9 #3
"M'sorry, baby..." he muttered, so quietly I could barely hear. "M’tired of fightin'. I just wanna hold you. I miss you so bad. You hear me? Huh, Rafe? Kiss me, baby. Kiss me, sweetheart…"
He nuzzled my hair, hands gliding up and down my back with a meditative intensity—making my stomach knot violently. Soon every ounce of tension fled my body. I thawed like always, breathy and aquiver for him. Fuck I was weak. I was so fucking weak.
My yielding was his consent to venture further. Further than we had in weeks. He grabbed two handfuls of my ass. Now he slid a hand beneath my waistband, slipping a few fingers between my cheeks and caressing my warmth. Fuck’s sake.
Everything was good again. Like an MK Ultra brain wipe.
Totally and bizarrely copesetic, as though we hadn't fought. As if I was falling asleep on his chest like any other night. He wanted me curtailed. Emotionally and cognitively sedated. Wouldn’t accept anything less.
I gave in and sought his lips, his mouth parting for mine without hesitation.
That night in Japan seemed forever ago. He hadn’t touched me like this in so long, I forgot what it was like to be desired.
I could taste remnants of the cigarette.
His tongue slipped inside and teased mine with a drunken leisure.
In the room’s stillness, all I could hear was our spit and toiled breathing.
He flipped me over, climbing atop without breaking the kiss.
He set a pillow over my face. I couldn't catch my breath, but didn't want to.
Something about the sensory deprivation made me giddy.
He pressed his lips to my throat, savoring the salt of my flesh in slow, measured kisses. Then his hands were in my hair, entangled deeply, yanking until I winced. He removed the pillow and tongued me, relishing my gasps.
"Fuck, I need you..." he rasped. "Babe...so bad. Don’t make me wait, Rafe...don’t make me wait for it…"
I tossed my head back, his dick pressing into my thigh.
Already I missed the itch of his mustache.
When he kissed me again, he bit me harder than ever before.
Drawing blood. Now taking both my arms and pinning them above my head, he looked me dead in the eye.
I faltered, licking my lips, repulsed by the metallic tang.
With his free hand, he thumbed my blood and sucked it off his fingertip.
"Hey..." I breathed, embarrassed he’d gone so long without acknowledging me.
He wanted to see how easily I would break.
How easily he could bend me to his will.
I knew he relished the power he had over me in moments like this, but even that wasn't enough.
He wanted me to be aware of the power he held.
It had taken mere moments to turn my fury into a writhing desperation.
Me lying there beneath him, dying to be used.
He wrapped a hand around my throat, gradually increasing the hold. When my breath hitched, I knew where things were headed.
“Stop,” I wheezed.
“Fuck you.” His grip tightened—so much I lunged to pull him away, but he still had my hands pinned.
"Rome..." I croaked, tears leaping to my eyes. Only then did he free my hands to unfasten my pants.
The room was beginning to spin. Rather abruptly, he lifted my hips and pressed his face to my crotch with a guttural sound. I bucked, hoping he'd hurry. I was already straining against my zipper, pulsating for release. Desperate to be surrounded by him. His hand, his mouth, his ass—anything.
Finally, he hooked his fingers in my waistband, pulling my pants and briefs down enough to reveal the tattoos along my hips, as well as the edge of my unsightly pubes.
I shot a hand there to cover my hair, as I hadn't shaved in a while, but he slung it away.
With half-lidded eyes, he watched me, kissing the flesh of my pelvis.
Cushy lips making a trek from one hip to the other, nuzzling the bush.
Something bubbled up within me. I thought back to the photo of him holding that sleazy chick in Bangkok and wondered what had possessed him.
Was I really so daft as to believe he had no intentions of fucking her?
That he hadn’t? I'd been duped. With mortifying ease, no less. I recalled the times he’d held my hand in secret, similar to the way he held hers.
Coaxing me back to his room where he obsessed over my body and fucked me repeatedly.
I imagined him doing the same with her that night, fatiguing her like he had with me.
How smug she must've felt holding his hand in public. Something I’d never done in all the years I’d known him.
No matter how deeply he’d been in me. The promise that gesture held.
Indicating more to come the second they were alone—
I shoved him off, tears singeing my eyes. He rolled to the other side of the bed, baffled.
"What, babe?"
"Nothing." I juddered uncontrollably. "M’just tired."
"Tired?"
“Yeah…exhausted.” I wept, standing and sliding my pants back up my hips. He reached to touch me, but I recoiled.
"You okay, babe?"
"Yeah...m’sorry. M’just really tired."