Thrust.
“Mine to use.”
Thrust.
“Mine to fuckin’own.”
Thrust.
Each painful collision he makes into my cervix, I see stars. Tears stream down my cheeks and into my hair, causing the strands to stick to the red silk pillowcase. My back slides along the silk. Every time my body gets too far for his liking, he yanks me back with brute force.
His hands release my arms, then he grabs my hips in a bruising hold. His fingers dig into my freshly cut skin. He pulls me down onto his cock like I’m here for his pleasure alone; what I want is irrelevant. I wince at his rough handling. His hands make no move to be gentle. He has no understanding of the word. He’s driven by a madness I don’t understand.
My brain is screaming at me to fight, but my body has other plans. My orgasm builds within my center, and he hasn’t even laid a finger on my clit. The way he’s positioned, his pelvis is doing all the work. My pussy is on fire from his size, and I thrash. He stretches me to my limits. He gets to his knees once he sees I’m close, the mattress dipping from his weight. His hand is covered in my blood from cutting me.
“Zain.” His name leaves my lips in a silent prayer. I’m not sure if I’m begging him to stop or to let me come.
His fingers grip my neck, and I gasp for air. He doesn’t linger, instead he paints crimson down my neck, collarbone, and stomach until he reaches my clit. He pinches it, mixing his cum against my swollen pussy. Daringly, I look down to where we are connected. He’s frenzied, untamed, and utterly huge.
I get so lost in the frisson of pleasure; I grab at his shirt and try to free it from his body. He slaps my cheek. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me,” he growls, pistoning into me with a punishing pace. His hands bruise my delicate skin.
My climax is at its pinnacle—on the verge of explosion from being slapped? It makes no sense in my logical mind. Before I can careen over the edge, his thrusts become erratic. His hand shoves my face into the silk pillow. He grunts, and then I feel it. The hot liquid filling my insides, seeping into my soul to ruin me for any other man. Not because I want him to, but because I know no one else will ever compare to this sick pleasure only he can dole out. And somehow, I’m addicted to the sickness…
I whimper.
“You don’t come unless I tell you to. You are mine to control,” he says in an authoritative tone.
He came…and denied me…
Sex doesn’t appeal to me. Never has. Unless it’s her. For some fuckin’ reason, my demons calm my racing mind when she’s at play. Never been one to cuddle after a fuck either. Not that I’m the type. Fuck that. Can never kick a bitch out fast enough.
How I end up passed out next to her rattles me to my core. Never slept with anyone. Being touched is something I loathe. So when I wake up hours later in the darkness to her body curled against my core, I almost fuckin’ lose it. Her warm body melds into my side as if she was made to be there. Clearly, she was tired after how hard I worked her. Sleep eludes me most nights. My only reasoning is my mind finally broke down and stopped fighting.
Our bodies are covered in bruises and blood. Something flips inside of me, and I am overcome with a strange urge to…protect?
I scoff. No. Ruin. Destroy. Break.
All of those things I gain pleasure from. My eyes skim over her half-naked form. The fire casts a dull glow over her battered body. Blood coats her precious skin. Looks like a fuckin’ bloodbath. Sweat, blood, and cum. My favorite combination with her. Her panties are torn andhardly cover her cunt, a casualty to my brutality. Her oversize T-shirt hangs off her shoulders, exposing her nipples through the fabric.
A strange emotion bubbles to the surface. Not sure what the fuck it is. I quickly drown it out because, fuck that.
I find myself stroking her dark strands away from her face so I can see her better. A sense of accomplishment fills my insides knowing she’s ruined for any other man. Can’t wait for Pearson to find out his daughter wasmycum slut.
Her breathing comes in short waves; she’s on the verge of waking up. Her plush lips are still swollen. For a split second, I imagine her on her knees and those lips wrapped around my cock like an obedient little thing.
Outside, rain slams against the windows. Her balcony door is still ajar, so the sound soothes her back to sleep.
I should leave. No reason to stay. I got my pleasure but denied hers. She needs to earn that shit. It isn’t about her. Her happiness means shit to me.
Something about that thought doesn’t sit right with me. Why the fuck would I care if she’s happy? Sure, she’s a prisoner to her father. Not my fuckin’ problem, right? In a sense, I’m uncloaking the world she’s been hidden away from. After I break her, she’ll be different. No longer his puppet to control and mold to his selfish desires.
I stroke lazy circles over her collarbone. Her very existence torments me. A strange sense of contentment settled within me, and I drift back to sleep with her in my arms.
***
Hands roam over my stomach and I flinch. Hate bein’ touched. The scent of her dewy body plays tricks on my mind. Ain’t no way she’s here with me. Soft, delicate nails drag over my scars. I jolt from my sleep-inducedhaze and find her kneeling before me on the end of the bed. Her hand roves under my baggy T-shirt. I grab her wrist, halting her efforts. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me. Ever,” I say coldly.
Her green eyes flicker with hurt, and she sheds a stray tear. That strange fuckin’ feeling pushes forward, and I don’t like it. Something I’ve never felt before. Tears make me hard. Tears fulfill me. So what the fuck?
