Chapter 15 #2
I’ve never wanted a man the way I want him. I used to force myself to enjoy a man’s touch. Though it often didn’t work, to the point I nearly gave up.
But with him, there’s no forcing. It’s more like I’m unable to control my body anymore. And while I love the sensations he instills inside me, I hate how weak they make me feel.
He grabs my wrists as I feel him positioning himself at my entrance. No hands. He just expertly jolts his hips as he brushes my folds.
I’m so wet that it slips with ease against them, teasing, taunting.
And I’m fucking terrified.
Terrified of how much I might enjoy this.
“Remind me to help you up in the morning if you have trouble walking,” he smiles, his tongue darting to lick my collarbone as he sinks into me.
“Show off,” I mutter between gritted teeth, his kind of rough being much more than what I’m used to.
“I wasn’t kidding,” he looks at me, dead serious, like that’s a very real possibility. “Breathe, my little curse,” he says, pushing the first piercing in.
And that’s the only command I can hear echoing in my mind. Breathe. And I’m grateful he told me too because I don’t really know if I would have remembered to breathe. Truth is, I don’t really know what to do with myself right now.
Another follows.
And despite the molten pain, there’s a threat of devastating pleasure.
I breathe again. Just that. I don’t even blink. I don’t moan.
I just exist to feel him there.
Then another one enters. The third, and I swallow hard, as I see him watching, devouring the way I take him in.
Then another, that leaves me dumbstruck, like I don’t even know who I am anymore.
But before I come to my senses, he pushes forward.
The fifth, and the smile on his face while he brushes over the mark he left under my breast, is delicious. He groans, eyes on the scar. His thumb drifts from my nipple to it and back again.
Then another. And he curses. “Fuck, you’re so tight I might break you.”
But he doesn’t stop, just drives the last one in, and that’s when I can’t hold back my gasp. I don’t want to seem inexperienced, but he almost knocked me senseless.
“Does it hurt having me so deep in you?” he asks, nearly out of breath, like this time he feels my anguish gripping him whole. And I’m sure he lives for it.
“Y-yes,” I whimper so sensually he knows I don’t want him to leave, even though I can barely exist with him there.
“Good,” he grunts, pulling out, and I can feel every piercing drag through my channel. Then he slides back right in, managing to extract a sound from me I’ve never heard before. It was some kind of mixture between a purr and a cry. I want more, but I’m not sure if I won’t die in the process.
And then he repeats—his hips slamming into mine while I murmur incoherent nonsense.
He shuts me up with a kiss. His hands release mine so he can explore my breasts while mine rake into his back, nails digging into his skin, harder and harder with every thrust.
He’s like a wild savage—a true one; none of his gestures are gentle or tamed, or controlled.
And I don’t want them to be. He’s thrusting inside me like he’s aiming to break the bed, or the last of my sanity.
But as out-of-this-world as it feels, I’ve never come with a man on top of me.
I need to be the one in control to find the slightest satisfaction.
That gets me to push him around. He doesn’t fight me this time, just rolls onto his back, like this intrigues him, as I guide him up the mattress until his shoulders hit the headboard.
He slips out during our little maneuver, so my hand stakes a claim down beneath his waist as I center my weight and lower myself into having him.
Damn, it feels too good to be real.
I ride him, pressing as low as my body allows without disintegrating, until I feel him pulse beneath me.
There’s something in his eyes, a possessiveness that scares me right now, and he pulls me against him, his hand slipping between us, pinching my nipple so hard I scream, but it’s half a laugh as well.
My damn clit is throbbing like it’s possessed, like it’s begging me to take everything I can from him. Like I’m robbing him of it.
My hips sway, breasts bouncing as I search for something I’ve never been this close to finding.
One of his hands brushes my cheek, and my lips go to meet his fingers, just like in the car.
I press one hand against his stomach as I ride him, and the other keeps his own hand captive, refusing to let it abandon my face.
“My little curse… you should’ve told me you were so eager to take my cock,” he whispers, his focus fully on my mouth now, like it’s the Eighth Wonder of the World.
“I would’ve given it to you a lot sooner,” he ghosts out the words, and I wrap my lips around his thumb.
“That’s it,” he breathes, his voice catching, “Think of it like it’s my cock.
Like you're pleasuring me—like a good little curse.”
I suck harder, my lips increasing their pace as one of his piercings drags me one step closer to ecstasy. But it’s not the piercing that makes me lose it. It’s his damn thumb slipping down to my clit, circling it, testing it until I’m wild.
I lift higher and drop onto him. My sways growing wider, I can’t stop my panting breath, sucking on his finger, while almost helpless sounds escape my lips.
“Do you want to come?” he asks, and I nod instantly, like I’ve been holding my breath for him to ask. I’ve never come twice in a month, let alone in one night.
“You behaved,” he says, biting hard on my nipple.
“I’ll indulge you this time,” his fingers pinch my clit, then press down, and I come so hard again it almost leaves me paralyzed—like something exploding inside me in a euphoric rush of…
everything. I don’t know what it is, but it hits like a cocktail of drugs combined.
I try to keep moving, but it seems like I’m just limp, my own saliva dripping down over the thumb he kept between my lips.
I’m almost embarrassed that I’ve lost the capacity to move. But I still fight him when he wants to flip me onto my stomach. Not that it’s a real fight, more like a tangle of limbs refusing to obey.
For a second, he’s gone, and I try to get up, but before I can, I feel something elastic slip around me, and the shock hits me like lightning.
I know exactly what that is—the suspenders.
Fuck, yes!
“I let you have your fun,” he says, something dangerously dark in his voice.
“Now you let me have mine.” He’s fast, and I realize he’s wrapped the suspenders the other way.
The part that usually goes in the back is now in the middle of my chest. Two straps cross between my breasts and loop behind, and the other two run over my shoulders, locking me in.
He pulls them tight, making a harness out of them. Then yanks me up, lifting me off the mattress into a kneeling position, with my back pressed violently against his chest.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“I told you not to curse,” he chants. “You’ll only make it worse for yourself.” He drags me tighter as his cock’s grinding into the curve of my ass.