49. Montana
49
Montana
I bring the fiery tip of the burning cigarette to his awaiting flesh.
Every scar of his past needs rewriting. I’m cementing myself in his reality, so the next time he questions my loyalty or love, he can look down and know that I’m here, in this life, with him.
The burnt end sears against an old scar, and his nostrils flare, a deep, rumbling moan of pain leaving his throat and a thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead.
“Fuck,” he breathes.
“This one is for fucking me like I’ve never been fucked on camera,” I say, my mouth connecting to his in a tender kiss, “and making sex after you a complete and utter disgrace.”
I kiss him again, biting down on his lip to give him a reprieve from the pain of the burn.
“For showing the rugby team my video,” I say, grinding my saturated panties along his firm shaft before I press the smoldering cigarette against another one of his scars, “and making me witness firsthand how quickly a person like Wes can turn on me when he’s surrounded by his people.”
“Fuck, baby,” he hisses through his teeth, his chin curling toward his chest and his hands rolling into fists. “You’re driving me mad.”
I capture his mouth, offering up another soft, sensual kiss. He closes his eyes tightly as he kisses me back, enduring all this torture and pain without even being tempted to use that safe word. A shiny film of sweat coats his chest and neck, beads forming on his forehead. A muscle in his jaw bounces, and his hips gyrate for friction beneath me.
“For opening my eyes to the realization of conditional love,” I say, planting another soft kiss along the tender skin of his inked neck, “and understanding why you had to put my mother right where she belongs.”
“You don’t hate me for that?” he questions.
I shake my head. I hate that I see now that, in some twisted way, he’s shown me that his brand of love—the erratic, violent and possessive kind—is more genuine than any love she’s ever given me. In a peculiar way, I’m grateful for my upbringing and the fact that I felt forced into selling myself online for money in order to appease her. It’s how Shane and I inevitably found each other. How could I ever deny its importance?
My center sits just over his aching erection, so hard and ready. I brace myself with a hand on his taut abdomen and glide my vulva along his shaft, the teasing and taunting continuing to stir the fire in my belly.
“Mmm, yes.” He swallows, his daring eyes hooded and ready for another mark as I suck the nicotine through the filter and press the end against a new scar.
A muscle in his jaw tics, and he swallows, eyes screwing tightly together. After holding it to ensure a new wound, I press my lips to his, and his tongue invades my mouth. I moan into the kiss, continuing to grind on his ready body.
“For burning my cello and unknowingly aiding me in my endeavors,” I say, reaching behind me and gripping his shorts in my fist.
His brow quirks at my comment, but I lower his shorts to distract him. His erection springs free, the maddening thing lying along his lower abdomen, red and glistening at the tip.
“Ah, you like being tormented? Tied up and used at my will?” I ask at the pleasant discovery of his excitement.
He doesn’t answer; he just studies me like he can’t believe I’m real. His eyes glaze over with fascination, so I slap him across the face with my palm, not hard enough to rattle any bones, but enough to wake him up and ensure he’s present in the moment.
“Answer me,” I demand.
His lips slide into a menacing grin, withholding his words. He lifts his chin defiantly, knowing what’s coming next. Seeking it.
I slap him again, harder this time, sending his head to the side. His tongue darts out to the corner of his lip, his haunting smile returning as he refocuses on me.
“I fucking love it,” he finally murmurs. “My dark and beautiful Venom.”
A dangerous look finds me, and I lean over his restrained body with the cigarette in hand, naked, except for the thin layer of my panties. Reaching for his forearm, I ignite yet another burn, sizzling the cigarette into his skin.
“Shit,” he hisses through his teeth, his hips jutting off the mattress in search of mine. “You’re gonna fucking kill me, Montana. Give me your tongue. Your mouth. Give me something. I need something.”
I shake my head, pressing a finger on his lips to silence him. My hand trails behind me, and I wrap my palm around his shaft.
“You gonna be a good boy for me?” I ask, rolling my hand up the soft, taut flesh.
“The best boy.” He swallows. “I’ll be whatever you want as long as I’m yours.”
I shudder at his words, the promise of eternity in every syllable. His expression is dark and devious. He’s on a mission to claim me as I’m claiming him, even as he submits. It should terrify me, knowing there’s no coming back from Shane. That once I’ve crossed this line, there will be no returning. I will not survive him if this ends with me leaving, but all it does is drive me off the edge of sanity. I crave this possession. This control.
