“That’s right.” Lord jumped onto the table and grabbed my wrists. He pinned them over my head with one hand while the other snaked around my neck. He was not choking me but reminding me of his strength, and his dominance.
“I could kill you.”
What the fuck?His words were violent and unnecessary, but I couldn’t stop feeling turned on by every movement of his hips as he plowed into me. I wanted to deny him entry. I really wanted to spit in his face and claw my way free, but my body rebelled. My pussy clenched around him, pulling him deeper with every punishing thrust.
The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed throughout the open space. The noise was obscene and unfiltered. Each harsh movement drove my body closer to orgasm.
I’m sure the table was bruising my back, and his hips were bruising my thighs. My tears mixed with his sweat. The salt dropped from his chest and burnt my eyes, but I didn’t beg him to stop. Not even when he leaned down and bit my shoulder, marking me with his teeth.
I hated this lying-ass muthafuckah, but I still loved him. I wanted to die and live forever in this moment.
“You fucking crybaby?” Lord sneered, licking the tear tracks from my cheek.
I had no words of retaliation.
He let go of my neck and gripped my jaw, forcing my mouth open so he could kiss me. It wasn’t a kiss, not really. It was brutal torture. He tasted like expensive whiskey.
He pulled out suddenly, leaving me empty and aching. Before I could process the loss, he lifted me off the table, spinning me so I was bent over its cold edge. He hoisted my ass in the air and pressed my face against the table.
He yanked my hair, forcing me to meet my own reflection in the glass walls of the apartment. My face was flushed and streaked with tears. Lord’s face appeared over my shoulder. His hair fell across his forehead in sweaty blonde waves. His eyes fixed on mine in the glass.
“Look at you,” he growled, thrusting back into me. “Look at how desperate you are for my cock.”
I moaned with hands splayed on the table. My hands were sweaty and slipped around while I tried to brace myself.
“Say my name!” He commanded.
“Lord,” I whimpered, hating myself for the need in my voice.
He fucked me harder, with more vigor. Each deep penetrating stroke pressed against my body. His hands roamed over my bare skin, leaving marks everywhere he touched. Lord’s fingers dug into my hips. His palm landed with a sharp crack on my ass. I bucked against him, every nerve ending raw and exposed.
Somewhere in the haze, I heard myself sobbing his name over and over. He reached around my body to rub my clit. It took nothing, just a few rough, reckless circles, and I exploded, screaming into the night, my body spasming so violently I thought I might pass out.
Lord didn’t let up. He kept fucking me doggy style through it, riding out my orgasm with his own brutal rhythm, finally shuddering and spilling inside me with a guttural grunt. He held me there. Then he forced me to stand up straight while both ofus trembled. My contractions were intense, and then I felt him abruptly remove his dick out of me and release the hold he had on my body.
The room spun. My legs gave out, and I slid to the floor. Lord didn’t help me up. He just stood there, looking down at me, his chest heaving with exertion.
I tried to pull myself together with the shreds of my dignity. My body was a mess. I could feel mascara smeared on my face. I could feel the cum sticky on my inner thighs.
He watched me struggle to stand. Then finally he bent down and gathered me into his arms. He carried me to the bedroom, tossing me onto the bed like I weighed nothing. The sheets were crisp and clean. I wondered how many other women he’d brought here, how many he’d ruined the way he was ruining me.
He straddled me, pinning my wrists above my head again. “I’m not finished with you.” Lord whispered.
I stared up at him, tears still streaming. There was no fight left in me. I couldn’t even understand how his dick was still hard.
I closed my eyes and let him take whatever he needed from me. He was angry fucking me. I didn’t feel like the woman he used to love. I felt like I was nothing but a hole, a vessel for his anger, his hunger, his fucked-up aggression. Then he just pulled out again and stopped.
This time he was gentle when he entered me again. It was different. It was slower, loving, but somehow even more intense. He looked into my eyes the whole time, like he was searching for something. I held his gaze, refusing to look away, even when I came again, softer this time but no less consuming, amazing and nostalgic.
I had never been fucked like this. Afterward, he collapsed on top of me, his weight was heavy and comforting. We lay there for what felt like hours, bodies tangled, sweat drying on our skin.My tears had stopped, but the ache in my chest was worse than ever.
Lord rolled off me and lit a cigar, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. He didn’t say a word. Maybe he was waiting for me to break the silence.
I pulled the sheets up to cover myself, suddenly aware of how exposed I was. My voice was barely more than a whisper. “What now?”
He shrugged, a callous smile twisting his lips. “Now you go back to Maurizio.”
The words cut deeper than any wound he’d left on my skin.
