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That he was who he was.
That no amount of pretending or wishing, would change that.
That I was now his.
He stroked his fingers down my slit, then reached up to circle my clit. I shifted, but he pushed me down, his strong hand at my waist holding me in place.
He stared at me intently, his gaze tracking me, making it impossible for me to look away. As he stroked my pussy, pushing one finger inside me, a second, a third, and pumped hard but oh so slowly, the truth rode over me almost as hard as the pleasure.
The hands that were touching me now were the ones that had taken life.
Would take it again.
I couldn’t pretend otherwise.
And I had made my choice.
Suddenly, he stilled his fingers, the loss of sensation leaving me bereft. At least I was until he shifted our positions, lying on his back, and settled me on top of him.
I opened my legs quickly, eager to take him. His rigid cock was aimed at my center, but he didn’t move, didn’t enter me.
Instead, he stared, his meaning clear.
He wanted to see my choice.
I wouldn’t deny him.
I shifted, lifting my hips, and then lowered myself inch by inch until he filled me.
He gave me the faintest smile, and then he moved, holding my hips in place with his hands as he fucked me with hard, unrelenting thrusts.
He didn’t look away, and I didn’t either, every stroke, every breath, every sigh reaffirming the choice I had made.
I knew who he was now, had accepted him.
There was no walking away from that choice.
He reached between us and tweaked my clit as he hardened inside me.
At the first splash of his cum against my womb, I reached my own climax, and even through it, I didn’t look away.
Didn’t look away as my heart slowed.
I pulled away from him, feeling relief.
And emptiness.
Then finally, when I could make words, I spoke.
“I’d like you to take me home.”
