view again, stopping inches from Raven’s trembling hand. The scent of expensive leather and lingering cigar smoke washed over him, thick and suffocating. "I said on your fucking feet," Dante repeated, his voice devoid of the earlier rasp, cold steel again. "Now. Or I'll drag you." He took a slow sip from a crystal tumbler he hadn't had a moment ago, the amber liquid catching the low light. Ice clinked.
Adrenaline surged through the exhaustion, forcing Raven to move. He pushed up, legs wobbling, vision swimming. He caught himself on the edge of the piano bench, the wood vibrating faintly under his shaky grip. He couldn't meet Dante's eyes. His ripped jeans were still bunched around his thighs, the damp patch at his groin starkly visible against the dark denim, a humiliating testament Dante had already noted. He felt exposed, flayed open.
"Clean yourself. The ensuite. Five minutes." Dante gestured vaguely towards a dark wood door beyond the bar, his gaze sweeping over Raven’s disheveled form with detached assessment. "Don't make me wait."
Raven stumbled towards the door, legs like lead, every step echoing his vulnerability in the vast, silent space. The opulent bathroom was a study in black marble and chrome, coldly luxurious. He locked the door, leaning heavily against it, sucking in deep, shuddering breaths that scraped his abused throat. In the harsh fluorescent light, his reflection in the enormous mirror was a horror show: smeared black kohl ran like ink tears down pale cheeks, lips swollen and red, chin and chest streaked with dried spit and come. The sight punched the air from his lungs. He looked used. Broken. Owned.
He splashed icy water on his face, scrubbing frantically at the mess, the cold a shock that did little to quell the trembling deep inside. He avoided looking lower, at the undeniable wetness soaking the front of his briefs beneath the jeans. That was harder to wash away. The memory of Dante’s hand palming him roughly through the fabric sent a fresh, traitorous jolt through his core. He spat into the sink again, rinsed his mouth until it felt raw, but Dante’s taste, Dante’s claim, seemed ingrained. Five minutes. He hastily tugged his jeans up, buttoning them with fumbling fingers, not bothering with the ripped fly. His reflection still looked wrecked, hollow-eyed, but cleaner. The vulnerability felt like an open wound.
He opened the door. Dante was waiting, leaning against the bar, swirling his whiskey, watching him approach. The predatory stillness was back, more unnerving than the violence. "Better," Dante stated flatly, setting the glass down with a soft clink. His gaze traveled slowly, deliberately, down Raven’s body, lingering on the still-damp patch on his jeans. "Still wet."
Raven flinched, humiliation burning his cheeks. He opened his mouth, some half-formed protest dying instantly under Dante’s dark, unwavering stare. Words felt useless, dangerous.
"Over there." Dante nodded towards a deep, plush leather sofa positioned near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering cityscape. "Jeans. Off. Now." The command brooked no argument, a low thrum of absolute authority.
Raven’s hands trembled as he fumbled with the button and zipper again. The ripped fabric resisted. Dante didn't move, didn't help, just watched with chilling patience. Raven finally shoved the jeans down over his hips, kicking them off awkwardly. He stood in just his briefs – thin, black cotton clinging to his slim frame, the wet patch starkly visible at the apex of his thighs, outlining the absence Dante knew was beneath. He crossed his arms instinctively over his chest, feeling horribly exposed under the vastness of the room and Dante’s scrutiny.
"Those too," Dante ordered, his voice dropping, rougher. He pushed off the bar and walked towards Raven with deliberate steps, the sound echoing. "Hands down. Let me see."
A whimper escaped Raven’s lips before he could stop it. He forced his arms down to his sides, fingers digging into his own thighs. Dante stopped directly before him, radiating heat and menace. He reached out, not touching Raven, but hooking his fingers into the waistband of the briefs. Raven sucked in a sharp breath, holding it. Dante slowly, agonizingly slowly, peeled the damp cotton down over Raven’s hips, past the sharp angles of his pelvis, letting them fall to pool around his ankles. Raven stood utterly naked except for his socks and the piercings glinting in the dim light – nipple rings, a navel ring, the smooth, flat planes of his chest testament to his surgery. Dante’s gaze was a physical weight, raking over him: the slim build, the sharp collarbones, the trail of dark hair leading down, down to the soft folds glistening with undeniable arousal between his legs.
