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I add more lube and sink three fingers back in. Daisy’s pussy grips me tight, then tighter, and her fingernails scratch on the sheets.
Why can’t it be like this all the time? Why couldn’t we have met under normal circumstances, without violence as the first thing she ever saw me do? It’s a question that circles like the nightmare.
Fuck that.
Not now.
I pull out of her and notch myself to her hole. She’s wild as a person can be without actually running away, but I can feel from the air, from the energy, that running is the last thing she wants to do.
“Shh,” I say, out of habit more than anything. Warning her as much as myself. Her parents are forty feet away at maximum, and the last thing I want on the fucking planet is to be interrupted by a Hades who thinks I’m killing his daughter. Irony of ironies, I’m doing this to keep her alive. “Lean into it, baby.”
She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. Far, far in the distance, I hear a sound that reminds me of a roll of thunder. A storm that might miss us entirely if I can pull this off.
“Good. This way. Here.” I put my hands on her hips and guide her back and back and back. Daisy pushes her face into the mattress and helps me give her the first few inches. If it wasn’t already dark, my vision would be blacked out from how tight her ass is. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been getting her ready for as long as we both could stand it. “Good job. Good girl. Does it hurt?”
“Mmm,” she says, muffled by the mattress.
“Tell me it hurts too much.”
“No.” She lifts her head, and when she speaks, her voice trembles like it’s an effort to whisper instead of screaming. “Not. Not. Not enough.”
Not enough, but intensity doesn’t always mean pain. It meansintensity.I can give her that.
So I fold myself over her, freeing both hands to give her more of what she wants. I make her take the rest of me too fast, too hard, and all I get for that is a stifled moan. This isexactlywhat she wanted, exactly what she asked for, and all I can do to make it better is blow her mind.
Literally.
I pinch her nipples. Bite the curve of her neck. Daisy turns her face toward mine when I do it, and it’s not the easiest thing, kissing her while I’m fucking her ass like an animal. But I’m a man of many talents. One of them is survival. One of them is violence. One of them is being able to do more than one thing at a time.
I’m not sure how it happens. One second I’ve got her crowded against the mattress, fucking her into the sheets, and the next she’s arched up into my arms, on her knees, almost upright. I can’t breathe. It’s like there’s too much oxygen, too much energy. It would be blinding, if it were made into light. Daisy trusts me to keep her upright, to keep her in place, and there’s nothing I’d rather do.
She’s flexible and soft and small in my arms, and it feels like an act of war to fuck her like this.
But not against her.
It’s never been against her, has it? It’s always been against this thing. Her nightmares, and the truth that haunts me. The rotten core at the center of me. The part of me that makes me inhuman, that makes me worthless.
I’m worth something to her.
She whispers my name, over and over, until I remember the promise I made.
“Baby. Yes.” One hand between her legs. My fingers, her clit. That’s the promise I made. Her body gets hotter around me, tighter, and she must have been close before I touched her because her head knocks against my chest and she comes hard, like the pressure at the center of a black hole, strong enough to crush anything, but he doesn’t, she doesn’t. “Yes. Good. Yes.Yes.”
And then I can’t say a fucking thing, because all her pleasure and intensity backfires onto me and pulls me over, too. We’ve fucked a lot since I went to California, and no release has been as powerful as this one. I lose control of my hips. It drains me. There’s nothing left when it’s done.
Nothing but her.
A small, soft voice whispers in the back of my mind. I think it’s her at first, but Daisy’s not saying anything. She’s breathing, spent, burrowed into my arms like she never wants me to leave.
What if it was on purpose?
What if it was good on purpose? What if I’m tired on purpose?
She wouldn’t have done that.
The nightmare would. But that would mean it’s farther inside her head than either of us know.
No. That’s not what it is. I ignore the misfiring neurons from a hard fuck and carry her into the bathroom. Clean the both of us up. Dressed enough for an emergency. Then, because I’m a fucking gentleman, I tuck her into a chair and cover her with a blanket while I change the sheets. They’re clean and dry when I put her in bed.
