Page 52 of Breathe Like Hell

I’m just a toy for him to use.

I was half-terrified, half-addicted.

I could describe most of my encounters with Mason using that phrase.

I envisioned him above the surface, filthy pleasure swarming his senses, looking down at me through choppy water, watching me struggle in vain beneath ripples. His strong hand on my head, keeping me down as long as he wanted, controlling whether I lived or died.

And I knew just how much he liked that shit.

I liked it, too.

In your worst fantasies, what am I doing to you?

Finally, he let me come up for air.

I burst through the surface as soon as I got the opportunity, panting and coughing and choking on pool water. My hand didn’t leave his groin though, and I kept stroking him as I tried to stop my mind from spinning. I should’ve hated him, and maybe I did in some part of my brain, but most of me didn’t hate him at all.

“You good?” he asked, running his hands along my waist.

“Would you stop if I said no?” I questioned.

He kissed me instead of answering.

My sick, stupid heart fluttered.

His large hand slid up my ribs to palm my breast, thumb sweeping over my nipple through my soaked bathing suit.

Before I had enough time to fully catch my breath, Mason pushed me under the water again. My pussy was throbbing, my tight nipples pressing against black fabric, my bikini wet and tight and clinging to every sensitive part of my body.

He slowly started to fuck my mouth, pushing deeper with each thrust.

It was so overwhelming and my lungs were already burning, but that sensation kept spreading through my entire body until it felt euphoric. The burn became an ache, and the ache fed my lust. I wanted to make him come like this—while I held my breath.

I kept my fingers wrapped around the thick base of his cock, his massive length pushing into the back of my throat, my eyes squeezed shut. His shaft was hot against my tongue, his veins pulsing as he got rougher. Every thrust drove me deeper into the depraved fantasy of this, my hair swirling around my shoulders, floating in the water like silk.

The fabric of my swimsuit was still bunched and twisted tight between my thighs, and it was rubbing on me, making my clit swell further.

I was dizzy with arousal and the lack of oxygen getting to my brain.

The water had a way of smudging away every terrible thing, all the rot and corrosion that usually tainted my relationship with Mason. It forced me to stop thinking about all my anxieties, because now I only had one anxiety: if I was going to live through this or die for it. This was the only thing that mattered, the only thing that could matter.

My body kept trying to rise instinctively, buoyancy pushing me towards the surface, but Mason’s firm grip kept me down. With him, I didn’t float. Neither of us did.

Mason flexed his hips, making me choke, and water rushed into my mouth, stinging in my nose. It was suddenly everywhere. His palm remained unrelenting on the back of my skull through my struggle.

My heartbeat thundered in my ears, sounds swishing around me.

I need to breathe again, but he’s not going to let me.

Convulsions started in my lungs, my ribs spasming, the need for air starting to overtake the need to make him come. No.

I bent my legs and planted my feet on the textured bottom of the pool, attempting to push upward. It didn’t work. Of course it didn’t work. It never did.

Mason’s dick was simply shoved farther into my mouth.

No, no, no.

I regret this, I think.