"Look at you," Dante murmured, a hint of dark wonder in his tone. He finally touched, his knuckles brushing lightly, almost thoughtfully, over the smooth skin of Raven’s lower abdomen. Raven shuddered violently, a full-body tremor. "Shaking like a leaf. But this..." Dante’s fingers traced lower, skimming the neat thatch of dark curls, avoiding the slick flesh beneath. "...this greedy little cunt is dripping for it, isn't it?" The obscenity, spoken so calmly, was devastating. "After everything." He emphasized the last word, reminding Raven of the violence, the degradation just moments before.
Dante’s thumb finally found its target, pressing directly against Raven’s clit through the slick folds. Raven cried out, his hips jerking forward involuntarily, seeking the pressure even as shame flooded him. "Fuck! S-sensitive..." he gasped, trying to twist away, but Dante’s other hand clamped onto his hip bone, fingers digging in, holding him immobile.
"Stay still," Dante commanded, his thumb beginning a slow, relentless circle. "You don't get to squirm away from what you asked for." The pressure was exquisite, maddening. Raven bit his lip hard, trying to stifle the moan building in his chest. His knees threatened to buckle. "You wanted this control? This ownership?" Dante continued, his thumb pressing harder, rubbing firm, deliberate circles that sent sparks shooting up Raven’s spine. "You crave it. Your body screams it." He slid a single finger lower, through the drenched folds, gathering wetness. "Soaking fucking wet."
With terrifying ease, Dante slid two thick fingers deep inside Raven’s cunt without warning. Raven gasped, a sharp, punched-out sound, his inner muscles instinctively clenching around the sudden, blunt intrusion. It burned slightly, stretched him, a raw sensation after the roughness of the earlier throat-fucking. "Tight," Dante grunted, his fingers curling slightly, probing deep. "Tight and greedy." He began fucking Raven slowly with his fingers, the thrusts deep and measured, the slick sounds obscenely loud in the quiet penthouse. The friction was overwhelming, conflicting – a violation that ignited nerve endings already primed for betrayal.
"Please..." Raven whimpered, unsure what he was begging for. Stop? More? His body arched into the thrusts despite himself, his clit throbbing under Dante’s relentless thumb. Tears pricked his eyes again, this time mingled with a wave of agonizing, unwanted pleasure.
"Please what, little raven?" Dante growled, increasing the pace, his fingers pistoning harder, deeper, scissoring slightly to stretch him wider. Raven’s hips bucked uncontrollably. "Please fuck this needy hole harder?" Dante bent his head, his breath hot against Raven’s ear. "Admit it. This cunt’s only purpose is taking what I give it. Say it." He added a third finger, stretching Raven brutally, the burn sharp now. Raven cried out, his body bowing, overwhelmed.
"Y-yes!" Raven gasped, the word torn from him, humiliation warring with the coil of heat tightening unbearably low. "Its... it's yours! Just... please..."
"Come," Dante ordered, his voice a dark whip-crack. His thumb pressed hard on Raven’s clit, grinding, while his fingers thrust deep and fast, curling to hit that spot inside him with merciless accuracy. "Come on my fingers, you filthy slut. Show me how much you belong to this. To me."
The command, the brutal stimulation, the sheer impossibility of resistance shattered Raven. A choked scream ripped from his raw throat as his body convulsed, clamping down hard on Dante’s invading fingers. Pleasure, white-hot and annihilating, tore through him, rippling out from his core in violent waves. He came helplessly, shamelessly, his release gushing over Dante’s thrusting hand, his legs giving way entirely. Dante held him upright by the hip, fingers still buried deep, working him ruthlessly through the pulsing contractions until Raven sagged, boneless, a broken sob escaping his lips. Dazed, trembling, he felt the wetness trickling down his inner thighs, Dante’s fingers still possessively inside him.
Dante slowly withdrew his glistening fingers, holding them up, coated in Raven’s release. He brought them to Raven’s slack, bruised lips. "Clean them," he commanded quietly. Raven, lost in the aftershocks, the humiliation complete, instinctively closed his lips around Dante’s fingers, sucking weakly, tasting his own salt and musk. Dante watched, a dark satisfaction settling into his features. He pulled his fingers free and turned, walking back to the bar. Raven collapsed onto the cold leather sofa, curling into himself, the city lights blurring into streaks through his tears. The silence stretched, thick with the scent of sex, whiskey, and conquest. Dante picked up his glass, the ice long melted, and took a slow sip, his gaze fixed on the trembling form on the sofa. The void wasn't empty anymore; it was filled with the terrifying understanding of what it truly meant to be Dante Moretti's possession.