11. CHAPTER ELEVEN #2
Tilting his head to the side, Curren grins, slides the gun from my mouth, and turns me away from him.
“Go.” He jabs the barrel between my shoulder blades, and it never breaks contact until I’m stepping into the large double wardrobe by the king bed.
I expect Curren to just stand beside me, but after pulling the door closed, he slams my chest against the side wall. My back curves as I'm forced against it, and with my cheek squished against the wood, I can just see out through the tilted slats.
With one hand on the back of my neck holding me in place, Curren draws the gun the whole way down my spine and between my legs until it’s resting against my balls. “If you make a sound. I’ll shoot her.”
We don’t hear the door open, but as soon as the room service cart rattles, the pressure is gone. “You gonna behave?” Curren whispers, then bites my earlobe harder than should feel good.
I nod. And when he releases my ear, I catch him reaching up to sit my pistol on the shelf above us. But before I can even think about moving, his hand is already over my mouth.
“We both know I’m faster than you are… So don’t try anything.”
I nod as much as I can, but his fingers dig painfully into my cheeks.
Then his hand shifts to pinch my nose as well—completely suffocating me.
“I won’t hesitate to kill you both… The only thing keeping her alive right now is how badly I wanna fuck you.”
“Mr. Clarke?”
My eyes struggle to focus on the waitress as she tentatively looks towards the bathroom.
“I’m not sure where you wanted me to set up, so I’ll just go ahead and leave you the trolley.”
“You can go now.”
The waitress’s head whips towards the closet when Curren answers for me. Her eyes squint, and she takes one step towards us but thinks better of it and runs out of the room, almost slamming the door behind her.
Curren uncovers my mouth, and I swallow air like a drowning fish.
All I can see are silver spots in the dark.
I try to push off the wardrobe wall, but as I open my mouth to speak, he shoves one of his gloves inside it and grips the back of my neck. “Do that again and you’ll know about it.”
I mumble around his glove. I need to tell him to stop. But the wardrobe door is knocked open by Curren’s elbow as he pulls back to punch me in the kidney.
My back hunches in pain, my hands slide down the wood, and I feel precum dripping from my dick to my bare feet.
His bare nails scratch at my hip and he pulls my ass back further than it was before.
I hear him spit in his hand.
I feel him slap it against me.
"You don't have to do this."
"But it's what you want," he tells me in a tone so spiteful it slits my throat.
"Curren."
"Just shut the fuck up before I beat your ass again."
It's embarrassing how much my muscles quiver just at the threat. Because he's so close to giving me everything I need and he doesn't even know it.
"Are you seriously telling me that all I have to do is hit you and you'll bend over?" Curren taunts as his fingers rub firmly over my rim.
I try so hard to answer him, really I do, but when I hear him spit—then feel it dripping between my cheeks, all I can do is brace myself against the closet wall.
His fingers drag it to where it's needed, then he pulses them against my hole. "It's not like you really have to answer, though. The sounds you're making tell me everything I need to know."
"That's not it, I—"
Curren pushes inside me.
It's too much, then not enough within a second.
He pushes deeper. "What were you saying?"
"More."
"That's not an answer, and you know it."
He draws his finger back anyway, and starts pumping it in and out.
"I need more."
"You need to tell me what this is all about."
"I need more of you inside of me."
I feel another finger sink in with no pause. The initial sting is gone within seconds, and I'm already craving it again.
"It only seems fair that you tell me."
"I can't… It feels too good."
Curren starts pulling out. "I'll stop then."
"No." I push back, forcing his fingers back inside me.
I hear him grunt, and feel his nails dig deeper into my hip as he holds me.
Faster and faster he pumps my ass.
I feel the beautiful sting again and I know he's three deep, now.
"I will make you tell me before I'm through with you."
My forehead rubs across the back of my hand as I shake it.
"Do you still want me to fuck you?" Curren is trying to be strong, but his stubbornness is having a hard time controlling his cock.
"Yes," I beg, and arch my back. "But please do it my way."
"So tell me."
"I need your belt."
It's shocking how empty I feel when Curren tears his fingers out and slams me back against the wardrobe.
"The fuck?" I ask, spinning to face him.
Like he didn't hear me, he reaches for my throat with both hands, and I push him just as hard as he did me as I stumble out of the closet.
