Chapter 34 #2
His searching gaze studies the feminine folds between my thighs.
“No blood?” he bellows and shakes me so hard my vision goes black for several seconds. “Did you get an abortion? Were you ever pregnant?” He plucks my ruined panties off the bed beside him and examines those too. “Is there a baby?” He shakes me again. “Speak!”
“Yes, there’s a baby!” I shout back at him, my body vibrating with raw emotions. “No matter how much I hate its father, I couldn’t do it!” Tears spring to my eyes and fall unchecked down the sides of my face. “I couldn’t kill my baby.”
His icy blue gaze cut me to the marrow. “You hate me?” he questions gruffly, his breathing fast and erratic.
“Yes, I fucking hate you!” I yell at the top of my lungs. “I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate you!”
“Good,” Sandman rasps, frantically tearing his jeans open and freeing his thick erection.
“I hate you too.” He falls between my thighs and positions his length at my entrance.
“I hate that you exist.” My earsplitting scream reverberates through the room as he ruthlessly drives his steel length into my body.
“I hate that we ever met.” He rears back, then swings his hips forward again, gaining another inch inside my slick walls.
“I hate that I can’t get you out of my goddamn head.
” Another thrust brings him past the point of no return.
“Most of all, I hate that I fell in love with you,” he groans, fully settling inside my pussy.
My ruin is complete.
Sandman lies flush against me and goes full throttle.
The sounds of my virginity loss echo through the room.
There’s no mercy, no gentleness, no sweet nothings whispered in my ear.
This is what hate looks like—it’s ugly, brutal, and without an ounce of remorse.
It’s said that love hurts, but I say hate hurts a whole lot worse.
He stares into my eyes as he pounds into my pussy. No, it’s more than that. He’s staring into my very soul.
“Treacherous bitch,” he hisses, hooking his arms under my knees and spreading my legs wider for his assault. “I would’ve given you anything.”
The bed creaks as his dick tunnels in and out of my pussy. I dig my fingers into the smooth leather covering his shoulders and hold on for dear life. Soon the pain turns into a dull ache, then the dull ache turns into a tingling throb, blurring the lines between lust and hate.
“No,” I moan, vehemently shaking my head. I don’t want his toxic pleasure. I don’t want anything from him.
“There’s no stopping now,” he replies huskily, then his lips are moving against mine.
He kisses me like I’m his salvation, like without me, there’s no him. The throb in the pit of my stomach grows to a pounding tempo as his tongue sweeps into my mouth. Sandman was the first boy I ever kissed. It was beautiful, innocent, wholly different from the wild intensity of this kiss.
Our tongues duel in a sensual dance, his lips firm and demanding against my own. Foreign sensations take over my body, and I find myself yielding beneath him. I try to resist, but the pleasure is too much.
Sandman laces our fingers together and pins my hands on either side of my head, his dick making my pulsating pussy weep in the best way.
Touch, sound, taste, sight, smell—every sensation is magnified tenfold.
I feel his desperation with every frenzied thrust between my sweat-soaked thighs.
His need. His anger. It all bleeds into me.
This is a claiming, nothing more, nothing less.
He jerks my bra and hoodie over my breasts, then pulls a pebbled nipple into his strong mouth. I thread my fingers into his sleek golden strands, tightly holding him to me. His warm tongue explores my areola while deft fingers expertly knead my other breast.
Suddenly, his thick hardness leaves my body, and he trails soft lips down my quivering torso, stopping to tongue-kiss my belly button.
I clench the sheets in my fists, frantically gyrating under his greedy mouth.
I’m on fire for this man, though I shouldn’t be.
He’s guided by vengeance and filled with rage—no conscience to speak of and zero empathy.
Even so, his touch calls to the most primitive part of me.
The part that knows I belong to him and always will.
Probing fingers seek the heated flesh at my center, lightly grazing my swollen pussy lips before pushing into me knuckles deep.
There’s no resistance, my slick walls already sopping wet for him.
