He ruts his hips into me, breaking me in a way Leland was never capable of. The bedframe begs for relief, screeching at its hinges. Pleasure hits me like a wall of bricks. He’s not even touching my clit, it’s just grinding against him every time he fucks in. But with him, that’s enough. My hips lock and shake as I go over the edge.
Triumph ripples in his eyes. In one, smooth movement, he releases my throat and flips me so he’s up against the headboard, and I’m in his lap, shaking on his cock.
“Good girl,” he breathes.
The look on his face stops me short. It’s like he’s seeing me for the first time, really looking into my soul. But I’m a mess, and I can’t appreciate it. My body convulses in his lap, wave after wave of pleasure rolling through. Slowly, lips parted and gaze locked on mine, he starts fucking up into my pussy.
“That’s right,” he murmurs. “You take it. Come all over my cock, baby.
I whimper incoherently. He digs his hand into my hair, fisting it. This is different from the connection we felt before. It’s like the sharp edge of a knife. Dangerous, but God, so damn thrilling. Maybe because all our secrets are spilling out. We’re not pretending to be perfect. He knows all the messy parts of my life, and I have a pretty good idea his are just as dark, if not worse than mine.
I love this.
I love the flip side of him.
I want it, so deep, it hurts. My hips pick up, riding him hard. We’re going faster and faster, falling into a frenzy together.
“Put your nails in me,” he pants. “Into my chest. Drag them down, baby, I want to see blood.”
He tightens his grip in my hair. Pain shoots through my head and neck. Thoughtless with desire, I dig my nails into his pecs and rake them down, hard.
He groans, fucking haphazardly as the veins raise in his neck. I’ve never been the person who got to do things during sex. I was always on my back, legs open, trying to disassociate while things were done to me. Causing him pleasure, seeing his body respond to me, is a brand new feeling.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
The headboard hits the whitewashed walls. I’m grateful there’s no Clockface Jesus over this bed, because I think this is some kind of sacrilege.
It’s too much, too dark, too visceral.
He drags me close by the nape of my neck, our breath mingling. There’s a dark trickle of blood and welt-like scratches on his tanned skin. It smells like metal and Jensen.
I touch the hair on his chest, between his pecs. Smearing the blood, I leave my fingerprints on his skin.
“Hit me again, baby,” he breathes.
His hands grip my hips, his thrusts speed up. The sound of our bodies coming together fills the tiny house, wet and hungry. In the half second before the back of my hand meets his face again, I see something new in his eyes, all raw and painful, like somebody reached into his chest and skinned his heart.
I strike him hard, clenching my stinging hand. His cock jerks, and his eyelids flutter shut. A tremor runs through his body, and I feel him coming inside me, nothing between us. No condom this time.
But I’m not scared.
Our bodies sink, the position shifting my clit against his groin. Everything goes limp, and I sink into him. He cradles me against his chest. I bury my face in his neck, close enough to smell his blood, and I come hard, shaking on his cock, gripping him with crimson-stained fingernails.
I don’t know if I take pleasure in his pain the way he does in mine, but when I give it to him, I encounter something real, a peeling back of shared wounds that have festered under bandages for too long.
This is the rough, raw underbelly of Jensen Childress.
And I need it.
The realization shatters what’s left of me. I lie in his arms, on the verge of tears, panting.
He pulls me in, his lips pressing to the top of my head. I’m so damn worn out from that storm. We stay quiet until he stirs, taking my face in his hand to make me look up at him.
“You alright?” His voice is a rumble.