The second door flies open and the hangers crash above him as he falls against the other wall of the wardrobe.
Dazed, or just plain selfish, he pauses and grips the edge of the shelf above him with one hand and lets the other hang loose by his side.
"It's fifty levels of fucked, Jude."
"Don't you think I know that?"
"It's the same as if I'd asked you to…"
"But I'd have done it."
"What the hell? Is this seriously the kind of shit you're into?"
The disgust on his face. The judgement. It's all too much. "I told you it's complicated!"
"Fuck you."
"No, fuck you, Curren. I did everything you asked me to do without question."
"But I told you why."
"Get the fucking belt!"
His eyes bore straight through me like the longer he stares the more he thinks he can understand. "I remember everything you told me… Everything."
"So do I."
"I don't wanna hurt you like that."
"I won't ever ask you again."
His gaze lowers to my dick, then slowly back up to me. "If this— this is what you really want, I won't hold back."
"I don't want you to."
Curren's tongue slips between his lips to lick them, then he kicks me square in the chest so hard I don’t stop moving until I’m rolling off the end of the bed—the dining cart toppling over in the process.
Looking to my left, I see our dinner strewn across the floor; pasta, beef Wellington, and an extra side of truffle mashed potatoes.
“Eat it.”
I slowly pan back to Curren.
He puts one foot out of the wardrobe, reaches to the shelf above him, and lifts down my gun.
Finger back on the trigger, he points it at me. “Eat… It…”
He moves one step closer, then another, until he's holding the gun by the side of my head like he'll whip me with it if I don't do as I'm told.
When I still don't move, he draws it back, and I flinch.
"If you're so fucking hungry, then you'll eat it," he says, leering over me.
He's so much closer now.
I shake my head, just like I told him I did.
He sends me hurling to the floor by another powerful kick, and my head cracks against it.
With the sole of his foot pressed firmly against my throat, he looms over me with the gun still pointed between my eyes.
"Eat the fucking food, Jude. Your mother spent time making it. Don't you dare disrespect her."
I try to move his foot so I can roll over, but he slips away from me, only to kick me towards the mashed potato.
Hands on the rug, I push myself off my stomach, and lick the mashed potatoes.
He stands directly beside my head. “Is it good?”
I hum, but don’t dare look at him.
“Show me.”
Even with guilt weighing heavy on my shoulders, it's impossible to repress just how much I need this. Each punch and kick brings me closer and closer to completing this damn circle so we can be whole together. So I can protect him properly. So I can be the hero I always promised I could be.
“Goddamn,” he shudders, as I kneel before him with my lips wide. He digs the barrel of the gun back between my eyes, and with just as little self control as I have, he forces his dick—and the mashed potato—into my gaping mouth.
I try to hold as still as I can.
This was never part of the story. Not the real version, anyway.
The pressure between my eyes disappears, and above me I can hear Curren hitting the gun against the side of his head. Then with a slew of frustrated cursing, he tosses it onto the bed, and grabs the back of my head so he can bully his way further into my mouth.
When I gag, he pinches my nose, and I dig my fingers into my thighs.
Allowing me to breathe again, he commands me to, “Swallow it,” and with all the admiration in the world, I stare up at him.
Pulling back, I suck the potato off his shaft until my lips feel the ridge of his crown.
Lingering, I circle it with my tongue and watch the steely look in his eyes falter for a split second before I swallow.
I open wide and present my bare mouth to him.
With a spiteful smile, he drops his cock between my eyes and slides it up and down my face—his balls hitting my chin.
He feels so heavy.
So huge.
Then he steps back.
Curren's fingers jerk my head forward, and he forces his tongue down my throat. It's intense, dizzying, and rough.
He wedges his bare hand between our mouths to grip at my face. "Are you sure you want me to get it?"
I think I answer him.
I think the words, "I need it so much," leave my mouth. But sometimes, when you want something so badly, reality and your imagination get blurred together.
Curren throws my head to the side, and steps back. "Go on, then. You know what to do."
My head spins and my legs tingle as I stand.
The pang of what should be shame, but feels a lot more like satisfaction, beats inside me as I walk to the desk.
Gathering everything on it together, I put them all in the desk's drawer, then move to the end of it.
Without looking back, I glance down at how shamefully red my dick is, then bend over until my torso is flat against the desk's cherry-stained top.
“Your belt.”