AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Just do it," she gasped. "Just fuck me, hard. " He shook his head, bent and brushed a kiss along her clenched jaw. "There's not enough of anything in this world to make me hurt you. We're not going down that road just so you can keep yourself from me. God, you're so lovely. You feel like everything that will ever be good, perfect. " He pulled back out, then eased in, slowly. "Ask, angel. " She was panting. "No, not like this. Hard. I don't want it this way. "
"One, you don't have a choice. Two, yes, you do want it this way. You're so close to coming your eyes are glazing. " His voice dropped, his eyes burning into hers. "You think I don't feel your cunt clamped down on me, rippling? The way your body is moving, tightening, gathering itself?"
"Get off me. " She practically snarled it. "I didn't agree to this. "
"No. You wanted me to rape you so you could keep me at arm's length. " He let go of her wrist, caught her chin and jaw in firm fingers to make her look at him. She began to raise her hand.
"You move that arm, I'll strap you to my bed and prove to you what you really want for the rest of the weekend. "
The fingers curled into a fist but it stayed put after an obvious battle with her own will. He moved again, another slow stroke, then another. Changing his grip, he rested his body wholly on hers, pressing her down, lifting his hips. Sliding out, back in, slight adjustments of angle, deep, slow strokes to the hilt each time, stretching her open. He let her feel the press of his body against her opening, his testicles against the crease of her buttocks. Wrapping his fingers in her hair on either side, he held her face still, his forearms against her arms, his thumbs at the corners of her eyes. Making her look at him as his expression became more intent and hers became more panicked.
"You'll come for me now," he whispered, fierce, brutal in his need, his body tense, his muscles hard all along the length of her body as he fought to hold back. "I'm your Master, Marguerite. I am, always have been, always will be. That's what has terrified you from the beginning. I'm the man who's supposed to love you, take care of you, be with you. We knew it the first time we met and you've avoided me ever since. Come for your Master. "
He didn't know where the words had come from. But he looked down in her face, felt her body quivering beneath his, so strong and vulnerable at once and knew there was no going back for him.
"It's not all about taking," he said. "It's about giving, too. " Her body arched helplessly against the weight of his, her hips suddenly moving of their own accord. Her head fought his hands as she tried to look away but he was having none of it. Her reaction swept over her face, that wondrous combination of panic at the lack of control and intense sensual pleasure that women felt so deeply.
Those silken limbs lifted and clamped over his hips now of their own volition. He gritted his teeth, trying to hold on one more minute, just one more minute. . .
She screamed, a tearing sound as poignant as a death cry. Her pussy spasmed around him, urging him to spill his seed into her.
"Touch you. . . " It was almost incoherent but he heard her in his heart and let her go so her arms could wind around him, her face bury into his shoulder and chest. Only then did he let go, closing his arms around her, driving into her again and again with ruthless tenderness, wanting her to be his. His.
She came for a long time, as if a dam had released in her body. Even after the initial deluge the water kept flowing, her mouth making soft cries against his skin with every wave and ripple. Her hands held him close, shaking, desperate. He kept stroking inside her as long as he could, long, dragging movements that made her shudder with every degree of friction in a way that he knew would have him hard again in no time.
But that was the problem. There was no time. He saw it as she laid her head back on the ground at last, looked up at him with eyes that were even now withdrawing from him, seeking escape. Her hands moved wistfully over his shoulders, the slope of his chest, taper of waist, buttocks. But then it seemed her mind reined them in, for she stilled, drew back. "Please. . . I need to breathe. " He complied, not calculating the mistake of breaking the connection she could not deny. She sat up, rose, not even lifting a self-conscious hand to her hair or to brush grass off herself. It reminded him of how she'd shut herself down right after the mugging, turning to walk to her car as if nothing untoward had just happened. He rolled to his feet, pulling on his jeans, ready to head her off.
"I can't complete the weekend, Tyler. This has gone farther than I wanted it to go. "
"Damn it, Marguerite - "
"No, I'm not blaming you for what just happened. I asked you
to cross the line. No matter how I asked for it, in what way, I did ask. " She shook her head and there was a quality in her eyes, a desperation he could not ignore. Not as a lover, a gentleman or as a friend. He thought himself at least two out of the three when it came to her.
"I've done what I was supposed to do and then some," she said with quiet dignity.
"You can't ask more of me. I've got nothing left to give. All right? Please just let me go.
We're done. "
She stood before him, a remote queen with his semen tricking down her thighs, mixing with her own climax, her eyes somewhat wild, dangerous, belying the even tone of her voice. He read body language well enough to know that this time she meant it.
She needed to go and would go unless he used an unacceptable level of force.
Apparently seeing in his face that he understood, she inclined her head.
"I'm going to go in and gather my things. I'll meet you at the car if you want to see me off. If you don't, I'll understand. "
She turned and left him, her body moving a little less gracefully than usual, revealing the physical strain he'd put on her in the past two days.
For his own part, he felt as if he'd just witnessed a car collision where the passenger walked away apparently unscathed but with internal injuries she refused to have treated. He had to fight every primitive instinct he had to stop himself from going after her, grabbing her up and imprisoning her in his room until she learned to accept him.
Somehow, as criminal as that sounded, letting her go left him much more uneasy.
* * * * *
Marguerite did not look at herself in the mirror. At first. She gathered her things, put back on the trousers and masculine-style shirt she'd worn, which Sarah had been kind enough to press and bring up for her. When at last she used the mirror to arrange her hair and face, she didn't focus on the expression of the woman reflected there, though she couldn't help but notice the shadows under her eyes like bruises, the taut set of her mouth. She'd survived worse than this. She'd be fine. She applied a little makeup to cover the shadowing, brushed and braided her hair, put on lipstick and adjusted her slim belt around her waist. Shouldering her overnight bag, she took the stairs down to the main level. Through the window view she saw him leaning against her car. He also was dressed in the same clothes in which he'd started the weekend. As if they had just started. Or it had never happened.
