“Take what you need,” I told her, answering the question written on her face. “You’re in control tonight. I’m yours.”
“Mine,” she repeated, as if the mere idea was completely foreign to her.
“Yours.” I dug my fingers through her hair as I slowly pulsed against her.
The feel of her heat against my erection drove me fucking crazy with the need to slam into her. But this wasn’t about what I needed. It was about what she needed.
As much as I typically loathed not being in control, I didn’t hate this. In fact, the idea of being able to give this to her, to give her some semblance of control when she’d held so little for so long turned me on more than I thought possible.
“That’s it, baby. Use me. Grind yourself all over me. Make yourself feel good.”
Her only response was a moan as she moved faster and faster against me, her mouth less than a breath from mine, lips still parted as she chased her pleasure.
Within seconds, I felt her body tense, her breaths growing shallow.
“Let go, baby. I know you want to. Know you’re close. So rub that cunt over me and get yourself off.”
I expected her to do just that.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she straightened, her motions stilling as her heavy pants echoed in the room. She didn’t move for several protracted moments. Just stared at me as she tried to catch her breath. I wondered if this was her way of punishing herself for what she’d done. If she was intentionally depriving herself of her release as retribution.
I didn’t want her to do that. Didn’t want her to think she deserved that.
“It’s okay, Ariana,” I said, bringing my hand to her face and cradling her cheek. “Don’t punish yourself. Let yourself feel good. Let yourself feel me.”
I moved a hand to her hip, and slowly moved her against me. Her eyes fluttered into the back of her head as a tiny whimper escaped her lips. I could physically feel her torment. How she wanted to feel something good but didn’t think she deserved it.
“Feel me, baby. I know you want to. Take what you want. What you need.”
She opened her eyes. This time, they weren’t vacant like they were minutes ago. Instead, there was a spark of something. It wasn’t the same vitality and life I’d grown accustomed to. But there was a small flame.
After tonight, I’d take it.
Still not saying a single word, she raised herself slightly as she wrapped her hand around my erection. Then she lowered herself onto me. I had to fight the urge to moan as she enveloped me, inch by incredible inch.
She moved slowly at first. Testing. Reclaiming. I let her take control. Let her set the pace. There was something almost sacred about the way she moved. Something defiant.
Victor had used her body and tried to convince her it belonged to him.
And as she moved against me, I felt her take it back, reclaim it as her own. Reclaim everything he’d stolen from her. Her autonomy. Her independence. Her self-worth.
This wasn’t just about the misplaced blame for taking his life.
This was about everything she’d endured. The abuse. The mind games. The isolation.
She’d never allowed herself to fully come to terms with any of it. Never allowed herself to truly feel. But now she was free and everything she’d been forced to suppress was finally bubbling to the surface.
“That’s right, baby,” I said as she pressed her hands against my chest, using me to steady herself. “Take what you want.”
She closed her eyes, her motions growing urgent, her lower lip quivering as she fought to keep everything locked inside once more. But if she did that, it would only continue to fester. I knew from experience. After I’d killed my father, I went through the same thing.
For years, I’d been forced to keep my emotions hidden for fear he’d use them against me. When I’d finally done what I’d only imagined, I didn’t know how to let myself feel anymore.
In a way, I still didn’t.
“Don’t hold it in. Let it out. Let me feel what you feel. Your hurt. Your anger. Your pain. You don’t have to pretend anymore. Don’t have to be scared to feel anymore.”
