“Fucking beautiful.” He laughs. “Look how wet you get once my cock is inside you. My cock. Only mine.” Yes, only his because I can’t imagine another one making me feel this way. Nobody ever has. Nobody ever wanted to.
Even though this is completely twisted and unthinkable, I still want him.
I even want this. The tension grows, the tightness building in my core until I have no choice but to explode. I press my knees against the mattress and use them for leverage, pushing back against him, deepening the pleasure.
“Oh god!!” I pant against the sheets.
The pressure against the back of my neck disappears only to be replaced a second later by a bright, stinging sensation that zings across my scalp as Lucas winds my hair around his fist and pulls. “You’re going to come for me. I can feel it. Feel your pussy quivering and weeping for my cock,” he declares. “And I want to hear it. Let it out. Come for me, slut.”
I don’t have a choice, nor would I want to stop.
Every deep thrust takes me closer to the edge until finally, he buries himself balls deep. I lose all sense of time and place and myself as a shattering orgasm races through me from head to toe, and I scream.
I scream in pleasure. I scream in confusion and anger toward Lucas, toward me. I don’t understand myself. I don’t understand what he does to me.
All I know is there’s a deep satisfaction in feeling his hot cum splash over my ass and thighs. It’s like he’s marking me, and some fucked-up part of me wants him to. I want him to use me, mark me, but most of all, I want to be his.
When he’s finally finished, he lets go of my hair and backs away, breathing heavily. I don’t have the strength to even hold up my head. My whole body sags into the mattress.
“Go clean yourself up,” he orders.
I’m still coming down from my high and shaking from head to toe, but I’m not about to argue with him. I hurry to the bathroom, closing the door behind me before I take a deep breath.What the fuck just happened?
Grabbing a washcloth from the cabinet, I soak it in warm soapy water to clean myself. Even with me going as gently as I can, the cloth feels uncomfortable against my swollen pussy lips.
When I’m all clean, I return to the bedroom with my head hung low, eyes downcast.
What happens next?
“Now go to bed.” He walks past me, answering my unspoken question. He waltzes into the bathroom and closes the door without another word. A moment later, I hear the shower running and release a sigh of relief. Maybe he’ll be in a better mood once he gets out.
But what about tomorrow, and every day after that? I don’t know how much longer I can take being in the presence of somebody whose mood changes so quickly and with no explanation.
Don’t I at least deserve to know why he does these things?
Rather than wait up in hopes of getting answers—I know I’ll never get them—I crawl into bed and pull the blankets over my shoulders before closing my eyes. I’m not asleep when the door to the bathroom opens. I hold my breath, wondering if he’ll have another episode of rage, but his steps are lighter. A moment later, I feel him slide into bed beside me.
The smell of his soap tickles my nostrils, and I suck a ragged breath into my lungs, letting it calm me. Despite our turbulent, Lucas is the only thing in my life that seems to be constant. After a moment, I feel him move closer, the heat of his body radiates through me, and I move closer out of instinct, the need to be cocooned by him.
“You’re a light in this dark world. I just hope I don’t dull that light,” he whispers into my hair as he wraps his arm around me and pulls me close. I want to tell him my light shines through fractured pieces and that he can’t dull me, but I don’t. Instead, I succumb to his body's warmth and my mind's exhaustion.