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“There you are.” He stares down at me with those eyes that I sometimes think have no soul behind them.
They’re green, but they feel black.
They’re looking at me, but sometimes, it’s like they’re seeing through me.
He’s gripping me by the hair and the throat, and for some foreign reason, it feels like the most right position to be in.
“I’m going to fuck you and you’re going to scream.” He licks my trembling lower lip. “If you don’t, we can do this all night.”
I don’t speak. I can’t.
It’s like I’ve lost my abilities of speech and thought. I’ve lost everything.
All I can do is watch him. The water forms rivulets down his face giving him an exotic look, the steam of the bathroom swirling around him like a halo.
I’m fucked. So bloody fucked.
He releases my hair and grabs my thigh, lifting it up and, as a result, making my other foot stand on a tiptoe.
“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he orders, but I don’t.
I want him to do it all.
If I don’t participate, I can pretend I didn’t want this. It’s all his doing, not mine.
He must see it in my face because he grabs my other leg and lifts it, slipping inside me, inch by each agonising inch. I close my eyes, but it’s to soak in the sensation.
I tighten my legs around his firm waist to not lose my balance. The force of his thrusts hits my back against the wall over and over again.
I relish in every one of them.
Cole is harsh and out of control, exactly how I imagined he would be when I was fantasising about him earlier.
He squeezes my throat hard enough to make me open
my eyes.
“You don’t get to hide, Butterfly.” He peers at me. “Not anymore.”
Yesterday, when he fucked me from behind, I was slightly grateful he couldn’t see the chaotic emotions swirling in my eyes.
Now, he does — in full HD. I’ve always thought I showed emotions in a way no one understands, but Cole might be able to.
I don’t want him to understand.
This position, face-to-face, heart to heart, is too intimate. It’s like he’s peeling me piece by each bloody piece.
I hate that a part of me wants him to reach the core.
I hate that a part of me is grateful he’s doing this, that he’s freeing me in ways I would’ve never used to free myself.
And because I hate him, I hurt him.
I glide my hands around his back and drag my long nails down the wet skin with the intention to cause him pain.
He hisses, but instead of stopping, he picks up his pace and pounds into me with renewed ferocity as he pins me to the wall by my throat.
Then he leans down to the sensitive flesh of my breast and sucks on it before biting — hard.
