“Yes.”
“Good girls say ‘please.’”
“I don’t want to be good.”
“No? Then you’ll get fucked like a bad girl.” He dropped the sponge and twisted the shower taps, turning off the water.
“But…”
He threw open the shower door and pointed at the entrance to his bedroom. “Bed. Now.”
She didn’t even have a chance to admire his bed furnishings. Michael followed her into the room and gently thrust her to the bed. Dripping wet, like Poseidon on a rampage, he reached into his bedside table and produced a condom. His hands jerky, he unwrapped it and rolled it on. Emily didn’t wait for him to part her legs. She opened wide and he sank between them, cursing like a devil. He thrust inside her, hitting her at an angle that made her eyes roll back in her head.
“Jesus!”
“I don’t think he’s coming to your rescue.”
Michael took her hard and fast, plumbing deep, scoring all her vulnerabilities. A crushing wave reduced her body to limp nerves as she came, clinging to him, digging her nails into his skin.
“That’s it. Scratch me, baby.” He took her until she was spent, until she was ready to sleep where she fell, the edge of the bed as her pillow.
He still hadn’t come.
As he continued to use her body for his own pleasure, she shivered from the cold. Not even close to being dry, she threw her arms around his shoulders and held him close. Wrapped around him, she shut her eyes and tried to absorb all his heat and his exuberance. A warm tingle crept from her belly into her chest. His ass tightened and his voice transformed into a guttural war cry. When he came, he buried his face in the crook of her shoulder and murmured.
“Emily. You’re mine.”
Biting back the lump in her throat, she stifled her own cry. She wanted to be his, she really did. She wanted to give him her loyalty and trust, but she needed him to offer it in return and talk about the things that worried him.
Without his honesty, without his trust, she wasn’t sure their affair would ever be more than a frenzy of thoughtless need.
***
A strange noise dragged Emily from her slumber. The faint groan reminded her of a wounded animal. For a moment, as she blinked a few times to drag herself into a state of alertness, she thought she’d wandered outside and encountered a dog at the side of the road. Had the poor thing been hit by a car?
The fog in her head cleared and she remembered she was in bed, Michael’s bed. She rolled over. He wasn’t there. Seized by strange panic, she sat up. Although they’d only slept together a handful of times, waking up without him lying next to her was starting to become a regular occurrence.
The noise sounded again from the far side of the room, only this time it took the form of a shout.
“Stop! Don’t hurt them.”
“Michael?” She fumbled for the switch to the bedside table light and turned it on.
He sat curled up in the corner of the room, naked and mumbling. She couldn’t tell what he was saying, but his plaintive tones made it clear he was having a nightmare. He’d wrapped his arms around his head and she couldn’t see his face. She could, however, see a scrap of white paper in his closed fist.
She threw her legs out of the bed and stood quietly, wincing when her feet made the hardwood floor creak. Not wishing to startle him, she took cautious steps. “Michael, I’m here.”
His pained voice emanated from the crook of his elbow. “Can’t let him hurt them. Can’t let him hurt…”
She brushed her fingers against his arm.
Red, wild eyes greeted her.
“It’s just me, Emily.”
“Em?”
Tears sprang to her eyes as she pondered him alone in the dark. If she’d heard him sooner, she might have been able to spare him a few moments of torment.
