She knows what I’ll be doing. I lick some jam off my fingers and sink my teeth around a croissant, filling my mouth and relaxing back in my chair. Her eyes drop down my bare chest. She pouts. Then leans over and gives my pec a little stroke. I watch her hand work over my flesh, across the small scar below my collarbone. “Feel better?” I ask, looking up at her, my voice low.
Her eyes jump up to mine. Her demure smile is my answer.
I’m up fast, grabbing her from the chair and getting her quickly but gently over my shoulder. Her squeal barely stabs at my brain. “You want to know what I’m doing? I will start by fucking my wife ferociously.” I drop her on the bed, and she immediately starts pulling off the T-shirt and wriggling out of her knickers as I kick my boxers off. I seize my dick and start working myself to full hardness, and Rose watches me, her hands falling to her boobs and massaging. My wife’s a walking sex bomb, but I can’t say I’ve ever found herthissexy. Her boobs a bit bigger, her stomach a little rounder, her arse getting curvier. And the look in her eyes.
The mother of my baby. Keeping my hands off her has always been a challenge. Now it’s plain painful.
I look down at my weeping dick, my teeth clenching, and walk on my knees up the bed, still working my cock. I knock her hand away, smiling when her back arches, and dip, taking her boob in my mouth. Her groan is long and low. My heartbeats are hard and fast. “Oh, yes,” she breathes as I suck her nipple, relinquishing my hold of my dick and walking my fingers up her inside thigh, smiling when she spreads her legs farther.
“You want me to fuck you with my fingers, baby? Or my tongue?” I sink two fingers into her pussy and watch in fascination as her face contorts, her hands flying up to grip the headboard. “Or my big, hard, throbbing cock?”
“Yes,” she whispers, flexing her hips to meet my fingers’ drives. “All of it.”
All morning sickness and hangovers are forgotten. As is—I fucking hope—all thoughts of the sadistic, sick fucker that’s after us. I crawl down her body, shove my tongue past her pulsing, wet lips, and eat her pussy like it’s my last supper.
“Shit, Danny!”
Her constant yells push me on, encourage me, my eyes closing, my mouth ravenous.
And just when she’s about to come, I withdraw, flip her over, and ram my dick into her, fucking her hard, fast, and brutally. My roars and her screams must be heard across the island.
But still, I pump faster, grind harder, trying to pound my previous thought away.
My last supper.
2
ROSE
He’s smashing into me like a madman. I’m fighting to find my breath. He’s taken me violently many times, made me wonder how much more of his power I could sustain, but never have I been in this situation before.
I need him to stop. He’s out of control. Yelling constantly, his fingers clawed into my hips, his flesh slapping against my ass loudly. The soreness between my thighs is raw. My head is ringing. “Danny,” I mumble into the pillow, grappling at the sheets. “Danny, please.”
He pounds on, deranged and oblivious to my discomfort. “Come on, baby,” he bellows, following it up with a bark of pleasure. “Come on!”
“Danny, stop.” I choke over my words, feeling him hitting me deeply, so deep I’m in pain.
“Tell me when, Rose.”
“Danny, I can’t.”
“Come on, baby!”
“Danny, please, stop.”Fuck, this hurts.“Danny,” I mumble, without breath or energy to yell, my body limp, at the mercy of his ruthless taking.
Stop!
And then I feel him jerk on a choked cough and he collapses onto me, panting, sweating, pushing me into the mattress, his hips grinding, his seed spilling into me, hot and endlessly as he groans into my neck. I lie still, completely dazed. And not for the right reasons. “Get off me,” I say, my throat hoarse, my body not my own. It’s a feeling I never thought I would have again. An empty, hollow, helpless feeling. Nothing. I feel nothing.
“Rose?” He strains my name past his fitful breathes, shifting slightly.
“Get. Off. Me,” I order, my voice brittle. I wince when he slides out of me, leaving his cum trickling down my leg.
“Baby, what’s up?”
I push my hands into the mattress and get off the bed, jarring when he catches my wrist, stopping me from walking away. “Let go, Danny.” I know what he’s expecting here. He’s expecting me to lash out. I’m too numb. Too shocked. He has never violated me. He’s always sought permission in his own fucked-up way. I turn my eyes up to his, and he recoils the moment he sees the emptiness of my expression, dropping his hold. “I told you to stop. You didn’t stop.” I walk away, numb, and lock myself in the bathroom. I immediately turn on the shower and step in, a familiar sense of detachment creeping through me, a shield that’s been broken for years seeming to fix itself. I look down my body. I don’t see my small bump.
I see an object.