I’m not sure how to stop her.
I’m not sure I even want to try.
I’m the one who’s bound us together like this. If it weren’t for the handcuffs, I could easily pull my arm out of her reach. But I don’t – I can’t. So when she rolls onto her side towards me, I don’t do anything at all. My arm isn’t bent at the elbow this time. It’s laying flat on the bed. When she wriggles closer and goes halfway onto her stomach, hitching her thigh up, my hand is right fucking there. Against her pussy.
I can’t imagine we’ll be like this for long. With her own arm bound to mine and now trapped under her body, it’s going to go numb. I wait for that discomfort to jostle her into a new position, but it doesn’t. Not yet, at least.
My breathing is harsh and uneven. My knuckles are pressed against her there. My dick throbs and goes steel-fucking-hard.
I cup myself with my free hand and barely hold back a groan. Fucking Christ almighty.
I want to fuck her like I’ve never wanted anything or anyone in my life.
And I don’t want to fuck her at all. It’s almost laughable, how a part of me knows she needs to be protected and, frankly, to be kept away from men like me. And another part, a writhing, hungry, monstrous part, doesn’t care at all. Doesn’t care about anything besides fisting her hair and ramming myself inside her. Defiling her.
The only two women I’ve ever fucked were both professionals. They were fully prepared and consenting. They were ready for my rough dominance, my savage thrusts, the red marks I left behind. And they were compensated exceptionally well. So well that both of them tried for ages to get me to book their services again.
They both came, too. Several times over.
But I’m not thinking of them now. I’m thinking of Aurora. Aurora whose hot little cunt is only one layer of fabric from my skin.
I wonder if she’s a virgin.
I wonder if she’d bleed for me.
My dick throbs. My teeth grind. The thought of Aurora bleeding is even worse than her crying. But somehow, it’s still arousing beyond belief. Thinking of her little pussy weeping blood onto my claiming cock.
Fuck.
Fumbling so hard I nearly drop the key, I shove her thigh off of me and unlatch myself from the cuffs. She doesn’t wake up, only makes a tiny, sleepy moan of complaint that I feel rather than hear. It gets under my skin, makes my blood race in my veins. And in my cock.
I close and lock the bathroom door, knowing that, unlike someone like me, she won’t be able to get through it from the other side. I pull myself free from my clothing, feeling the hot, thick pulse of my arousal in my own hand.
I can’t even remember the last time I jerked off.
But that’s what I’ve been reduced to now, apparently. Maybe it’ll help clear my fucking head.
I do it in the shower, my grip swift and merciless. I don’t turn on the water or use anything for lubrication, preferring the near-painful friction of my calloused fist. This shouldn’t feel good. This should be nothing but a physical release so I can be around her without losing my goddamn mind.
It doesn’t take long to accomplish. I need only think of her weight against me in the bed, of her so innocently drawing my hand between her legs in her sleep, for come to shoot out of me like a geyser. I paint the shower tiles with it, my balls heavy and tight, my dick jerking in my hold. My breath saws in and out of me.
I don’t feel fucking better. My head? Yeah, not cleared out at all. Because I know that Aurora will still be out there, her sleeping body waiting for me in that bed, when I return. And she will be every night from now on.
Maybe I don’t just like torturing other people.
Maybe my true goal is to torture my fucking self.
I turn on the shower, watching as my foul desire for her runs down the drain. But even though it’s been rinsed from the tile, it hasn’t been washed out of me. I don’t think there’s any way to strip the lust out of the twisted devotion I feel for her. I wish I could go back to feeling the way about her that I did when I was eight, or even eighteen. Love her the way a monk or priest might love his god. Something as close to purity as I am capable of.
But there’s no point in wishing. Just like Aurora said.
Nothing comes true unless you fucking make it so.
Chapter 10
Aurora
When I wake up the next morning, I’m the only one in the bed. The handcuffs are gone. I hear the flush of the toilet and the tap briefly running. I guess he’ll leave me alone long enough to go pee, I think with a roll of my eyes. As long as I’m sleeping, anyway.
