The position, the fact that I’m entirely naked, covered with blood, and he’s fully clothed is a clear translation of the power imbalance between us. Of how much he owns a hidden part of me.
The part that’s yearning to let go and let him ravage me until there’s nothing left.
The part that’s been hoping, pining, and being absolutely ashamed of this side of myself.
There’s no shame when I’m in Jeremy’s arms. He doesn’t judge me. He wants me to own that part of me.
And most importantly, he fucks me like he craves me, like he can’t keep his hands off me.
Like if he stops fucking me, he won’t be the same.
I hold on to those emotions as I beg and call his name. The more I beg to be fucked, the harder he goes, the deeper he delves, the crazier he becomes.
He bites my neck, my breasts, my earlobe—anywhere his teeth can reach.
It’s a claim, a territorial declaration of ownership, and I have to bear his marks.
With each thrust, he hits my G-spot, once, twice, until I’m unable to stand.
The stimulation builds inside me and then explodes all at once. I hug his shoulder as the orgasm racks through me with stupefying strength.
“Ask me a question.” His voice barely reaches my hazy brain.
Only when I open my eyes do I realize that he still has the gun to his temple. The twisted pleasure comes to a slow halt.
“Jeremy, please stop.”
He drives into me, ruthlessly, not looking close to being done. “Ask. Me.”
“What do you want?” I whisper, quivering against him.
His thrusts grow in intensity and length. Jeremy is a sight to behold when he’s orgasming. His muscles stiffen and harden beneath my fingers, and he slightly bites the corner of his lip. But most importantly, his grip on me tightens like he refuses to ever let me go as warmth spills inside me.
“You,” he says, then pulls the trigger.
I scream.
21
JEREMY
Cecily stands unmoving under the shower.
Water cascades down her neck, over the slope of her creamy tits, and down her swollen, pink pussy.
My blood and cum swirl into the drain and disappear.
I lean against the counter, facing the glass shower, legs crossed at the ankles and my hands gripping the sink behind me. It’s a hopeless attempt to stop myself from lunging in her direction and messing her all up with my blood and cum again.
Dirty her.
Markher.
My cock jumps, straining against my jeans at the thought of ramming into her tight heat, throwing her up against the nearest surface, and pinning her down.
I’d chase, catch, and fuck her until she’s crying.
No—sobbing. She begged me to fuck her, but she still cried and whimpered.