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“I rather fuck you, Meredith,” he rasps, fingers stopping and poised at my entrance.
I hate that my core clenches at his admission. I hate that my entire body seems to tighten and tingle with anticipation.
I hate with every single little fiber of my being that I want him.
“I rather fuck a farm animal,” I growl out.
Without warning, without mercy, he shoves two of his fingers deep into my pussy. Spreading me open. I bite at the blanket, trying to fight off the spike of pleasure that slams into my core, but a moan still escapes me.
He pumps his fingers in and out of me once, twice, gliding along easily with my wetness.
And then he stops.
“Then why are you so wet?”
Why am I so wet? Because he’s taken control? Because he’s forcing me to face the things I don’t want to admit?
He pumps his fingers in me two more times and it feels so good I just want to fucking die. But it’s not enough. I want… no, I need more.
My walls clench around him, trying to squeeze more pleasure out of him. Trying to milk out even more sensation.
“Why is your tight little pussy squeezing me, Meredith?”
Because… because… despite how much I hate him, how much I utterly fucking despise him, he makes me burn in a way no other man has before. He makes me want to swell up and explode with all this turmoil he creates inside me as I gush all over his fingers.
He pumps his fingers in and out again, but doesn’t stop this time. He doesn’t slow. He drives them faster and faster. Pushing me higher and higher.
“If you hate me so much…” he grunts over the wet sounds of his fingers slamming into my pussy. “If you rather fuck a dirty animal…”
Suddenly he slams a third finger inside my core.
“Then why are you so close to coming?”
I want to deny it. I try to fight off the release gathering force inside me. It feels good, yes, but that doesn’t mean I have to give him the satisfaction of making me come.
In and out, he drives his fingers. Pushing me higher and higher and higher. But I can’t forget who’s giving me pleasure. I can’t forget that it’s his fingers, his touch, his will that is forcing this out of me.
Just when I think I’ve gotten myself in check. Focusing on my absolute loathing of him to bring me back down from that line between heaven and hell.
He curls his fingers, stroking against that little bundle of nerves buried inside me. Suddenly the orgasm I’ve been holding back is forced out of me. A wave of hot, all-consuming pleasure slams into me.
With a keening cry of both ecstasy and misery, I try to bury my face in the mattress as I come.
“Yes,” he rasps with undisguised male satisfaction. “Come all over my fingers, Meredith. Fucking come for me, princess.”
The pumping of his fingers slows, matching the deep, squeezing rhythm of my core as I clench around him. Milking, squeezing, and pulling every little pulse out of him.
“That’s a good girl. That’s such a good girl,” he groans.
I don’t know how long I grind my hips into him. Time seems to slip away. There’s only me and his fingers and his praise.
But when the last fluttering spasm of my walls fades away, the gravity of the situation slams into the very depths of my soul.
Oh god, I just let Simon make me come. Not only did I let him make me weak, but I let him completely rule my body.
And worst of all, I let him make me lose control.
Slowly withdrawing his fingers from my now overly sensitive pussy, Simon seems to draw it out, as if he’s not ready to leave me.
I whimper and jerk forward until he’s completely out.
I should be relieved that he’s no longer inside me, that his body is no longer a part of my body, but I’m not. No, I feel a little unwanted pang at the loss.
For a few moments, we’re still. Me panting, and him breathing deeply. I don’t know what’s going to come next.
Is he going to fuck me with his cock?
Do I want him to fuck me with his cock?
Goddammit, at this moment I think I do.
Simon’s hands tense around me, his fingers digging and releasing, digging and releasing, as if he can’t decide if he wants to keep ahold of me or let me go.
And then he’s pushing me away.
I roll off of his lap as he stands from the bed.
“Meredith,” he says, his voice trying to slip into that cool, detached tone, but failing. “I… fuck.”
Rolling onto my back, I peer up at him, my mind a confusing riot of emotions.
Is he done with me? Is he satisfied? Or is there more to come?
My eyes drift down. His cock is straining against his pants as if it’s trying to reach me, and there’s a wet spot from his own leaking precum.
