I nod. I don’t trust my voice to work in response. It’s too worn, too frayed. Then I walk past him, into the elevator, and shoot up to my floor. It takes every ounce of energy I have left not to collapse in the elevator and let the tears that have been burning at the back of my eyes all day fall.
Back at home, I head straight for the shower. I need to wash today off of me, need to wash all the sweat and fear and anger off before I talk to Zayne tonight. I’m going to give him this chance to explain. One chance, to be straight with me, honest about what he clearly doesn’t want to share. Then, we’ll see.
Then, I’ll probably be alone again, my darker side points out.
I ignore it and climb into my shower. Bury my face in the stream of hot water and let it wash over me.
But I’m not safe even here. Not protected from my memories. Especially not when that hot stream of water trickles down my chest, my stomach, past my navel, straight over my hips where it sears against my pussy, wet and reassuring and warm.
My hand strays toward my mound again, remembering the frustration earlier, the way I’d been fingering myself thinking about Zayne, but forced myself to stop.
Specifically, I remember the memory that made me unable to resist touching myself. The bet I made. The control I lost to him for an hour. One hour only, and yet it felt like so much longer. Like a whole lifetime.
He’d finished fucking me across the dining room table, and then he stood back, crossed his arms, sized me up as I lay there, too tired and pulsing with the afterglow of my orgasms to move. His gaze felt hot and heavy over my body, judging and lustful all at once.
“Stand up,” he said.
I forced myself to my feet, and even though my knees shook and my thighs quivered, and I felt a hot rush drip down my thigh, his cum mingled with mine, I managed to stand in front of him and obey.
“Tell me something, Clove.” He stepped closer.
My pussy clenched, and another trickle trailed down my leg. I loved that sensation, strangely. The after-rush. The knowledge that he’d come in me, claimed me.
“Anything,” I told him.
He smirked. Gripped my ass in one hand and squeezed tightly. “Has anybody ever fucked that perfect little ass of yours?”
I shivered then, a full-body motion, goosebumps rising on my skin. “No,” I murmured.
His smirk widened. “Have you wanted anybody to?”
I swallowed hard. Met his gaze, which was the only thing that gave me enough courage to admit this. “I want you to,” I said.
He laughed. Slapped my ass once, not hard, just enough to make my skin sting a little, and my body tense. “Why do you want me to fuck your ass, Clove?”
“I want you to take me in every way possible,” I heard myself saying. I didn’t even know it myself until I said it out loud, until I admitted it. “I want you to claim me, take your pleasure from me.”
He leaned in to feather a kiss along the side of my neck, so light that it made me shiver all over again, this time from desire, from wanting more, more, more. He always did that to me. Left me wanting. “You are a natural at this. It’s unbelievable, how perfect you are…” His hands traced the air in front of me, like he was forcing himself to hold back, not to touch me yet.
I smiled at him, and for a moment, he broke character. Wrapped one hand around the back of my neck and pulled me against him for a slow, deep kiss.
Then we broke apart again, and he was back in the character of the poker winner, the man who owned me now, for this next hour.
“Go into the living room and kneel on the carpet,” he told me. He didn’t need to explain which one. I could guess he mean the fuzzy one, almost a shag carpet. Comfortable enough that it wouldn’t hurt to kneel on.
I went in and dropped to my knees, turning to look over my shoulder at him. I expected him to come and stand before me, have me lick our combined cum off his cock, clean him while he got hard again. But he was on the other side of the room, digging through the kitchen.
“All fours,” he added to me, and I bent forward onto all fours, a pulse of desire running through me.
Then he was back, kneeling behind me, and I felt his cock trace between my thighs, trailing through our juices, soaking up what ran down my legs. He was already starting to grow hard again, thick with desire.
“I’m going to fuck your tight little virgin ass, Clove.”
I swallowed hard and felt myself nodding. His hands traced my ass cheeks. Spread them slowly, and when one finger dipped between my cheeks, I gasped, because his finger was wet, slick with lube.
“But first, I’m going to finger you. I’m going to stretch you slowly until you’re ready for my fat cock.”
My mouth parted as his finger circled the entrance to my ass, pressing against the opening.
“Tell me how this feels,” Zayne added. “I want to hear it all from you. Every sensation.”
