Chapter 19 #2
And before I can answer, he spits in my mouth. A feral reminder of what I am to him, what he owns.
I swallow without thinking, eyes locked on him.
He watches me do it.
Then he leans in again, voice low and razor-sharp.
“That’s what crawling back to me looks like.”
He backs up and comes to the top of the bed, putting his knees on either side of my upper body.
“You’ve been mouthy, darling, but it’s because you’re needy,” he says, “I’ll fix that.”
I whimper, not ashamed of the need in my eyes as I watch him undress, button by button, taking himself torturously slow out of his pressed shirt.
“I just want to be close to you,” I try, and fail to voice what I truly mean.
I’m afraid to specify which kind of closeness it is that I truly desire because I’m too far gone to know or care about the difference anymore.
He throws his shirt to the ground and undoes his buckle, pulling his belt out purposefully slow, like a threat and a promise.
Lifting me out of his shirt, he lays the belt down where my head just was, and then settles me back down atop it.
Still towering over me from his knees on either side of my chest, he looks down at me with curiosity.
“Do you think I should let you come, my darling whore?” he asks, almost mocking me.
“Please,” is all I can say, dumbfounded by him for the millionth time in our short life together.
“Not the right answer, but close, darling. So I’ll ask you again,” he draws his fingertips along my jaw, bringing them to my mouth and rubbing them across my lips, “ask me how you can please me, and maybe I’ll let you come.”
I suck my bottom lip in between my teeth, “I’ll do anything for you."
“Open wide.”
Hayden Herron
I know exactly what she wants to hear from me, and I refuse to give it to her.
Not yet.
There’s no satisfaction in handing it over too easily, not when she’s so much sweeter when she begs. She's far more compelling when she has to earn it. When the hunger in her eyes starts to twist into something desperate and defiant, that’s when she surprises me.
Just when I think she’s going to break, when I expect her to flinch or scramble away in fear, she does the opposite.
She straightens her shoulders, lifts that sharp little chin, and comes at me with that tart pout— that bratty mouth, laced with just enough venom to keep me intrigued.
She thinks she’s testing me, but she doesn’t realize: I want her to bite.
Tonight I'll take care of her because, frankly, she always deserves it. It’s my responsibility to know where the line is we toe, it’s my duty to keep her fed, to keep the wild wicked creature inside satiated.
I can see how desperate she is for me. And she is begging so sweetly.
Something changed within her, something seems wounded. While I’ve never been the kind of man to sit around and pry for feelings, I know a release is something I can offer her.
My little pet has grown tired of her cage, but the problem is that her leash will only get shorter.
I love her fight, I honestly do, but I crave her broken submission more. That sad, little whimpering thing she becomes when I’ve taken all of her, and yet she’d still muster up the strength to find just a little bit more of herself to give if I ask.
She opens her mouth again and sticks out her tongue, and I look at her beautiful, ashamed face, and all I can think about is how perfect her bone structure is. That soft place just above her pouty top lip I can’t help but bite.
I used to hate her; I couldn’t stand her. Constantly in the way, always testing limits like she thought the rules didn’t apply to her.
But somewhere along the way, that shifted. I’m not even sure when it happened. I’d catch myself thinking about her when I shouldn’t be. In meetings. On assignments.
And now, with her tongue out like that, offering, teasing, waiting, I’m the one who forgets the rules between us. One look at that wet pink tongue and I forget I’m the one who holds the power.
I lean in close, not touching her yet, just letting my breath brush against her lips, her tongue, her flushed cheeks.
She's trembling, just slightly, but she holds her posture.
She's always known how to hold tension like it’s currency.
She always knew when to push and how far to go before she got burned.
“You want it?” I murmur, my voice low, dangerous. “Say it.”
She blinks slowly, lashes brushing her cheeks as she draws her tongue back in, then parts her lips to whisper, “Please, Hayden.”
God, that voice. That voice. I’ve heard it scream, laugh, beg, and manipulate. But this, this is new.
I kiss her hard. I taste the need, the arrogance, the defiance that used to drive me crazy, and now drives me mad in a different way. I bite that soft spot just above her top lip, like I always do, and she gasps into my mouth, as if she’s been waiting for it.
“Again.”
“I want you,” she says again, softer this time.
I tilt my head, watching her. Watching how carefully she chooses her words now. She’s learning. Finally.
