Reaux scowled, shaking his head. He thrust—a gentle, shallow motion—and strangled her with a cry of pain. The fat crown eased inside her, bit by excruciating bit, until she felt it pop through the constriction.
She didn’t know she was going to hit him until she saw the four bright red marks clawing down his chest. He grunted in shock, but her hand was already in motion again, connecting with his cheek loudly. Before she knew what was happening, her hands were a flurry of movement, hitting him wherever she could reach, leaving imprints and scratches in his flesh.
“That’s it. Fight like a fucking wildcat. It’s not going to stop me, but it’ll make you feel better.” He snagged her left wrist before she clocked his jaw and slammed it to the mattress, pinning it there. While she cursed him, he drove his cock deeper, opening a part of her that felt wrong and strange. “Come on, wildcat. Give me all you’ve got. Scream like you fucking mean it. Fight me like your life depends on it.”
She obeyed, not because he ordered to, but because it felt… cathartic. She screamed until she was hoarse, hammering her fist against his chest and arms until she physically couldn’t lift her arm anymore. She cried herself dry, until she couldn’t breathe.
Utterly exhausted, she finally went limp beneath him in submission.
“My turn.”
Bruised and battered, Reaux released her wrist and set his hands on either side of her head, leaning down to bite her lip sharply. “Set your heels on the edge of the bed, lift your hips.”
It took some effort but she followed his directives. Her body jerked as he plunged deep, but aside from some cramping in her lower belly, there wasn’t really any pain. She felt full,the sensations strange but kind of pleasurable. Her anus still burned, a faint ache now in the grand scheme.
She watched with vague detachment while her body rocked in time with his thrusts, whining softly every time his cock drove back in. His strokes were smooth and unhurried, a leisurely fuck in comparison to how he’d treated her pussy.
Flickers of an orgasm shimmered through her blood, sparking like fireflies. She chased after them tiredly, floating toward them and rising higher as Reaux pumped inside her, a little faster, a little harder, until she shattered into tiny, glowing embers scattered in the wind.
A whimpering sound filled her head with every breath she took.
She felt him slide all the way home, his balls pressed tight against her ass. The sensitive passage he was violating and her heightened senses felt each hard kick of his cock, the hot spurts of ejaculate anointing her insides.
He groaned her name, rubbing his cheek against hers.
She thought she whispered something before she passed out, she just didn’t know what.
Boudreaux
I love you.
Bruised, bleeding, emotionally drained, Reaux fought to catch his breath and grinned like an ecstatic schoolboy after kissing his first crush. Sweat trickled down his temples, his spine, while his tired muscles kept him suspended over Violet’s limp form.
She’d whispered those three little words in a voice slurred with exhaustion, but she’d actually said them. If she knew how much they meant to him, she’d either shut him out again or use his need to hear them to torture him.
Regardless of whether she could hear him or not, he dipped his head and brushed his lips over her forehead. “I love you too, Bennie. Twelve years and it’s only ever been you.”
She didn’t stir, didn’t open those beautiful brown eyes and declare her love more strongly. Hell, there wasn’t even one of those truly adorable whimpers. Anxiety and orgasms cleaned her clock faster than a sleeping pill; she was recovering the only way her mind knew how.
The scene was successful, he supposed. It sure as hell hadn’t gone the way he’d planned, not by a longshot, yet they’d established just how much she trusted him—he’d waited more than once for her to shout her safeword. If they accomplishednothing else this afternoon, they’d opened a door that had been securely locked and bolted.
Now he needed to take measures to keep it open.
First, however, there was a little matter called aftercare to deal with; Violet was covered in sweat, her own fluids and, as soon as he moved, quite a bit of his own contribution. There was a lot to do before he could sleep—Violet was in dire need of a bath, food, water, and rest; the sheets required changing because they’d made one hell of a mess. He needed to find her stash of pain meds and raid it for some ibuprofen.
Somewhere amongst all that camethe talk.
Depending on how she reacted when she woke, he hoped he could coax her into talking through the scene while he bathed her; warm water, safety, comfort were all elements he could utilize to help ascertain her feelings and get them out in the open.
A CNC scene was gnarly, affecting emotions without either of the involved parties realizing just how much until it was too late. Rape—even when agreed to under these circumstances—was a terrifying, traumatic experience, and if this encounter had buried some of those negative emotions where she refused to let them resurface, he had no choice but to dig them loose.
There was no doubt in his mind that she’d been scared, even when she fought so viciously. Not once had he let his focus stray from her wellbeing; despite his dirty mouth and rough actions, keeping her safe was his only priority.
With a rumbling groan, he found the energy and willpower to extricate himself from the heat of her body. Not an easy feat when he’d gladly kill someone to stay right here. Still, as he pulled the duvet down to drape it over her and keep her warm, there was no doubt the sight of his cum trickling from the abused ring of the hole he’d coveted for so long was extremely gratifying.
Reaux refrained from beating his fists on his chest in caveman fashion. Celebrating a personal goal would wait; Violet would not. He crouched, inspecting the damage he’d inflicted, and was relieved that aside from some bruising and the smallest tinge of blood, he hadn’t harmed her.
She’d be sore, maybe a little grumpy, but at least he wasn’t calling the Doc for help.
