And he's not gentle.
At all.
His eyes devour me as his fingers ram into my pussy over and over, and I can only moan and hold on to him even as his gaze leaves me terribly exposed.
"Louder, my Sara," he growls. "I want you to fucking moan like you're my whore."
The words are all I need, and just as he asks, I do moan. I moan as my release gushes out of me, and I moan as I find myself riding him. I moan like I'm his whore, and I love it. God forgive me, but I love it, and when he suddenly pulls his fingers out and lifts me up—-
I already know what he intends to do, and it only makes me moan more and more—-
"Look at me, my dove."
His voice is cruel, and so is the look on his beautiful face, and I can't get enough of it.
"I want to see your crying face as my cock fucking rips you apart—-"
It's both a promise and a threat, and he makes it come true in the next second, with his fingers painfully biting into the sides of my hips—-
Oh God, oh God.
He hauls me down, and I can only sob in a mixture of shock, pain, and pleasure as I find myself impaled by his member, my hymen ripped apart in one ruthless thrust. I see him look down, and when I follow his gaze, it's at that moment that he slowly lifts me up again, and I can only gasp and sob yet again when we both see my virginal blood staining his length.
"Don't you ever fucking forget this sight, my Sara."
I don't have the chance to answer, my mind completely taken over by the fact that he's started moving again, and every thrust messes me up more and more until I can only sob and pant while he impales me over and over and over—-
Until something between us and inside of us explodes, and his hands are suddenly squeezing my breasts hard as we come at the same time. My world shatters, and it is just too much, the pleasure beyond what I'm capable of handling that I find myself actually losing consciousness, and I'm completely unaware of how much time has passed when my eyes drift back open.
It takes a while for the dizziness to fade, and my cheeks heat instantly when I find myself sprawled on the couch while he's crouched down on one knee and busily wiping me clean.
"Don't, please." I'm extremely embarrassed, but when I try covering my flesh, he gently but firmly moves my hands away and resumes cleaning me up with a washcloth.
"The only reason," he says without looking up, "I haven't done this before is because I didn't trust myself not to fuck you right after." He then looks up, and only so he can smirk at me. "But it's different now, of course. This time, I know I can just lick you clean and then fuck you some more."
The picture his words paint is unbearably graphic, and as I feel myself turning a deeper shade of red, I hear my Raaf laugh—-
Oh.
The sound of it bewitches my heart, and I hear myself whisper, "I think I really am going to eventually fall in love with you."
He goes completely still at my words, and several heartbeats of silence pass before he asks quite, quite carefully, "Are you sure that you have never been diagnosed as insane?"
A weak laugh escapes me, and though this makes him smile faintly, the expression on his handsome face remains grim as he finally sets the washcloth aside.
I feel self-conscious as he straightens up and looms over me, but just as I awkwardly sit up and push the skirt of my dress down, I then hear him say—-
"You almost scare me."
His voice is haunted, and my heart aches even more painfully when I look up, and I see the truth of his words reflected in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Raaf."
"I don't want to hurt you."
"I know."
"But I still might end up doing so," he says between clenched teeth, "if you keep insisting on seeing me like I'm some fucking antihero."
"You are one—-"
My Raaf groans, but this only convinces me more that I am right in thinking I'm also both his dream and nightmare come true. My own sins allow me to still see the innocent boy he was once was, but it's also because of those sins I crave the monster in him just as much.
"I know," I say impulsively, "you're going to think I'm silly for this, but can't we have a do over? Can't we pretend like we just...like we just swiped right on each other and—-"
"I don't like playing games."
He cuts me off so curtly I feel hurt and humiliated, but when I see the way he clenches his jaw, I realize all too late that my words have brought back memories of the days he had been with the cult, and he had been forced to play games that were designed to destroy his soul.