Chapter 21 #4
“Mmmhm,” I hum, letting my eyes drift shut as he continues to rock into me.
“Good,” he whispers, sounding pleased. He leans over me, planting his hands on either side of my head and tilting his to ensnare my eyes. “Now listen to me carefully, Reverie. You’re going to pack up all your shit, and you’re going to come home to me. Tonight.”
I whimper, my core throbbing around him. I need him to move.
“Hey,” he calls softly to catch my slipping attention. “You listening?”
I nod weakly. “Uh-huh.”
“Good girl,” he breathes. “Then you’re going to climb into our bed, tuck this little body into mine, and you’re going to sleep in my arms.”
Again, I nod, more eagerly this time in hopes he’ll give me what I need.
“You’ll go to class tomorrow, ignore all the fuckers who stare at you, because you have nothing to be embarrassed about, since that wasn’t us in that video. And if anyone gives you shit, you’ll tell me, and I’ll fucking handle them. Yeah?”
“But Kaitlin,” I argue weakly.
“She won’t be a problem,” he assures gently. “You understand?”
I’m too lost in the throes of lust to question how—to ask what he did. “Uh-huh.”
“And if anyone asks if you’re my girlfriend, what are you gonna say, baby?”
I bite my tongue, just barely mincing the words that instinctively rise, refusing to give in to him. I’m in so much agony, though, so instead, I breathe, “I’m gonna say yes.”
“That’s my good girl,” he murmurs, rolling his pelvis against my clit again, rewarding me with another shot of utter bliss. It’s like a lightning strike, and my spine bows from the potency.
“Ahh, yes, yes,” I moan, my eyes fluttering.
“Everyone will know you're mine, even your fucking father. If being mine is a disgrace to him, then you will be my fallen angel.”
I bite my lip and nod again, vibrating with how much I need him to fuck me.
With another pleased hum, he straightens once more, pulls out completely, then slams home again on a moan.
I frown, confused when I feel nothing. I lift my head and look down, my mouth dropping in shock when I realize he’s inside the Fleshlight instead.
What the fuck?
“Fuck, your pussy feels so good,” he praises as his eyes roll with ecstasy. My core clenches in response, the emptiness almost painful.
I prop myself up on both elbows, staring at him in absolute disbelief.
“Dread,” I say, my tone somewhere between pleading and serious, begging him not to do what I realize he’s doing.
He doesn’t listen. Of course he doesn’t fucking listen.
Instead, he fucks the toy faster, his brow furrowed with pleasure as he stares down at his dick sliding in and out of the soft silicone.
“Fuck, Rev, I’ve missed this cunt wrapped around me so much.”
I snarl and go to slide out from beneath him, but his free hand flies to my hip, pinning me down, preventing me from moving.
“Dread, stop it,” I snap, my cheeks flushing with anger. Worse, a massive black hole forms in the pit of my stomach, hurt and mortification swirling within.
He ignores me and clamps his bottom lip between his teeth, slowly dragging it free as he quickens his pace.
Even as tears burn at the backs of my eyes, I can’t help but watch, a part of me enthralled by the sight of him fucking the Fleshlight.
Between his swollen muscles causing the veins in his arms to protrude from his skin, the divot between his thick brows, and his lips parted around the delicious moans leaking from his throat, he looks like a goddamn masterpiece crafted in scientifically impossible circumstances.
No one should be that beautiful.
And it’s utterly cruel he’s forcing me to bear witness to it yet not allowing me to feel him too.
“Dread,” I growl, my voice shaking. “I get your point. You can stop now.”
He lifts his chin toward the ceiling and sends his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he continues to not fucking stop.
He groans, and says breathlessly, “God, I hope you never make me go this long again. I’ve felt so fucking incomplete without you.”
The effect on my body is instantaneous and involuntary.
My heart takes off and then flutters down to my stomach, as if it sprouted paper wings too weak to hold its weight, only for it to get caught up in the whirlpool in my stomach.
I clench my jaw, hating him for so effortlessly saying the words I refused to. As if it’s just so goddamn easy.
But I hate him most for meaning it.
