I bite my lip and nod again, vibrating with how much I need him to fuck me.
With another pleased hum, he straightens once more, pulls out completely, then slams home again on a moan.
I frown, confused when I feel nothing. I lift my head and look down, my mouth dropping in shock when I realize he’s inside the Fleshlight instead.
What the fuck?
“Fuck, your pussy feels so good,” he praises as his eyes roll with ecstasy. My core clenches in response, the emptiness almost painful.
I prop myself up on both elbows, staring at him in absolute disbelief.
“Dread,” I say, my tone somewhere between pleading and serious, begging him not to do what I realize he’s doing.
He doesn’t listen. Of course he doesn’t fucking listen.
Instead, he fucks the toy faster, his brow furrowed with pleasure as he stares down at his dick sliding in and out of the soft silicone.
“Fuck, Rev, I’ve missed this cunt wrapped around me so much.”
I snarl and go to slide out from beneath him, but his free hand flies to my hip, pinning me down, preventing me from moving.
“Dread, stop it,” I snap, my cheeks flushing with anger. Worse, a massive black hole forms in the pit of my stomach, hurt and mortification swirling within.
He ignores me and clamps his bottom lip between his teeth, slowly dragging it free as he quickens his pace.
Even as tears burn at the backs of my eyes, I can’t help but watch, a part of me enthralled by the sight of him fucking the Fleshlight. Between his swollen muscles causing the veins in his arms to protrude from his skin, the divot between his thick brows, and his lips parted around the delicious moans leaking from his throat, he looks like a goddamn masterpiece crafted in scientifically impossible circumstances.
No one should be that beautiful.
And it’s utterly cruel he’s forcing me to bear witness to it yet not allowing me to feel him too.
“Dread,” I growl, my voice shaking. “I get your point. You can stop now.”
He lifts his chin toward the ceiling and sends his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he continues tonot fucking stop.
He groans, and says breathlessly, “God, I hope you never make me go this long again. I’ve felt so fucking incomplete without you.”
The effect on my body is instantaneous and involuntary. My heart takes off and then flutters down to my stomach, as if it sprouted paper wings too weak to hold its weight, only for it to get caught up in the whirlpool in my stomach. I clench my jaw, hating him for so effortlessly saying the words I refused to. As if it’s just so goddamn easy.
But I hate him most for meaning it.
He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t.
I could convince myself he’s lying and only taunting me, but I know Dreadful Sharpe far too well, and I’ve seen him in almost every emotional state there is—except I’ve never seen him hurt. At least, not since we were kids, and certainly not because I left him.
But I see it now, hiding beneath his pleasure, driving him to fuck a toy instead of me.
I don’t know how to handle a hurt Dread, nor do I know how to feel about him professing something other than hatred for me.
Words bubble up my throat like shaken champagne, and though I try to swallow them back down, it’s like the cork pops free, and physics takes control.
“Then completeme,” I plead quietly.
My clit pulses painfully, as if to urge me to beg more—we’re in agony over here.
His eyes lift to mine, a thread of electricity connecting us. It’s always there. The farther we separate from one another, the thinner it becomes until it finally snaps, the buzzing ceases, and I feel… dead. Stagnant. It’s only when we’re close do I feel so alive.
Holding my stare, he deliberately pumps his hips forward, an indecipherable emotion written across his face, though it's quickly hidden behind his wrath.
