Even though my body aches from use, muscles sore from the unfamiliar positions of our coupling.
And perhaps the only way to trust him is to tell him the worst and let him prove he can hold those secrets. A proof I’ll never receive by holding back.
“Except I didn’t just leave school.” My throat is so tight I have to force out the breath necessary for my vocal cords to vibrate. “I took an overdose.”
The tears that always pour from me are suddenly absent. Zane touches me, hands linking behind my back, his movements cautious, like I’m so fragile I’ll break.
My voice falters, barely there. “But all I did was scare the hell out of my mother and damage my liver because I couldn’t even get that right.”
“Then thank fuck you’re useless at killing yourself.” His forehead touches against mine, hand raising to cup my cheek. I wait for the derision, for him to retreat but the seconds tick by, turning into minutes and he’s still there, a silent support.
“You’re not weak,” he finally whispers, his fingers moving from my cheek to cup the back of my skull, splaying wide. He stays for a moment, then grabs the camera and takes a shot.
I part my lips, ready to argue, and he jams two fingers inside to clamp my tongue, startling me so much I freeze as he takes another photograph, one-handed. “So beautiful.” He tears off the shot with his teeth, leaning over to drop it on the workbench while my mouth floods with saliva until I slowly, tentatively suck.
“A day after I hurt you worse than I’ve ever hurt anyone before, you refused to sign my contract.” Zane’s voice is calm, methodical. A scientist laying out his evidence. “Maddox said you put your foot down so firmly you didn’t even ask how much it was worth.”
The fingers inside my mouth tug at me, pressure increasing until I understand what he wants and drop to my knees.
Click. Snap. Whir.
Another photograph.
“When I published those images to shame you into keeping quiet, you stood in the hallway and yelled in my face.” Soft laughter gusts from his mouth, head gently shaking from side to side.
He swaps his fingers for his thumb, and I lave it with my tongue, licking at the rough pad as he captures another image.
“There are teachers at school who wouldn’t dare speak back to me, but you swore at me at the top of your lungs. Unzip me.”
I reach for him, undoing his fly, tugging his hard cock free of the thick denim and cotton briefs. He pumps his thumb into my mouth for a few seconds longer, eyes half-lidded with pleasure, then pulls it free with a pop, cupping my chin as he takes another photograph. Tugging it from the camera. Tossing it with the others.
When I chase the head of his cock, he clicks his tongue and guides me to my feet, folding me onto the bench. The irritation of his temporary denial makes me retort, “Being infuriated at an arsehole isn’t the same as being strong.”
He ignores me to tug at my underwear, stifling a groan as his thumbs rubs against me, finding me wet. Finding me ready.
“You show your art to people and risk them deriding the pieces of you that most people are sensible enough to keep hidden away inside. You think taking pills makes you weak?”
When I try to turn, he forces my head flat against the bench, resting the camera for a moment while he guides himself to my entrance, picking it up to take a photo as he rests there, barely inside, my muscles straining as though they can coax him deeper.
“Since the party, you’ve turned up to school every single day, and it was fucking torment for me to do that.” He rams inside me so hard he gets most of the way home with one stroke, my thighs taking the brunt of his forceful entry as they slam against the sharp edge of the bench.
My eyes close, overloaded with the sensation of him inside me, sore from being used so many times already, still craving more.
His words falter, the pressure against my head increasing until my cheek feels bruised by the unrelenting wooden surface. As unrelenting as the cock pounding into me, too much and too much and too much until like a switch flipping it’s nowhere close to being enough.
“It must be so much tougher for you.” His words are spoken in small clusters, timed to his thrusts. “I am in awe of how strong you are, even when it’s been a bloody inconvenience.”
A laugh tears out of me, brutal. Half my mind lost to pleasure. The other half still trying to win my argument.
He tosses the camera to the side, grabbing my hip instead, his other hand still firm against my cheek. “You’re not the only one who thought about ending everything. After my mother died, I used to stare at this branch that grows out over the river. Imagining a thousand times over how I could fix a rope, could swing there.”
“But you didn’t do it.”
“Not because I wasstrong. I just took it out on everybody else.”
His hand shifts, dragging me back against him by my throat, his other hand reaching for my pussy, stroking against me so gently while his cock still slams into me, so rough.
“There were months when I couldn’t feel a thing except anger, irritation. Then I was fucking you and felt this sense of connection. I finally felt like I belonged somewhere, was joined to someone. It was absolutely glorious.”