“The lube is cold,” I murmured. “Starting to get hotter…”
In the shower, remembering this, I slide my finger between my pussy lips and begin to move it faster, pressing against the entrance of my pussy.
“Your finger feels thick, hard.” He pushed against my ass, and I gasped faintly as the pressure built. “It hurts, it feels strained…”
“That will pass when I’m deep enough inside you,” he promised.
His finger pushed past my opening with a popping sensation and slid half an inch into my ass.
“Fuck,” I gasped between gritted teeth.
“Tell me,” he commanded, and I could feel the hard press of his cock, growing harder with every moment, as he pushed his finger deeper still.
“It… You feel…” I shook my head.
“Relax, Clove. Breathe.”
I forced myself to let my muscles go, to sink back against him. His finger slid deeper, probing the depths of my ass. He curled it inside me, and the pressure increased, but with it, something else. A deep, pleasant, filled sensation. “It feels like you’re deeper inside me than you’ve ever been,” I murmured, trying to describe it. “As though you’re claiming the deepest parts of me.”
He leaned down, so his mouth was close beside my cheek, his breath hot against my ear. “Because I am, Clove. I’m taking all of you tonight.”
Another pleasant quiver raced through me, and I arched my back as he drew his finger back, then pressed it deeper again. It wasn’t like being fucked in the pussy. It felt more intense, less sheer pleasure and more pleasant ache. When he drew his finger out of me, I gasped in protest. But he was only adding more lube, and then pressing his finger into me again, joined by a second one this time. I moaned out loud when he pushed the second finger into me, knuckle-deep.
“You love feeling my fingers in your ass, don’t you, my little slut?” He grinned, turned to lick and suck at my neck, and I arched my neck to the side to let him, to give him access to whatever part of me he wanted.
In the shower, I push two fingers into my pussy, rock against the palm of my hand until it grinds against my clit, and lean on the shower wall for support as I finger-fuck myself, remembering Zayne’s possessive growl of pleasure as he pushed his fingers into my ass, claimed every inch of me for his own.
“Fuck, Zayne,” I gasped, and that turned into a louder cry of protest as he pulled those fingers out of me. But the protest didn’t last long, because a moment later, I felt the head of his cock pressed against my entrance, already wrapped in a condom, harder than ever, and doused in a healthy helping of the cool lube.
This time, when he pushed inside me, I couldn’t help crying out loud. He was thicker than his fingers, and harder, the steel at the core of his shaft intense and thick with pressure as he inched his cock into me. He moved slowly, a few centimeters at a time, letting me adjust to his width the whole time. But with each inch deeper he moved, the stretch increased, and so did the pleasure. When his balls touched my pussy lips, and his hips ground into mine and he’d fully entered my ass, I felt fuller than I ever had in my l
ife. I felt stuffed to the brim, ready to burst, speared on his length, and I couldn’t get enough of it. I wriggled back against him, ground my hips into his as I groaned, unable to articulate the pleasure anymore, unable to explain anything, because all I knew was that I wanted more of this, more of him.
“Fuck, you feel amazing, Clove,” he murmured, the character broken. I looked over my shoulder and he kissed me, deep, probing, his tongue exploring my mouth the way his cock explored my ass.
“Take me,” I gasped when we parted, and he did. He slid back out of me, then pushed back in, slow at first, rocking gently against me to let my ass adjust to the sensation, grow used to his cock probing deep inside me. Finally, he worked his way up to fucking my ass fully, and I leaned forward against the carpet, braced on my forearms, my face buried in the rug as I cried out. I was so loud it barely muffled me, but Zayne was just as loud, groaning as he slammed into me, losing control, his hands wrapped tight around my hips as he fucked me so hard I knew I wouldn’t be able to walk straight the next day.
I still couldn’t. If I clenched my ass now, I could feel him inside me, the memory of his cock inside my ass. I did it again, felt that bone-deep ache even as I continued to fuck myself with my fingers, leaning into the hot stream of water.
I come hard, gasping to myself in the shower, letting the pleasure wash through me. I hope on its way through it will wash away some of these memories, stop letting them control me, so I can focus and ask Zayne everything I need to know tonight, instead of just wanting to jump his bones the second I see him again.