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I choke, my reality a spinning mix of delirious, hedonistic pleasure, pain, and fear as Cillian yanks the middle of the silk tie, extending my arms out roughly behind me as my throat closes even more. His thick cock fucks into me roughly and brutally, his heavy balls slapping my clit and his hard abs crashing into my ass over and over as I squeal and writhe and drool onto the couch as my world collapses around me.
Something wet and slick—his thumb?—presses against my ass. I choke out a sobbing whimper, barely able to even move as he fucks me like a rag doll against the side of the couch. I feel his thumb slide into my ass, and a howling sound of pain and pleasure rips from my mouth as I scream in ecstasy.
The world blurs around me as overwhelmingly powerful sensations rip through me—the feel of him viciously pounding into me, the pressure tightening more and more around my throat until I can barely breathe, the way I’m so helpless and at his mercy.
He reaches around, roughly pinching and twisting my nipples as I cry out, shaking everywhere as the pressure throbs and builds, until there’s no turning back.
When I come, it’s transcendent.
It’s catharsis.
It’s screaming out all the bad and the pain and the horrors of whatever came before and claiming whatIwant, right here and now.
I sob into the couch, choking and shuddering—my toes kicking and scraping painfully across the floor as I explode like a bomb around Cillian’s thick, merciless cock. The heat slams through me, turning me inside out and wrenching a cry from my mouth as I come harder than I’ve ever come in my life.
With a snarling grunt, Cillian pulls out of me. He rolls me over, so that I’m face up, arms still behind my back and my legs spread lewdly over the arm of the couch with my pink, swollen pussy right in front of him as he strokes himself.
His cock pulses, and I moan as the hot, thick ropes of his cum splatter all over my skin—dripping over my pussy and my stomach, my thighs, my breasts. I can feel his cum across my chin and my lips, and I whimper as I drag my tongue over them to taste him.
It uses the very last reserves of my strength. Suddenly, I’m collapsing into a trembling, shaking mess.
I can feel myself starting to roll helplessly off the couch, as if to drop onto the floor. But then muscled arms catch me. And lift me, holding me against a powerful chest as Cillian turns and marches down the hall to the bedroom.
Sweet merciful fuck.We’re just getting started.
31
UNA
The depraved andexhilarating becomes our routine.
Something I look forward to, all day. Something I meet with eagerness and, when he catches me by surprise, fear.
Like when he pins me roughly to the floor of a dark bathroom and fucks me within an inch of my life while he uses a little switch across my ass.
Part of it is, yes, the sex isun-fucking-real. Like, heart-attack real. But the other part of it iscatharsis.
Every time he fucks me so brutally, I want so badly to see how far he’ll go with me, in the hopes that I’ll get a piece of myself back. I’ve never once used our safe word, which remains “blue”.
I lost some parts of me years ago. I try not to think about it, because it’s a nightmare. And I’ve spent years lying to myself, telling myself I’m fine. But I know deep down that I’m not. I know deep down that I’m still not right in places, after whathedid to me in that foster house.
I hate, so much, thathestill has this hold on me. Ihatethat while Cillian will pin me down and eat me for an hour straight, until I’m begging him to let me come, I can’t do the same for him.
I can’t even imagine taking his cock into my mouth without having a fucking panic attack. Which fuckingsucks, because I’d really,reallylike to.
It’s a random Wednesday night when I find myself sprawled across Cillian’s bed—my head on his abs with my hair tousled across my face. I can hear his pulse thudding just as fast as mine through his skin from what we just did.
I wince, gingerly feeling the ache between my thighs that comes with the territory of our especially brutal brand of fucking. But I’ll take it. I’ve even started looking forward to it. Because the pain that puts that ache there pushes me over the edge, every time.
I don’t even miss the razor.
I don’t need to do that anymore. Not for escape, and not for release.
And yet, as incredible and viciously hardcore of a fucking session we just had, something’s bothering me.
“What is it?”
My eyes go wide, my pulse skipping when he asks the question. How is this man always able to peer right into my thoughts?
