“You’re starving for me,” he said, his face set into a sneer.
She nodded, and began to work his belt free.
“I knew I would see you on your knees for me one day, Heather. And now here you are, begging. Starving for it, aren’t you?”
Where was her pride?
It was gone. He would be the one begging later—she would be sure of it—but for now it was her turn, and she would accept it. She would revel in the humiliation, because it was hers and hers alone. Because this was their great and terrible shame, and so while they could dole it out to one another, they would also both have to live fully in the consequences of it.
She let him guide her down to her knees as he opened the closure on his pants. As he let his hard cock free, the sight of him, a sight she had only been teased with before, that night when he had been wearing a towel and she had seen that he was hard for her, made her mouth water.
“You always have so much to say. Perhaps you will find your mouth better occupied now.”
He thrust his hips forward, pressing the head of his arousal to her lips, and she took him in greedily, the first taste of him on her tongue sending her off into a spiral. She choked on him, gladly. Took him in as deeply as possible as he thrust his hips in time with the movements, touching the back of her throat.
And then he pulled himself away from her, his hand shaking, for all her shame. Because she might be the one on her knees, but he was the one on edge. She wiped the tears off her cheeks and stood up slowly, unzipping her skirt and kicking it away, slipping her panties off and being careful not to catch the fine lace fabric on her high heel. She had on nothing but those shoes, and the long pearl necklace she put on this morning. She lifted the necklace up and caught it between her teeth, watching as color mounted in his face. All the muscles in his body tense, on red alert.
“You’re begging to be fucked,” he said.
“And you’re begging to fuck me.”
He growled, and closed the distance between them, lifting her up and laying her down across the long table. That site of all those family dinners. And here it was, this perfect mockery of the familial connection that they had never been able to feel. Only hatred, mingled with extreme desire. Extreme need. All of it playing out now, in the most decadent way. Then he pulled her up to the edge of the table, lowered himself to his knees and buried his face between her legs. It was not a slow seduction. He began to consume her. Like all the hunger, all the anger of the past decade had suddenly burst inside of him, leaving him feral. He pushed two fingers inside of her, the stretching feeling making her gasp as he thrust deep and hard, his tongue playing over her clit as he tormented her. As he pushed the desire up to unbearable heights in her body. Until her orgasm broke over her like a wave, and she cried out his name, leaving deep grooves in his shoulders with her nails.
And that was fitting. Because that was the way it was between them. So much pain, so much need. The pleasure was blinding, though the cost seemed worth it. So very worth it.
“I need you,” he ground out, climbing up onto the table, and kissing her mouth, letting her taste evidence of her own arousal as he hooked her leg up over his hip and thrust deep inside of her with no quarter.
This was not making love.
But she had never believed that they would.
The need was far too sharp, far too intense. He claimed her, the brutality of it beautiful, at least to her. She was lost in it. Everything they were. In everything happening. The glide of his cock inside of her, this closeness that felt far more like torture than intimacy of any kind.
And when she came again, it was like she had gone somewhere else. Years and years of pent-up need all folding in on itself and taking her somewhere beyond her body.
He gripped her hips, his hold bruising as he came hard, spilling himself deep inside of her, the hot pulsing setting off another aftershock in her own body.
It was like a storm had passed through, passed through them, passed through the room. It was like everything she had ever wanted, and ever feared, had come to pass all in one moment. It was done. They were done.
She could finally breathe again. It was like she had exorcised the demon that had been inside of her for the last thirteen years. And now it was gone. Everything was gone. She could go on with her life; she could go on.
“I’m going to pack my things,” she said, sitting up on the table, still naked, resting on her forearms.
He was already up, pushing his black hair back into place, looking remote and untouchable, as though he hadn’t just been inside of her.
“No need to hurry.”
“There is,” she said. “There’s no need for us to see each other again.”
His eyes locked on hers. “No. There isn’t.”
She wondered then, what she was supposed to say.Goodbyefelt like such a whimper after all that roar. Bland and meaningless. So she said nothing. She got dressed, while he stood there watching her as he had always done. With that vague air of distaste. That superiority.
He wasn’t better than her. He had been a slave to the exact same feelings that she was. He wasn’t better.
She wasn’t great.
But at least it was finally over.
