Both his legs came beside my knees as he supported me, relieving me of the stress of keeping myself up with half my stomach, my whole chest, and my head pressed to the bed, and my ass in the air, my back arched perfectly.
I felt him behind me, his length between my ass cheeks while his hand rubbed up and down my slit, tantalizing me, making me forget that this was the first time in a really longtime that I was going into this position for any man, that this was the first time doing this of my own free will.
My hands gripped the sheets as he positioned his cock at my entrance—Fuck, I wasn’t sure I still had another orgasm in me to give, but I could feel a dull throbbing in my clit, a tiny flipping in my stomach; I was still getting wet, glistening for him, aroused by him, his grip on my hair, the hotness of his skin on my thighs. When he slowly entered me, I pressed my eyes closed, a whimper falling from my lips as I clenched around him. He was so damn deep inside me, so fucking thick and warm, so good; he felt so good I wanted to cry.
His hand caressed my waist before holding me firm, pulling back a bit and thrusting into me again, dragging out another moan and a grunt. His pace was fast and slow at first, his pelvis slapping against my ass, the sound making the pleasure feel erotically painful.
I wanted to come, but I knew I couldn’t. I cried out moans as his pace grew faster, his cock stretching my walls, going deep, hitting me where I always came undone, sending waves of pleasure up and down my spine, causing a small tear to fall from my eye, which fought to stay open.
His cock was like sugar, too fucking sweet to comprehend. He was too much but I couldn’t bring myself to complain because I liked it; I liked him, I liked the pleasure and the pain that he supplied me, I liked the way he handled me and owned me, I liked it too fucking much.
His grip tightened on my hair, and my nipples brushed against the mattress, a stimulation of its own making.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck…” Words like sobs were leaving my lips, and his name was falling from my tongue like water. I was pulsing, my eyes filling up, my heart racing as I felt it, another orgasm tightening my stomach, driving in a shiver.
“Zahra.”He breathed my name like he was worshipping every syllable with a moan. Drawled to show how much he loved being inside me.
I was falling deeper and deeper as his pace grew harder and faster, falling sloppy and shorter. I knew he was close—and after four hard thrusts, hot cum coated my walls, triggering another orgasm from me, the third one tonight. Even with his support, my thighs gave out, and my breathing became gasps; I was weak everywhere, my bones were no longer bones, and sleep clouded my vision as he slipped out of me.
I felt his lips on my neck. He turned me over, his palm running up my stomach, past the swell of my breast, and then to the side of my face as he brought his lips down to mine.
I kissed him back just as softly as he kissed me.
When we broke away, his eyes searched mine as he said softly, “Hello.”
I smiled. “Hi.”
His thumb tenderly brushed the corner of my lips. “You did very good,” he said, wiping the sides of my eyes.
“I think you broke me,” I said with a lazy but sated grin.
His thumb moved to my bottom lip, brushing softly. “A good kind of break?”
I nodded.
He smiled—or I think he did; sleep was within my reach.
He dropped to my side, but his elbow remained on the bed, propping himself up, his fist to the side of his head while his other hand came to my stomach; he dragged his knuckles slowly to the side. The softness in his touch gave me goose bumps.
When his fingers settled on a scar I knew all too well, I shut my eyes.
“Who did this?” he asked. “Someone cut you?”
“Yes, training. Vitale. I was sixteen, and it hurt like a bitch.” I chuckled softly, and his fingers trailed to another one; I knew what it looked like, a small round scar from a burn. It mainly looked like my skin now, but odd.
“What about this?”
“Fifteen, the man I was sold to… I didn’t really last long as a sex worker before I was sold… roughly two years.”
“How did it happen?”
I kept my eyes closed. “He only arrived on certain nights—mostly he would just want me to blow him; he didn’t have sex with me—well, until that night… When he was done, he lit a cigarette, asked me to stay there while he blew it into my face for some sick reason, and then he pressed the lit end to my skin and said it was a mistake, he’d thought he kept the ashtray somewhere close. I only winced, even though it burned.”
“And this man, what was his name?”
I managed a shrug. “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Manuel killed him the day he rescued me.” I sighed. “It was my first time seeing a massacre of that magnitude.”
Elio’s hand brushed the surface of my skin. “Did Manuel cause any of these scars?”
