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She obliges, and her undying faith makes me harder than ever. She allows me the opportunity to defile her but won’t allow herself the gratification. I grip at her hips, withdrawing painfully slowly so I can draw the moan out of her throat, and as her eyebrows pull into a frown, I smother her complaint before it’s unleashed by shoving my full length back into her.
Her gasp tells me I’ve hit the right spot, and I repeat my previous motion, falling forward so my hands can trap her between me and the sofa. Soft, supple hands find purchase with my body, greedily pulling me in to feel me deeper. Her nails press into my skin, drawing lines, staking claim the more I force her to the edge. She’s held on well, evading ecstasy, but she can only deny it for so long.
“I can feel you holding out on me, darling. You want to come, but you’re stopping yourself.”
I release her throat ever so slightly, enough to allow her air to speak.
“You don’t deserve it,” she pants, a deadly glare catching my eyes.
There’s a small upward turn of her lips. A cunning, devilish smirk greets me, and it’s not to tell me she can withhold. It’s her challenging me to push her over the edge.
“Then I’ll force an orgasm out of you.”
Her grin widens, and I know I said the correct thing. Clasping back around her throat, I pick up momentum without a care for how I’ll break her body beneath mine.
The room is silent save for the sounds of skin pounding skin and my grunting as I find myself preparing to shoot my load.
From the way she’s tensing, I know I’m winning this, forcing her body to turn mutinous beneath my power. I bear down harder, her mouth opening in shock as I trap her more, and just as her hand is about to come up to fight me off, she gives me what I came for.
Suddenly, her body explodes with orgasmic pleasure, and she clamps down around me, her hips bucking against mine as I continue to move in and out of her.
Her nails dig into me as she rides out her orgasm, her legs tighten, drawing me in more, and her breathing is laboured.
Anyone could get lost in this chaste moment of stolen breaths and broken hearts.
But to me, it’s profound. As I come, I grasp exactly what Natalia and I are.
This isn’t love or lust.
This is hatred.
And it’s only right she knows.
“God, I fucking hate you.”
My words are a litany she didn’t want to hear, but ones she devours all the same.
“I know,” she says, not even a tinge of hurt to her words. “Much like I hate you.”
