6. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Blake
I open the bedroom door and barely step one foot into the room before Craig stands from the bed and begins to close the distance between us. He reaches around me, locks the door, and then commands, “Knees.”
I sink to them without hesitation. That would only make it worse. The second my knees touch the carpet, he grabs me by my hair and pulls my face toward his groin. “Remember what I said, Blake. Every fucking inch.” Fuck the way he groans has my pussy soaking.
I nod before opening my mouth and letting him push inside.
At first, he lets me control how deep I take him until he gets annoyed with me and pushes in further, making me gag. “Come on, Blake. Be a good girl.”
This shouldn’t turn me on, he is trying to punish me. Why does my traitorous body respond? Why am I so fucked up? The way he looks in the moment, as if I am nothing but a fuck toy, is hotter than it should be. Because in this moment I am his.
He pulls out enough to let me catch a breath before pushing in all the way. Instead of pounding into me, he holds me against him so that I can’t breathe, and panic begins to set in until his legs begin to shake, and he spills himself down my throat. When he finally lets me go, I fall back to my ass and gasp in some much-needed air. Wiping the drool and cum from my mouth, I look up at him with tear-filled eyes.
He has never done it exactly like that before. I have always trusted him to push me only as far as I was capable. But looking at his face right now, I am not sure I can trust him with myself anymore. My vision had almost gone black. I almost fucking passed out.
Cries from down the hall filter into the silent room, and I quickly scurry from the floor to grab my robe and escape the room to soothe my daughter.
When I calm Charlie down from her nightmare and step back into the bedroom, Craig is already fast asleep on top of the covers.
Of course he is. Why would he stay up to make sure I was ever satisfied?
I let out a soft breath and shut the door as quietly as possible. When I make it over to the bed, Craig stirs, turning in the opposite direction as I slip under the covers. Usually, he wraps his body around mine to where I can barely move.
I know deep down that I shouldn’t be turned on at all by what Craig did to me. But that doesn’t stop it from happening. Now, I am left sexually frustrated, and he is asleep. He absolutely hates it when I touch myself. He tells me all the time that my pleasure is his alone, and I shouldn’t want to get off if he isn’t the one helping me to climax. But in times like this, I tend to break the rules, or I won’t be able to go to sleep. I slip my hand between the covers and under my panties, making sure to make as few movements as possible. I begin to stroke myself. My clit is already throbbing from the throat fucking I got earlier, and my mind wanders back to that moment.
Rubbing slow, steady circles around my sensitive bud, I think of how Craig’s expression of dominance turned me on, even though it was painful.
As much as I rub myself to the images I have playing in my head, my orgasm doesn’t rise. Seemingly stuck in limbo, waiting for something better. Clearly, I am not as turned on by Craig as I thought. Without meaning to, I shift gears, thinking of the biker with the gun. I imagine him pressing his body against mine, pinning me to my car. He is so close; all I have to do is lift my head, and I can kiss him.
The first shake of my legs begins as my orgasm climbs higher and higher at the thought of him slipping his hand into the front of my jeans and pushing his fingers inside me. “Are you going to be a good girl for me?” His raspy voice runs through my mind.
With one last flick of my finger, I bring myself over the edge of bliss. I have to bite down on my free hand to stop myself from moaning out a yes to the biker's good girl request.
Once I’m done, I clean myself up with a towel on the floor next to the bed and get comfortable. I don’t know why the biker came to my mind or why I find a man who held a gun against my head attractive, but I can’t help where my mind goes while I'm playing with myself.
I try to focus on anything other than what is confusing me, and soon I begin to drift off to sleep.
The following day, I wake to an empty bed. Craig must have left earlier than usual. “Mommy!” Charlie yells, bounding into the room and jumping onto the bed.
I wrap my arms around her small body and pull her under the covers with me. “Hey, sweetness. How did you sleep?”
“Good. I’m hungry.” Her bottom lip sticks out a little into a pout.
I already knew she was going to say that. My sweet girl wakes up every morning acting like she is starving to death. I chuckle and squeeze her tightly. “I don’t want to let you go. How about we just stay here and cuddle for a while?”
She shakes her head and pushes herself off of me. “No, Mama. I’m dying!” She draws out the “g” at the end of the word, making it super dramatic.
I let out a breath and kiss the top of her head. “Fine, I’ll feed my little monster.”
We make our way to the kitchen, where Charlie pulls herself into her designated chair. My girl loves to sit at the head of the table when Daddy isn’t around.
“What do you want to eat?” I ask, rubbing her head as I walk past her.
“Pancakes!”
I hate making pancakes. But for her, I’d do anything, so I guess I am going to make pancakes. “Okay. Do you want to help Mommy?”
Her eyes light up and she quickly slides off her chair and bounds into the kitchen with me. “I want to crack the eggs!” She tries to grab the entire container from the fridge, and she almost makes it, but the container falls to the floor with a loud crash. She immediately apologizes, starts crying, and then cringes back from me.
I gently lean down and grab the container from the floor. “It’s okay, baby. It was just an accident.” I scoop her into my arms and place her on the kitchen counter. “Want to help me see how many undamaged eggs we have left?” I tickle her stomach, which makes her laugh.
I hate that her first instinct is to apologize and cry after a mistake. It would seem that Craig’s mental abuse is affecting our child now, too. I won’t stand for this any longer. Something has to change.
Charlie wipes her eyes with the paper towel I hand her, and I open the carton of eggs. Just doing a quick glance, I see that five of the twelve eggs have been cracked. But they are still salvageable.
“Are they all broke, Mommy?”
I look at her sad face and almost tear up. How can she be so heartbroken over some cracked eggs? It’s like her little accident was the absolute end of the world. I smile at her and shake my head. “No way! There are only a few cracked, and we can still get the insides out.”
I reach in and grab the first cracked egg, show her how we can still crack it open, and pour the egg into the waiting bowl. I grab another one and hold it out for her. “Do you want to help me crack some?”
At first, she shakes her head. “No, thank you. I don’t want to ruin anything else.”
My fucking heart! “Sweet girl. You didn’t ruin anything. I promise. Come on, I can’t crack all these eggs by myself. I really need your help.” I hold her hand and place the egg into her palm. “Show Momma how good you are at cracking eggs.”
She stares at the bowl for a long moment before hitting the egg on the side and opening it up. A couple of pieces of shell go in with it, and once she is done, I take the empty egg and throw it in the trash. “Okay. Do you see those little white things in the bowl?”
She nods. “I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “Enough of that. You have nothing to apologize for. Here, let me show you how to get them out.” I grab the fork from the drawer behind me and gently sift out one of the shells. “Now you try.” I hand her the fork.
She does such a good job at pulling the shell out that, once she places it in my palm, I reach in and give her a big hug. “You did so great!”
The rest of the morning is spent laughing and mixing up the batter. When Craig walks through the front door, we both have the mix on our noses.
Why is he home from work? I quickly glance around the kitchen at the mess we have made and cringe. He is going to be pissed.