Dropping my head into the crook of her neck, I whisper into the shell of her ear, “Liar.”
“Ugh,” she grunts, digging her sharp nails deeper into my arms. “It fucking hurts.”
“It will feel better next time.” The reminder of the next time has all the different ways I’m going to fuck her running through my mind. Bent over the bed, taking her from behind, her riding my cock while I play with her tits, maybe while I finger her ass…
She whimpers, and I realize I’ve picked up speed in my excitement. I should probably slow down, but it feels so fucking good. How does she feel like this? Like she was made for me.
I could stay buried inside her forever, but I know she is actually hurting, and contrary to what she believes, I don’t care for causing her physical pain. Luckily for her, it doesn’t take long before I can feel the tingle at the base of my spine.
I thrust deep inside her a few more times before my balls tighten, and I explode. My orgasm seems to go on forever, and by the time I come down from my high, I’m almost passed out again.
“Do you know how heavy you are?” Aspen’s labored voice meets my ear, and only then do I realize I’ve let my entire weight settle on her small body.
I quickly push myself off the bed, slipping out of her cunt, making us both wince. Getting up from the bed a little too fast, I make a note to drink a shit load of water today when the room spins.
After the dizzy spell passes, I look down at the bed. Aspen hasn’t moved. She is on her back with her legs spread, giving me a prime view of her swollen pussy that’s leaking a mixture of my cum and her blood, both a reminder of what I just took from her and the fact that I didn’t use a condom. Aspen must be reading my mind.
“Oh, god, you didn’t use a condom!” She sits up, looking between her legs, then glaring up at me.
“Calm down. They tested everyone for diseases before we got here. We’re both clean. Don’t get up. I’m getting a washcloth.” I turn to walk into her attached bathroom when she yells something at my back I wasn’t prepared for.
“Quinton, I’m not on the pill!”
I stop dead in my tracks, my whole body freezing as her words slowly start to sink in. Fuck, how could I have been so careless?
“Did you hear me? I’m not on the pill. You can’t come inside me. What if you get me pregnant?”
Pregnant…
That single word runs on an endless loop in the back of my mind as my limbs begin to unfreeze, and I’m able to make my way to the bathroom. Standing in front of the sink, I remember the thing is broken, but when I turn to the shower, there are a bunch of her clothes hanging out to dry. I slide some of the odd-smelling shirts to the side so I can reach into the shower stall and turn it on. I grab the washcloth and soak it in warm water before turning the shower off.
When I return to the room, Aspen hasn’t moved. Her eyes follow every move I make. Carefully, I wipe between her legs with the wet washcloth, watching as the white fabric turns pink.
“Did you hear—”
“I heard you,” I snap.
I don’t know why I’m getting angry with her. This is on me. “Why is your stuff hung up in the bathroom, and why does it smell funny?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
She flops back down onto the bed, so she is flat on her back, and lets me clean her up. “The laundry people won’t take my clothes, so I have to wash them in my shower, but I don’t have laundry detergent, so I have been using hair shampoo. Until now at least, because I’m running out, and I would rather wash my hair than clothes.”
“I’ll get you more shampoo… maybe for an extra thirty minutes a week, I’ll even have them do your laundry.”
“Is that what you would do if you accidentally got me pregnant? Barter with me for everything? An extra hour for child support? Or would you just get rid of me altogether?”
“Shut up!” I bunch up the cloth in my hand and throw it across the room. She has no idea the nerve she just struck. I get back on the bed, and Aspen tries to jump out. I grab her and push her back onto the mattress.
Anger surges through me as my mind is running rampant. Is that how I came to be? Did my father sleep with the enemy? Did my father hate my birth mother, and did she hate him so much that she didn’t want me?
“Quinton,” she says like a prayer. A prayer for mercy.
I grab her throat with one hand, not squeezing but holding her firm enough to make her stop talking. Her hands come up, and her fingers wrap around my wrist. “I need you to listen carefully and do exactly what I say because right now, I’m on an edge you don’t want me to go over. Do what I say, and I won’t hurt you.”
She nods slightly, fear pooling in the depth of her hazel eyes.
“I’m going to release you for a second, and you’re to grab your ankles and spread your legs for me,” I order.
She is hesitant, and I can feel her throat as she does her best to swallow down her fear. She slowly releases my arms, and a moment later, I release her throat and ease back, giving her room to move. Like a mouse that’s afraid of getting caught in a trap, she moves hesitantly. When she has a firm grip on her ankles, I say,“Now, don’t move.”