I peer at his fresh wounds, the reddened and raw skin now covering all the scars his father gave him. But it’s not enough. I’ve covered the past, but now I need to solidify the present.
Twisting my wrist, I jerk him with my palm until his tense body finally relaxes in my hold and his dick lengthens further. I pull my panties to the side and bring his tip to my slippery entrance. My arousal coats the head of his cock before I press him inside. I sink down his shaft, slowly descending as he stretches me until I’m fully seated on his hips. His forehead furrows and his eyebrows pinch together, his mouth dropping open in pained pleasure.
Taking the end of the cigarette, I turn it, allowing him the chance to inhale. He wraps his lips around it, sucking out a drag and blowing it out above us. With his eyes locked on mine and his cock firmly planted within me, a deep, visceral groan thunders from his chest when I press the end of the cigarette to it, just below that menacing moth tattoo on his neck.
“For ensuring my doom and making me fall for the monster I created.”
His eyes water, his expression one of overwhelming fascination, infuriation, and endless infatuation.
“You can’t ever leave me now,” he says roughly. “You can’t leave me again. I won't survive you twice. I won’t.”
His voice is raw, his words unleashing the truth of his deep regretful emotions.
“I’ll destroy every aspect of whatever new life you try to fit into, forcing my way into your nightmares if I must. You can’t leave me. You can’t…leave…”
Those eyes pool with a maddening flood of rage and regret. I know the pain he harbors. The anger. The mourning. The need. I’m here to heal that.
Leaning over him, I drop the cigarette on the nightstand before my mouth captures his, and our tongues rekindle their dance, enticing the other into a maddening display of affection. He kisses me back with such vigor, needing to ensure our reality with every lick, thrust, and nip.
I crave his depravity, his soulless being, and that darkness that I’ve conjured within him. I want to own all the twisted facets Shane’s obtained in my absence and inject them into my veins. His obsession grew to be mine as he has showcased in his own demented way that not all men take without giving something valuable in return.
His knees bend, his heels digging into the mattress beneath him as he propels his hips up, shoving into me so forcefully I need to grip his chest just to stabilize myself. I love the feeling of being filled by him. The sensation of completely letting go and allowing a man to rule me while he lies helpless beneath me. There’s so much power he relinquishes in order to appease me. I know how hard it is for him to allow me back into this space, where the vulnerable and raw, aching wounds are left unhealed.
“I want to touch you. I need to feel you, but I know you need this,” he groans, his abdomen tightening as I roll my hips against his again. “Take from me. Use me as your fuck toy. Make me yours, Montana.”
His words send my body into overdrive, my pussy clenching and squeezing his stiff cock within me, needing him deeper than ever before. A rush of fluid escapes me, and my head falls back.
He hums. “That’s my girl, get it wet.”
I can feel the wetness intensify with every descent, my arousal leaking all over his lower abdomen as the sloppy sounds of our bodies colliding and choppy breaths fill the room. He steadies our pace, and his hips meet mine, giving me everything I need, his focus direct and steady on my face.
“Take it all back,” he whispers, “Your power. What they took from you. Take it back.”
My head rolls forward to focus on him again, his eyes boring into mine as I ride him ruthlessly, seeking my ultimate release.
“Take what’s yours, Montana. Come for me,” he says, his body flexing and tightening beneath me.
I lose control.
I spasm around him, tossing my head back as a feral cry tears through my throat. My fingernails claw down his chest, tearing into the skin of his abdomen. My toes curl into themselves as euphoria engulfs me, and I ride out one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever experienced. Waves of shivering bliss stem from my neck and reach the tips of my fingers to the tips of my toes.
He watches with fascination as I come undone, using him the way I need. My body shivers in the aftermath, collapsing on top of his chest as I work to collect myself, breathing deeply and seeing stars. After a moment, he nudges me with his head. I look up to find his welcoming mouth. He plants sweet, soft kisses on my lips, his cock still thick and ready as ever within me.
“You’re so pretty when you come,” he says between kisses. “So fucking pretty.”
My body buzzes as the residual endorphins flood me. I’m feeling open and free, more emotionally attached to this man than ever before. With our lips still connected, I reach up and loosen the cords on his wrists. As soon as I free him, his hands mold to my body, one reaching around my back and the other cupping my ass. Our kiss becomes rushed, and I realize my mistake in unleashing the beast.
He flips us so I’m on my back and his body is now on top of me, pinning me with his weight to the mattress.
“We aren’t done yet,” he says, his tongue dragging up the side of my neck. “Not even close.”