I dropped it to the floor and took in his face. Smooth and clear, dark brows, a tattoo around the edge of his right eye in a half-moon shape, a scar crossing over that same eye, from his eyebrow to the bridge of his nose, leaving a thin gap in that eyebrow. He had tattoos lining his right jaw, up around his temple too, the same side that mask covered. Something identifiable.
I reached up and ran a finger over that marking around his eye, his eyes studying mine as if he were waiting for me to reject him. To leave. To beg him to stop. “What is it?” It looked like font, but it was so small, I couldn’t make it out.
His forehead fell back against mine. “I’ll tell you if you survive this.”
I laughed. “Survive you? Your pride is far too big.”
“No,” he panted. “This. Everything.” He adjusted his grip on my neck, tightening it, his other hand digging into my ass. “Don’t fucking move.” He pulled back and shoved himself to the hilt. His rhythm wasn’t forgiving. It was hard and fast and absolutely painful as the back of my knees dug into the edge of the counter, my head pressed against his, my nails scoring his skin. I felt as if I were being fucked by a goddamn robot, it was so hard, so fast, soperfect. It was almost inhuman, but it felt so fucking good too.
I felt that feeling build deep in my stomach, radiating through my entire body, everything tingling and on fire as if I had just been plugged into a telephone wire. Every slam was another shock of pleasure going straight to my fucking toes.
I couldn’t hold in the cries, the moans, the grunts as the sound of our slapping skin and heavy breathing filled the room. “I’m gonna cum,” I whimpered. “Fuck, Everett.”
He tightened his grip around my throat, cutting off my air supply. “Don’tsay that.”
My head was pounding, everything hurt, and everything felt good all at the same time. It was the best kind of pain. The only pain that mattered.
“I’m gonna…” I inhaled sharply and it exploded through me in hurricane of pleasure. I cried out his name, his thrusts getting more violent as his lips slammed against mine.
My body tightened against his, my legs shaking, my muscles tensing. I groaned into his mouth, sinking my teeth into his lip so hard, blood exploded across my tongue.
I groaned, my pussy throbbing, tightening around his cock, my head spinning. Fuck, it tasted so good. It tasted like life. It tasted like control. It tasted like—
Another one ripped through me, forcing me to pull away from him. “Fuck, Everett,” I whimpered, trembling against him.
He forced my eyes to meet his, wild and unforgiving. Hisbreathing was labored, his chin coated in blood now. He searched my eyes for several seconds before he spoke again. “Say it again,” he demanded, something in his own eyes shifting.
“Everett,” I breathed out, watching his eyes turn black with lust.
He shoved himself into me, his nails digging into me. “Fuck,again,” he ordered. “Like you mean it. Like only you could.”
I moaned, wrapping myself tightly around him, our eyes locked in a way that could never be broken. “Everett,” I breathed out.
He slammed into me like it was the last time his cock would ever fuck again.
“Oh, fuck, Everett,” I whined desperately.
He groaned my name in a way I had never heard it said before. There was a look in his eyes that I couldn’t quite decipher. Realization, rage, lust, need. Shame.
Why was there shame?
His forehead fell against mine, both of us breathing hard, shaking, our hands digging into each other painfully. My eyes fell shut, exhaustion sweeping over me in waves.
I needed water. I needed rest. I needed to get away from him.
But I wanted to stay. I wanted to stay in his arms. I wanted to never leave this moment. Ever.
A few seconds passed and his hand forced my head back, my tired eyes meeting his. Hard and unforgiving. The normal Everett back in action. “Your payment is complete,” he said bitterly, his tone sounding like something inside of him had died.
He pulled out of me unforgivingly, giving me just enough time to scramble back onto the counter before he turned, grabbed his mask, and left the room without another word, leaving me on the counter in his kitchen, covered in sweat, blood, wax, and cum.
The drugs, or whatever it was he had given me, wore off assoon as the door shut behind him.
Either that or my shame was enough to overpower whatever aftereffects it had.
Because I felt it. I felt shame on an entirely different level now. Shame and rage.
Absolute, brutal rage.
