“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants hoarsely, his lips moving over mine, just out of reach.
He slams into me a final time, followed by a series of loud, staccato moans. He grinds his pelvis against mine while his hands grapple with different parts of my body, as if he’s looking for something to keep him grounded and failing miserably.
And I’m glad for it. He doesn’t get to stay rooted while I fly through the stars.
His forehead rests against mine as we both seize as our cries engage in a war of their own, fighting to drown out the other.
The orgasm ebbs just as my voice gives out. He captures the last outcry with his lips, sweeping me away in another dizzying kiss. It ends too soon, though part of me is thankful. I can’t fucking breathe, and even as my chest heaves, my lungs feel too tight to inhale properly.
By the time I come down completely, I’m lightheaded, and my head feels like it’s filled with a swarm of bees.
Dread slumps forward, head bowed on my shoulder, his hands back to caging me in at my hips. Not even a second later, his alarm goes off, indicating the ten minutes are complete.
I’m too focused on recovering to feel relief, but it exists somewhere beyond the hum of bliss beneath the surface of my skin.
Dread shuts off the alarm then pulls out with a grunt, a rush of liquid instantly drenching my inner thighs. The silence is loud, but my thoughts have no trouble speaking up now that clarity is setting in.
Sweat and ash dirty our hair and coat various parts of our bodies. I look at my naked skin, finding small gray handprints over my breasts, along with streaks of gray all over my thighs. I’m positive the ash also covers the entire backside of my body. A lump rises in my throat, but I quickly shove those thoughts away before I panic.
Instead, I focus on a different reason to lose my mind.
For the third time, he manipulated me into sleeping with him. The first two times, I tried to convince myself I didn’t enjoy it. This time, I’m having trouble convincing myself it wasn’t so much more than just sex.
To make it worse, I told him something I’ve refused to confess to myself for years. From the first time I fell victim to those invasive thoughts of Dread while masturbating, I instantly pushed what I had done out of my head and refused to think about it. At least until the next time rolled around, and it happened again.
And again, and again.
I wouldn’t allow myself to consider what it meant or why he affected me that way. It was a secret I kept even from myself, and blabbing it to Dread is making it very hard to go back to pretending this dark side of me that only comes out when I’m alone doesn’t exist.
By the time I force myself from my quickly unraveling mind, Dread has already righted his joggers and pulled his hoodie back on.
I bite my lip and wrap my arms around my breasts, feeling awkward, mortified, and full of hope that he assumes everything I said was all a lie to make him come and never bring it up again.
I’m desperate to redress, yet I’m paralyzed, hoping he just leaves.
He bends to scoop up my clothes, and when he straightens, our eyes meet, and my hope fizzles out like a firecracker.
Instantly, I drop my gaze as my face heats. I’m too embarrassed to hold it, and I think I’d rather crawl farther inside the chamber and die than talk about what just happened.
I’m naked, covered in human fucking remains, and have his cum coating the inside of my thighs. I’m already at rock bottom, but Dread loves digging holes and shoving me further down when I thought I wasat my lowest.
“When was the last time?” he asks quietly, tossing my clothes at my chest. I’m instantly grateful to have some coverage from his probing stare.
“I think you got enough from me tonight, don’t you?” I mutter, pointedly avoiding his gaze and brushing ash from my thigh. I only smudge more onto my skin.
“I’ll never get enough,” he retorts. I clench my teeth, hating how that makes my stomach flip.
“Answer the question, Rev.” His voice deepens in warning, and while I hate to obey him, I’m also really fucking exhausted and just want him to leave.
At least then, I can have some peace and fucking quiet while I wallow in my own self-loathing before calling an Uber to take me back to my dorm. Fuck staying at Dread's—I can't stand to sleep in his bed without him anymore. If Rogue wants to sleep outside the door again, the hallway in my building isn't any different than in Dread's.
More than anything, I’m desperate for a scalding hot shower and my bed.
“After you left me in the hotel,” I answer quickly, my tone hardened with impatience and annoyance. “You got a picture memorializing it, remember?”
Which I really fucking wish I didn't send now. Clearly, I lost my damn mind.
“How often?”
