“I should just fuck you as quickly as I can,” Connor growls. “I need sleep. Rest. But I can’t resist making you come, princess. Why is that?”
“I don’t know,” I pant. His words wash over me, heating the air between us, making me clench around his fingers.
“It wasn’t rhetorical.” He pushes his fingers deeper and grinds his thumb against my clit almosttoohard, but it feels good anyway. I arch backward, rolling my hips, chasing the orgasm he promises. “I shouldn’t be bothering with this. I should shove my cock in you and fuck you hard and fast until I come inside of you and be done with it. But you drive me crazy. You make me want to touch you—” his fingers move faster, harder, and I cry out, so close to the edge again. “Nothing makes sense when I touch you.”
“Connor—” I gasp, moaning as his fingers send me over the brink, pumping inside of me as the spray of the shower crashes over my body, the heat so intense that I feel almost dizzy. “Connor—Connor—”
“You made a mess of my hand, princess.” He reaches out, pushing his fingers against my lips. “Clean it up.”
He’s so hard it looks almost painful. My tongue flicks out as I reach for him, wrapping my fingers around his thick shaft as I lick my cum off his hand. It’s sharp, tangy, and I have a sudden vision of him fucking my face after he’s been inside me, the mingled taste of us both on my lips.
I moan around the fingers in my mouth at the thought before I realize what I’m doing, and Connor grins.
“I don’t even need to ask if you’re ready for my cock. You’re always ready for cock, aren’t you, princess?” His voice is sarcastic, but there’s heat to it too, lust beneath the mocking. It turns him on that I want him, I realize. He’s aroused by how responsive I am, and he hates it because it turns his own body against him. He doesn’twantto want me. But he can’t help it any more than I can.
There’s a delicious, thrilling power in that.
I spread my thighs wider, arching so he can see how open I am for him, displaying my pussy for his hungry eyes as I brace against the wall. “Fuck me, Connor,” I whisper, hearing the lustful whine in my voice, but I don’t care. I need him to fill me; I know he needs to be inside me just as badly.
I moan when I feel his swollen cockhead pushing against me. I arch into the pressure of it, wanting more, wanting him to slip inside, and I hear his groan of pleasure when it does. He fills me in a long, hot thrust that leaves me shuddering with pleasure, my nails clawing against the tile of the shower as Connor buries himself inside of me, his hips rocking against my ass as he settles himself inside.
“Fuck, that feels good,” he groans. “Good enough to make me forget about how much the rest of me hurts.” He slides out nearly to the tip and then back in again in a swift thrust, tearing another cry of pleasure from my lips.
“I was going to fuck you hard and fast,” he growls. “Come in you and go to bed. But maybe I’ll make it last a little longer since it feels so good. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, princess? Gives you time to come again—but you would have anyway. You always come on my cock.”
There’s pride in his voice, even though I don’t think he meant for it to sound like that. I can’t answer even if he’d wanted me to—my voice is stolen away with pleasure, the hot slide of his cock taking my breath away. His hand slides under me, teasing my clit as he fucks me in long, slow strokes that feel as if his cock is touching every nerve inside my pussy, and I know he’s right. I’m going to come again for him, and I would have, no matter what.
Ilikehow this feels, I admit silently to myself, as Connor rocks himself deeply inside of me. It’s the same reason I was reduced to a wet, aroused mess when he cuffed me to the spanking bench in the sex club, paddled me, and then fingered my clit and asshole until I came multiple times for him.
I like the feeling of him using me for his pleasure. I like the feeling that I’m helpless under his touch, even if it embarrasses me. I was raised to be elegant, sophisticated, proper, and controlled. The idea that a man’s touch could do this to me never even occurred to me until Connor. But now that it has—
I like feeling like his toy. Like I’m here for his pleasure, for his cock, to make him feel good in every way. I like the submission—as long as it’s my choice.
As long as I know that I can still hold my own in the relationship when he’s not fucking me. That I won’t lose myself, my thoughts, my desires, my plans in the stranglehold of desire. That’s why I’m so afraid to fall in love with him—not just because he’ll almost certainly break my heart, but because I’m fearful of losing myself in the process. Scared of becoming a weak, spineless woman on account of love, begging for scraps from a man who barely deigns to throw her any at all.
He can control my body, and I let him, because I enjoy it too. But I can’t let him control my heart—or anything else.
After my reaction today, though, I’m becoming more afraid than ever that I’m already falling.
Connor thrusts into me again, groaning, and I can tell he’s close. He rolls my clit under his finger, pushing me towards a second orgasm, his cock stroking inside me as he grunts with pleasure.
“I’m close,” he groans. “So—fucking—close—”
He’s impossibly hard inside me, thrusting into me in sharp motions that tell me he’s right on the edge. I can smell the thick, heady scent of sex in the shower, the humid heat amplifying it, the water on my skin only adding to the sensations. I can feel my clit throbbing, my pussy tightening, and as he squeezes my ass with his other hand, thrusting all the way inside of me, I feel another heat added to the mixture.
His cum jets into me, filling me as Connor rocks against me, groaning with a sound that’s both pleasure and pain as his abused muscles flex and tighten, his entire body straining forward as he comes hard. “Fuck—fuck, fuck, fuck—”he groans over and over as his hips grind into me, my own orgasm joining his as my pussy clamps around the throbbing length of him, squeezing out every drop he has to give me.
“God, you feel fucking incredible,” Connor moans, still rocking against me as if he’s loathed to pull out. “It feels even better because the rest of me feels like such shit,” he adds, finally slipping out and staggering slightly as he moves back under his own showerhead.
It takes me a minute to get my bearings and turn around, dizzy with heat and pleasure. My entire body feels like a pulse, my blood pumping hard through my veins, and I slowly straighten, turning to face him. Connor is already turning stiffly to get the soap to wash, and I fight back the urge to offer to help. Iwantto. I want to help him clean up while he stands there, soothing his aching body until he’s free of soot and grime and then helping him into bed. But he’d never let me.
It honestly seems like hecan’t.
Instead, I get out of the shower without a word, fighting back the pangs of hurt as I dry off and get dressed, feeling the warm, heavy, damp sensation of him still between my legs, slightly sticky on my inner thighs. It sends another throb of pleasure through me as I go to get him a glass of water and ibuprofen, opting not to bring the drink he’d said he wanted.That can be later,I think to myself—the last thing he needs right now is alcohol, even if I know he’s dying for a whiskey.
That makes my chest ache, too—the small things I know about him now, the little habits and quirks I’ve noticed. The small, domestic intimacies that, over the years, make up a lifetime together. A marriage.
I wonder if he’s noticed anything like that about me. If he’s bothered. If he’s actively triednotto. If he just doesn’t care.