My fingers trace the edge of her arousal, dipping one of my fingers inside of her.
“You want me,” I echo. “That’s not a surprise.”
Her mouth parts, eyes narrowing just slightly, offended, maybe. Or turned on. With her, it’s always both.
“I should’ve put you in your place the first time you talked back,” I say, brushing a strand of hair from her face, my tone low and sharp. “But I admit I enjoy how you never know when to shut your mouth. A constant offering of something to punish you for.”
She leans up on her elbows, her voice tight. “And now?”
I run my thumb across her bottom lip. That mouth. God, that mouth.
“Behave or I’ll wrap that belt you’re lying next to around your neck.”
She exhales, shaky, stunned, and sinks back into the pillows like she knows exactly what I mean—opening those beautiful lips wide, so she can give me what I want.
“Do you want me to fuck your face, darling?” I say gently, like offering to do her a favor. It’s more enjoyable when she's wiggling in discomfort. When she's breaking from how far she’ll bend for me.
Her eyes widen in shock, but her lips remain wide open, tongue slowly sticking out.
“That’s not an answer.”
She furrows her brows and then nods enthusiastically, forcing a laugh from my chest.
“Now answer me. Do you want to be my darling?” I say, leaning forward and grazing the head of my shaft against her lips, smearing my pre-cum across them, “Or do you want to be my little whore?”
“Your whore,” She responds without pause, opening up her mouth widely for me.
With a grunt, I shove my cock inside of her spread, pouty to fucking perfection, lips. With a few thrusts and an exhale, I seat myself at the entrance of her throat, loving the feeling her gurgling sounds make on my cock.
“Breathe through your nose,” I soothe, a contrast to how hard I’ve begun fucking her throat.
Tears drip down her face from the force of me, and I can’t help but admire them as they fall. There’s something about watching her cry, watching her shatter at my hands. It fulfills me in a way I never thought I could be fulfilled.
Thrusting and thrusting, I fuck her throat hard, not caring if it will leave her raw. Her broken screams are my favorite when she’s being fucked.
I smear my thumbs across her tears.
“You're the most beautiful creature,” I whisper down at her with a grunt, feeling my balls tighten as I watch her struggle.
She’s licking me as best she can, trying to wrap her lips around me and suck, but it’s hard for her with how fast I’m going.
After a few more thrusts, I rear back, “Tongue out”, I instruct as I grab my cock in my hand and come all over her breasts and the lower half of her face and tongue.
The most beautiful, horrified look crosses her face. I stare for a few moments too long, savoring the way shock and intrigue wrestle behind her eyes.
“Good girl,” I murmur, “Now thank me for my cum.”
She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, sliding that pretty pink tongue over the mess I’ve left there, and smiles. She fucking smiles at me and says, “Thank you, Hayden.”
I take my fingers and smear the cum into her skin, pulling it down over her breasts. Loving the look of her covered in me. She's sticky and flushed, her eyes are glossy with need.
She bites her bottom lip again, that familiar, involuntary tell of hers, the one that betrays her curiosity, even now. She wants more. She wants too much.
I climb off of her and help her up, suddenly full of the need to reinforce her fear of me. Show her something that reminds her of who she belongs to. Who has had her for longer than she knows, and has more power over her than she could ever comprehend.
“Open the nightstand,” I say, my voice low but firm. “Top drawer.”
She sits up slowly, unsure if she’s dreaming or walking into something she’ll never come back from. Her fingers hesitate on the brass handle before pulling it open.
Silence. Then, “Hayden…what the fuck?”
Her eyes land on the collection of my favorite things, kept perfectly next to my bed—little silk and lace trophies of my wife.
Her voice trembles. She’s staring down at the drawer lined with her panties, all soft, most dirtied, all familiar. The ones specifically from Eulogia are folded with the kind of care you reserve for something sacred—my small tokens of her, collected over time.
“I’ve been watching you longer than you realize,” I say, stepping closer.
She spins around to face me, eyes wide, voice full of equal parts awe and concern. “You’re sick.”
“Maybe,” I say, shrugging. “But I never took anything you didn’t already give me.”
Her breath catches, fury and desire colliding in her chest. She doesn’t know whether to slap me or kiss me, and I can already tell which impulse is winning.
I step in a little closer, voice low. “Does it make my darling whore wet to know I came with her panties wrapped around my cock, for years before she even knew my name?”