His fingers are rough and hard inside me, but fuck, it feels so good.
The cotton sheets cling to my hot skin as he brings me closer to completion.
His soul is hell, but his hands, mouth, and dick are heaven.
He moves lower, kissing his way to the sensitive place between my legs.
“Oh God!” I scream, trying to twist away from him, but he wraps his arms around my thighs, holding me in place. “It’s too much!”
“No,” he rasps, breath fanning my engorged clit. “It’ll never be enough.”
I thrash against the mattress as he feasts on my feminine folds like a starving man, tongue flicking back and forth over my clit.
Passion clenches my belly, consuming my entire being.
My eyes roll to the back of my head. I come hard, so hard my breath stalls in my throat.
Sandman continues licking and slurping long after my orgasm subsides.
“Please, no more,” I whisper, weakly pushing at the top of his head.
He finally pulls back, a look of confusion marring his handsome features. “How can it be this fucking good?”
“We have to stop,” I plead with him. “I can’t take any more.”
“You can and you will.” He rips his cut down his arms and tosses it on the floor. “I’m going to fuck you so hard and so fucking deep you won’t be able to walk straight for a week.”
His shirt goes next, revealing the six-pack I’ve become all too familiar with. Any normal warm-blooded woman would admire the proud organ between his thighs and his gladiator body—but it’s my worst nightmare. At least that’s what I tell myself.
He flips me over and yanks me to my knees, filling me to the hilt in one savage thrust. I cry out, searing pain slicing through me.
“Fuck, it’s dripping,” he groans, wildly hammering into my pussy.
“Sandman, please,” I sob, inching forward. “It hurts.”
“Where you think you’re going?” he snarls, tightening his grip on my hips and slamming me back on his dick. “Get the fuck back here.”
He’s relentless in his destruction of me.
I bury my face into the pillow and pray it’ll be over soon.
Rough hands slide to my ass, spreading my cheeks so far apart it hurts.
Sandman pummels my body with hard, deep thrusts.
I plummet to the bed in a weak heap, his heavy weight pressing down on me.
He tangles one hand in my long twists and delves the other into my folds, teasing my throbbing clit with nimble caresses.
My greedy pussy clamps down on his length as the fever in my core comes roaring back to life.
“No,” I whimper.
“Your nos mean absolutely nothing to me, Zilphia,” he whispers in my ear. “Your pussy is mine. If I want to eat it, I’m going to fucking eat it. And if I want to fuck it, I’m going to fuck it. Your pussy has my name written all over it, and I’m going to take it whenever the fuck I want it.”
Sandman trails his tongue along the rounded curves and dips of my ear before pulling my earlobe into his mouth. My whole world shakes from the force of his body driving into mine, creating a whirlwind of ecstasy within me.
“I know you feel it,” he tells me. “The fire consuming every inch of your beautiful body. I know because it’s burning in me too.”
“I don’t want to,” I whisper back.
“And you think I do?” he growls. “You’re a fucking disease, Zilphia. A disease I have no cure for.”
“No, Sam, I can’t,” I moan, my pussy clenching and unclenching on his dick.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans. “I’m coming. Fuck.”
Sandman finally stills, settling his full weight on top of me. I said his name. The name he ordered me never to speak. I wait with bated breath for my punishment. After a minute or two, he slips from my body and rolls me onto my back, then retrieves a pair of handcuffs from his nightstand drawer.
“What are you doing?” I question, apprehensively eyeing the metal restraints.
“Making sure you never run again,” he mumbles.
It takes a few seconds for his words to register, my gaze transfixed on the semi-erection resting between my breasts as he fastens my wrist to the headboard. The softening flesh is covered in my feminine juices and virgin blood.
“I wasn’t running. Please don’t handcuff me.” He ignores me and promptly secures my other wrist before lying on his side, facing away from me. “Sandman, please. I have to go to the bathroom.”
He says nothing, and soon his soft snores fill the room.