His teeth nibble on my most intimate part and I realize it’s definitely his mouth, not a cloth or a towel.
Did Jeremy go down on me while I was out of it?
This is so sick.
Or it’s supposed to be, because the thought that he took me again, not caring whether I was awake or not, is kind of hot.
Not that I would admit it out loud.
God, I’m so ashamed of how much I loved my first time. I’ve known I had abnormal tendencies since I was sixteen, but I always thought they’d remain tucked in the dark corners of my heart as inaccessible fantasies.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d grow enough courage to act on them.
So the fact that I not only agreed to Jeremy’s terms, but also allowed his beast to fuck me raw surpassed all my expectations and decimated them into smithereens.
And wow.
Since when do I even say the word ‘fuck,’ even in my head?
This man has been in my life for a short amount of time, but he’s already corrupting me. He’s making me wish and think of things that should’ve never seen the light of day.
My attempts to fully open my eyes fail again, or maybe I’m just too tired to do it, so I don’t force it and try to focus on my environment instead.
His mouth has disappeared from my pussy, triggering a cold shiver and a map of goosebumps.
My body is covered with something, and I’m probably lying on a mattress.
Maybe he brought me back to the cottage. I was somewhat aware of that when he carried me in his arms earlier.
Everything after that, however, is a blur. I definitely fell asleep if I was able to have that nightmare about my supposedly finished past.
I can feel Jeremy’s presence beside me. It’s impossible to ignore the suffocating intensity radiating off him.
It’s how I sensed him following me all those weeks ago. And since it’s otherworldly, it can be felt by his absence, too, which is why I’ve been inexplicably empty, walking around with my attention scattered everywhere in case he showed up.
Right now, I don’t only feel him, but I also smell him, wood and leather, and I sense the warmth emitting from him. It’s weird to associate warmth with someone like Jeremy, but he is. Warm. At least, his body is hot-blooded.
His personality, however, is ice-cold.
Not to mention deviant.
He has the type of sexually deviant behavior that serial killers possess.
It’s abnormal, dangerous, and might lead him down a destructive path.
What does that make me if I enjoy it?
My question remains hanging in the dark as he appears in the slit of my eyes, dressed all in black like a fallen angel, but I don’t see the entirety of him.
It’s mere glimpses of his chest, hints of the tattoos cording along his muscles, and his hands.
The large, veiny, and destructive hands that he touched, probed, and owned me with.
Jeremy pulls the sheet from my chest and my nipples puff and tighten at the friction from the fabric.
I can feel his raw gaze on me and the nefarious undertone that holds no other purpose than to devour me.
Only Jeremy would be able to make someone uncomfortable in their own skin with a mere glance.