His hands take hold of the elastic band of my panties, and he talks softly as he lowers them. Slowly. So…slowly. I imagine him standing at the end of the table where my knees are bent and feet hanging.
"I'm going to mind-fuck you,mon trésor.I'm going to replace the nightmares with daydreams, and you’ll never be haunted by that memory again."
My entire body shakes as my underwear disappears.
"And you're going to help me." His hands trace goosebumps as they go up my thighs.
I can feel that his arms are going under my legs, lifting them at the same time, and when his hands reappear at my hip dips, he wraps his fingers there.
"I don’t want that. Just leave it alone."
With a sudden movement, I'm pulled lower on the table, the back of my knees resting on his shoulders.
"What happened that night?" he murmurs against my core.
"I don't need this to be fixed, Achilles," I pant. "Just let me go. I'll do anything else you want, okay? I'll—I'll… What do youwant?"
"You were hurt," he tells me simply. "Let me soothe the ache."
"No. You're sick…you'refucking sick."
"I hope it's contagious," he says seriously. "That you catch it too. And that we spiral down our sickness together."
I pull at the thread again and feel it cut into my skin.
"Fuck!" I shriek, fury building inside me. "Let me go!"
He kisses my hip bone, tracing his lips all the way to my mound again. "You're past denial, bargaining, and anger. We're almost there, baby."
I pause to try to take a breath through the panic, and a wave of anguish grips my soul.
"I don't want to talk about it," I say as tears gather behind the cloth.
"But you know how it works between us." He kisses me lower, and lower, getting closer to where he's keeping me wide open by having my legs on each of his shoulders. "I push you, and you get wet for me. I break you open, and you spill your pain for me."
"Why are you doing this?" I cry out. "What did I do for you to torture me?"
"Your mind is mine to bend,mon trésor.Let me do it for the sake of making you feel better."
He kisses my clit, almost chastely, and a shiver ripples through my body.
"Was it just one man?" he asks.
A sob bursts from my mouth, but the answer comes easier than it ever has. "Yes."
"Where?"
"At home," I whisper. And the answer gets me another kiss, harder this time.
"How did he get in?"
"He knocked on the door. I opened it…and a man wearing a balaclava with a skull on it pushed inside."
My lower stomach melts when he presses his mouth to my clit, and his tongue licks me in a slow but deliberate movement.
"What happened when he got in?"
I shiver at his breath against my wetness, and then I tremble at the memory.
