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His fingers dig into my skin with bruising force, and his teeth graze my clit, making me feel both pain and pleasure all at once. After teasing my clit for what feels like an eternity, he plunges his tongue deep into my pulsing pussy like he wants to claim every last drop of my orgasm for himself.
I can’t help but respond again, my body betraying my mind. I’m just as greedy for him, just as hungry and desperate and in need of somebody who gets it. Who gets me. If this is the only way we can connect, then maybe it’s enough.
But he’s not thinking of anything like that. Not right now. He’s too busy claiming and owning. And oh, yes, I want him to.
Whatever darkness is in me wants the darkness in him. It calls to him, like the sun and the moon. I thrust back against his tongue, then grind my hips, begging for more without saying a word.
Giving myself to him not because I have to but because it’s all I want. No matter what I say, no matter what I tell myself, this is what’s real.
“You taste so fucking good,” he grunts on withdrawing his tongue, which he then drags up my slit once again to my delight. “This pussy is mine. So fucking juicy and delicious. I could eat it all day long.”
Out of nowhere, he smacks me right in my pussy, right over my clit—each slap is sharp, but when the pain fades, my entire body flushes, the pleasure builds deep in my belly with each slap, and I know I shouldn’t enjoy this. I know I shouldn’t want to beg him for more, but I never want it to stop.
As if he knows this, he unties my wrists and rolls me over onto my back. My entire body is boneless, and it feels like I’ve been hit by a truck. I’m too weak to move at first, unable to even pretend to fight as he pulls up my shirt and bra all at once, taking them both off over my head, then removing my shoes and leggings. He takes a moment to look at me, his gaze is hungry and intense, and I watch through half-lidded eyes, splayed like a starfish, all his to claim.
“What, you think we’re finished? You think I eat your pussy, and that’s all that’s going to happen. That I’ll let you lie here and enjoy yourself?” He slaps my cheek, and I snap fully awake before slapping him back.
“You’ve got to know that just turns me on more, don’t you?” He begins spreading my legs again, forcing them open, his fingers dig into the flesh, and I know there will be bruises tomorrow.
I fight, kick, and groan, if only to see what he’ll do next.
“That’s right, try to stop me. Try to keep me from fuckingmypussy.”
I pull his hair, sink my nails into his shoulders and scratch, dig my heels into his calves and thighs while he sucks and licks and bites anything he can reach. I plant my heels on the mattress and push up as hard as possible, knocking him off-balance. Then I shove hard with both hands and manage to knock him onto his side.
But he only snakes an arm around my waist and slams me back down before climbing on top of me again. I bring my arm up, my fingers curled into claws that I drag down the side of his face and neck.
He hisses through his teeth, pushing up in time for me to watch blood begin to seep from the scratches. He seems to forget everything for a second, raising a hand to the spot, his eyes drawn to the blood on his fingers like he’s never seen such a thing before.
When his eyes meet mine, the look in them sends a shiver down my spine.Rage.Red hot rage reflects back at me.
“Nobody makes me bleed without paying for it.”
And now there’s no amount of fighting that will save me. Not once does he reach between us and pulls himself free from his pants.
Nothing can stop him from impaling me, and he does without warning, spreading my thighs like he’s trying to break a wishbone. Driving himself deep inside me, the momentum is hard enough to make me yelp.
He covers my mouth with one hand, using the other to squeeze my breasts painfully, almost brutally. I almost wish I hadn’t provoked him.
“Do you know how fucking hard I fought this?” he grunts, his ass bouncing, while the bed squeaks every time he crashes against me. And that’s what he’s doing. He’s branding me, forcing himself deep inside me. “Every day. Wanting you. Hating you for it. Hating me.”
Every thrust drives me into the mattress, his body crushing mine until I can barely breathe between that and his hand covering my mouth. I drag my nails across the back of it, but he only digs his fingers in harder.
My eyes fly open wide, and I scream behind his palm. Our gazes collide; he must see the fear there because he eases up, and I gulp in a breath. I’m thankful for the reprieve, but he only covers my mouth again and pounds into me harder than before, hard enough I’m afraid he’ll break me.
“Why are you doing this? Why? Why? Why?” Every repeated question is punctuated with another merciless thrust that makes me whimper in pain and, yes, pleasure. I can’t tell the difference anymore. The two are so wrapped up together that they become one thing, this thing he’s creating, using my body. A shattered, beautifully broken masterpiece.
I can’t tell him I don’t know what he’s talking about, and I don’t think I’d be able to speak if I had the chance.
I don’t want to talk.
I don’t want questions.
I just want him, all of him. I want him to take me and break me and turn me into something that belongs to him, only to him.
If he only knew. But would that change anything?
It all runs through my head at once, that in so many other things—this is wrong, we shouldn’t be doing this, he has somebody else, and so many other warnings and fears but none of them matter. All of that can come later.
