Page 117 of Two Sides of Sin

The air left my lungs in a panic. The entire room went dead silent as I waited with anticipation for his next move.

Something freezing, solid, and completely alien pressed against my opening. My nervous system short-circuited at the sensation. I froze, my entire body locking at the shock of the proposition, my brain refusing to comprehend the reality of what he was trying to do to me—he was going to do it. He was going to fuck me with a cucumber. My lunch for tomorrow, to be exact. No turkey sandwiches for me, I guess.

It was wider than Julian, a dense, unyielding girth that stretched my already tender flesh to its absolute limit. A hot flare of pain scorched through me for a single heartbeat, but as it settled, it mutated into something intoxicatingly depraved—a sensation completely detached from anything I had ever experienced.

He began to work the length into me. The silence of the kitchen was disturbed by the sounds of my own undoing. Every time he drove it inside me and dragged it back to the brink, my eyes all but rolled into the back of my head. I was a casualty of my own anatomy—drowning in a cocktail of profound psychological confusion and a shameful, raging arousal that I couldn't contain or control.

It was humiliating, yet beneath the uncomfortableness of the unknown, my resistance began to dissolve.

My hips instinctively started to tilt back to meet the hard, heavy thrusts of the intrusion. I gave up, letting him hollow me out while the evidence of my surrender puddled on the floor beneath my trembling feet.

Oh my god. My thoughts shattered, completely corrupted.

I could feel his undeniably rock-hard cock stabbing into my back, jerking in reaction to my movements.

I tried to arch away, but his chest came down like a vice, pinning me helplessly against the slab. He rammed it into me over and over, the pressure merciless and unyielding.

A wave of shame flooded my chest at how eagerly my flesh welcomed the midnight ambush. I was practically screaming into his palm, my pelvis blindly seeking the next brutal impact as his hand remained locked over my face, trapping my desperate, ragged moans against my own teeth.

He was subduing me, taking what he wanted without a word, drowning me in a perverted submission.

My climax built with a vicious intensity. I squeezed my eyes shut in anticipation, tears of overwhelming gratification leaking into his palm as I finally let myself go. My muscles spasmed uncontrollably around the thick intrusion as I fell forwards, dissolving against the countertop, trying to process what he was putting me through—unsure if I wanted to kiss or punch him for it.

He didn't stop right away. Even as it became too much, he held me captive through every single second of the euphoria, driving into the pulsing aftermath of my orgasm, dragging it out as long as possible before he abruptly ripped it out of me.

The instant it left my body, the heavy leather around my wrists loosened as he uncoiled his belt and ripped it away. The palm covering my mouth vanished, and the grip on my arms finally released.

The sudden absence was an immediate shock.

I tried to get up but slumped against the stone, my thighs shaking so much they could no longer support my own weight. I rested my cheek against the smooth surface, my chest heaving as I dragged in frantic gasps of oxygen trying to gain back control of my body. My mind was a mess and my skin still humming with the aftershocks of the most confusing release of my life.

I’ve never been used in such a way before, It took me a full minute to remember how to breathe, let alone find my voice to speak.

“Looks like…” I rasped, my throat dry, a breathless, exhausted laugh bubbling past my lips as I slowly pushed myself up. “Looks like we both woke up with the same idea.”

There was no reply.

I frowned, pulling the t-shirt back down my thighs as I slowly turned around.

“Julian?” I whispered into the dark.

The kitchen was empty.

A strange, cold shiver unrelated to the mountain air skittered down my spine. I stood alone in the moonlight, staring at the empty space where he had just been standing. The sudden silence of the room felt heavy, almost suffocating—almost alarming.

I wrapped my arms around myself and quietly tiptoed out of the kitchen.

As I descended the short set of stairs, I froze.

Coming back into focus was Julian lying on the lounge, exactly where I had left him under the covers. He was tangled in the thick throw blanket, one massive arm slung over his eyes to block out the moonlight, his chest rising and falling in the deep, undisturbed rhythm of someone who had been fast asleep for hours.

I stood at the edge of the lounge, my heart giving a strange, uncomfortable stutter.

That was quick, I thought, my brow furrowing in deep confusion. How did he even get back to sleep so fast?

My brain exhausted and still hazy with the heavy, lingering fog of sleep and orgasmic bliss.

I let out a soft, shaky breath, lifting the edge of the blanket and carefully crawling back under.