She makes a sound, but I see how her pussy is leaking down her thigh. I guide my cock toward her wet cunt, take my time tonight, watch her stretch to take me. She’s tight, so fucking tight, and I know from the sounds she’s making it hurts her, but I also know that pain will only intensify her pleasure. Intensify mine.
I push deep into her, taking in a breath, closing my eyes as her warmth engulfs me, resting here for one moment before pulling out to fuck her. I watch my cock disappear into her folds, hear the sounds she makes when I do, feel myself thicken inside her, until, finally, I bury myself in her, gripping her hard, her throbbing walls milking my cock, taking everything I give, everything I have.
I slump backward, my back to the chair. Cilla pulls away, draws her dress up over her shoulders, down over her hips as she stumbles to her feet, her hair out of it’s neat bun, now looking like she’s just been thoroughly fucked.
She’s watching me with a look on her face I can’t quite figure out, can’t quite look away from.
“Am I getting another computer tomorrow?” she asks, pushing the shoulder of the dress that keeps sliding down her arm back up.
I rise, closing my pants as I do.
“Or something else?” She takes a step backward, and I realize she’s now barefoot. I don’t know why that strikes me. She looks around like she’s thinking. “Maybe a car? I don’t know. I mean, what’s next when you start with a laptop?”
I chuckle, make my way to the liquor cart.
“It’s funny to you, isn’t it? I’m funny to you.”
I pour a whiskey into a new glass, cap the bottle and take my time turning to her, the crystal tumbler in my hand. Studying her, I sip. Swallow. Feel it burn my throat.
“Is my cum sliding down your thighs?” I ask.
After everything, she’s not expecting that. She shifts her gaze, her eyes glisten like she’s on the verge of tears. I don’t need tears though. I don’t want them. She’s here for one thing and one thing alone. I have to remember that.
“I hate you,” she finally says.
“You’ve told me that already.”
She walks to the door, puts her hand on the knob, turns it.
“Cilla.” It’s a quiet command to stop.
She does but doesn’t turn to face me.
“You’re not excused.”
She stands there, clearly unsure what to do. How far to push me. So I push her instead.
“I need you to get back on your knees and clean my dick.”
Tears have wet the skin around her eyes when she slowly turns her face to me. I watch her. I sip my drink. I’m an asshole, I know. But I can’t be anything else. She can’t be anything else than the thing I brought her here to be.
“Clean your own fucking dick, Killian Black.”
With that, she pulls the door open and rushes from the library and I laugh. I laugh so hard, I double over with it. So fucking hard, I almost spit the whiskey out of my mouth. But when I stop, it’s finished.
I look out into the hallway and wish I could hear her thoughts right now because she’s running for her life. I go to the door, close it. I then take the bottle of whiskey and sit in the seat she was just in. Her shoes are on the carpet, and the room smells of sex. I leave the glass and drink straight from the bottle. Because I won’t go after her tonight. I won’t punish her tonight.
This is good. What happened is good. Because it puts us firmly on our separate sides of the boxing ring, where we belong. We’re not friends. We’re not lovers. She is nothing to me and what happened this afternoon, that goddamned cross, it won’t happen again. I won’t lose control to those memories again. I won’t ever let them own me again.
11
Cilla
After my shower, my skin is raw. I scrubbed so hard, it still burns. What was I trying to get off me? His touch? His scent? It would be easy if it was only that. But what I don’t understand, what I can’t make sense of, is what happens to me when he touches me.
I’ve never felt safe with anyone. I’ve never really needed anyone.
No, that’s not true. I just pretended all my life that I was fine. That I could handle life. I didn’t need human touch. Didn’t need to be held. When I fucked, I chose who. A bar. A stranger. A one night stand. No names exchanged. No kissing. I used them and I always left first.
It was always a control thing. My vibrator typically gave me more pleasure than any of the men I was with. I just needed to know I didn’t need it. Didn’t need them. Anytime I felt weak or vulnerable, I went on the hunt.