Her pretty puckered pink asshole taunts me as I take in her beautiful, dripping pussy. My darling cries out at the pressure of having all of her weight on her upper arms. She may cry for me, but it’s her insanity that craves my monster. My beast loves to cause her pain, and she loves to take it.
I slide into her from behind, not surprised at how wet she is for me. My whore of a wife loves some degradation, and while I began this evening desperate for an assault, I find my messy thrusts into her creamy wet channel aren’t fulfilling my monster the way he needs it to.
Sliding into her tight hole sends those shivers up my back that usually have my balls drawing up and tightening for release. I thrust a few more times and realize that while my wife is the hottest fuck of my life, all ducktaped and tied up, having her arms all stuck together and wrapped up means I can’t feel themaround me. It’s like I’ve limited myself from her, and I can’t seem to find my release because of it.
I fuck in and out of her dripping hole, speeding up to turn this into a violent fuck, but when I go to slide my thumb into her beautifully pink puckered asshole, I can’t find my sweet release.
It’s like I’m chasing it, finding the pinch at my side is driving my mind elsewhere. I feel like I can't get deep enough in her. I can't get close enough to find my release, to find my safety.
Pulling out and throwing her around onto her back again, I watch the tears roll down her face, and I realize with clarity, suddenly, that it isn’t her pain I need.
It’s her arms and her tenderness.
Maybe tonight, with my exhaustion and my pain, I need to be in her, need to have her smell surround me. I need my darling wife, and for once, I don’t need her pain. I need to rest while inside her as she’s wrapped around my body.
For once, I don’t need her to be at the hands of my destruction; I need the one thing she’s been trying to give me, that time and time again I’ve refused. I need her tenderness more than I need her undoing.
I push off the bed, unsteady on my feet, as the room tilts just enough to make me catch myself on the bedpost. My side burns where Douglass’s blade caught me, but I try not to care. What I’m looking for is the knife I always keep at my waistband, the one I dropped when I stripped out of my clothes.
I find it half-buried under the mess—my shirt crumpled, cufflinks scattered, along with my money clip, which I inherited from my grandfather. The familiar weight grounds me as I curl my hand around the handle of my knife. I return to her, slowly, the faint rasp of metal filling the silence as I draw the blade free from its sheath.
Her eyes widen, but I’m already leaning over her, the knife angled near her face. The emeralds at her neck glowing inthe moonlight. I drag the edge carefully through the duct tape binding her mouth, the tension snapping loose with a sharp rip.
“Don’t say a fucking word, baby,” I grit out through clenched teeth. Caressing her cheeks after I slowly pull the tape off.
“I’ll explain everything in the morning, but tonight I need you, and I need you to be quiet while I find myself in you,” I pant, losing the remainder of my strength.
I move to release her hands and slice through the tape quickly, darkly thinking of how fun it would be to graze her skin with my knife until beautiful red ruby drops of blood rush to the surface for me to lick.
Her arms fall open, and I take a moment to smooth my fingers over the faint marks the tape left behind, pressing my lips to her skin as if sealing over what I just inflicted.
“You’re mine,” I murmur against her wrist, the taste of her salt and warmth mixing with the iron tang of my own blood from my side that covers my palms. “Always mine.”
Releasing her feet from the tape, I pause a moment to rub life back into them.
“Be silent, darling,” I rasp, as I fall to the bed beside her and pull her to my chest, sliding her on top of my massive form.
She nods as she settles on my chest, her toned legs straddling my waist.
I reach between us, sliding my cock into her still hot and dripping channel, fucking up and into her so slowly she releases the faintest of whispers.
I hold her against me, skin to skin, and it strikes me that no prize could ever measure up to her worth.
Her arms slip around me, and I shudder, dragging her closer, finally letting myself take comfort in the frailty of her embrace. She moans softly, and I wind my arms around hers, holding her so tightly against my bloodied chest it’s almost too much, desperate to drown myself in her scent.
The arms I would usually shove away and bind are, for once, wrapped so tightly around me that I feel as though I’m the one caught in the vice. And in that grip, she shows me how she feels—holding me close, letting one hand drift up my neck before tugging lightly at the hair at the back of my head.
I shiver from the tenderness in her touch.
In and out I thrust, and within minutes, she’s tightening on my cock, her walls fluttering around me as she lets out a long moan on her release.
And I find it in the smell of her apple and honey-scented hair. I find it in the taste of her skin as I kiss and lick her neck around her emerald collar. I find it as I feel the weight of her body on mine, telling me she’s here. She’s safe. In her, I find my release. I pump it into her, moaning out her name as I fall asleep, my cock still hard inside of her as we both drift off.
Martine Lilian Herron
I wake to cold sheets. His side of the bed is empty, but the memories of last night are still fresh in my mind. Panic shoots through me before I can think, before I can reason. I throw the covers back and hurry to my feet, heart hammering as I rush from the room to the large walk-in closet to throw on a long nightgown and dressing robe.
Ford could be here, and I can’t seem to get downstairs quickly enough. Forgoing my slippers without hesitation, I rush to leave, desperate to see if Hayden brought my brother back.