He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t.
I could convince myself he’s lying and only taunting me, but I know Dreadful Sharpe far too well, and I’ve seen him in almost every emotional state there is—except I’ve never seen him hurt. At least, not since we were kids, and certainly not because I left him.
But I see it now, hiding beneath his pleasure, driving him to fuck a toy instead of me.
I don’t know how to handle a hurt Dread, nor do I know how to feel about him professing something other than hatred for me.
Words bubble up my throat like shaken champagne, and though I try to swallow them back down, it’s like the cork pops free, and physics takes control.
“Then complete me,” I plead quietly.
My clit pulses painfully, as if to urge me to beg more—we’re in agony over here.
His eyes lift to mine, a thread of electricity connecting us. It’s always there. The farther we separate from one another, the thinner it becomes until it finally snaps, the buzzing ceases, and I feel… dead. Stagnant. It’s only when we’re close do I feel so alive.
Holding my stare, he deliberately pumps his hips forward, an indecipherable emotion written across his face, though it's quickly hidden behind his wrath.
“Why?” he challenges, his tone just as low. “You only cry to be filled when I’m around to remind you how empty you are. That’s why you run and hide the second I look away.”
I bite my lip, battling with what to say. Because he’s right. We both know I don’t want to want him, and for reasons I can’t quite figure out yet, that pisses him off.
“You’re right,” I say, settling on the truth. I chew on my next words for a beat before deciding to just spit them out. I’ve already lost all my dignity. There’s little remaining to strip me of, anyway.
My voice dips into a whisper, sounding vulnerable when I say, “But maybe I like it when you chase me. Maybe I like to see how badly I affect you to remind myself I’m not alone in feeling this way.”
His hips slow while his eyes pick apart my expression, a seriousness smoothing over his features. Except it’s a mask on the verge of shattering, and his lust and ecstasy shine through the cracks as boldly as sunlight.
After several long seconds, a deep, amused harrumph emits from the base of his throat. Then, he’s fucking the Fleshlight harder, and when my stomach dips, this time, it’s with disappointment. Rejection. Humiliation—again.
It’s hot and slimy, making my skin fucking crawl as he drops his gaze to the toy, poised so close above my center, his tightening balls slapping against me.
I gather vitriol on my tongue, but it only makes it as far as the tip before I'm swallowing it back down in surprise.
With a muttered curse, he grabs my legs and forces them together before pushing my knees back toward my face, locking the Fleshlight in place between my thighs.
Then, he sets a rough but steady pace, pounding into the silicone with a ferocity I've experienced only twice before. Yet, my body recalls the feeling as if I've known it my entire life.
“Dread, please!” I whine, a tear bubbling to the edge of my eyelashes as my bottom lip trembles.
With each thrust, it's becoming harder to stifle them. It hasn't been long since everything changed between us, since we went from pure hatred to a milder contempt. But this feels like it did before—cruel—and I've almost forgotten how badly it hurts.
“Fuck, you take it so fucking good,” he groans, ignoring me once again.
Growling, I try to launch my foot into his face, but he easily stops me without a single stutter in his pace. He leans his weight more onto the backs of my thighs, ensuring the Fleshlight stays firmly in place as he fucks it.
In fact, he only slams into it harder, jolting my entire body up the bed inch by inch until he's forced to quickly grab my hips and roughly drag me back toward him, resuming his position and pace.
All the while, I try to wiggle and kick out of his bruising hold, only to fail miserably.
He acts as if I don't exist except for when filthy words pour out of his mouth, as if he's actually fucking me.
“Oh, fuuuck,” he groans, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. The veins cording his neck down to his hands protrude, only making him so much more devastating to look at.
I've never been so turned on and so fucking humiliated at the same time. In my entire miserable existence, I think this takes the fucking cake as far as torment goes.
“I hate you!” I shout, but he only moans over my words, like I'm screaming at him from behind soundproof glass and he can't hear a thing at all.
As usual, he doesn't have any filter over the sounds pouring from his throat, vocalizing his pleasure through toe-curling grunts, moans, and whispered curses.
A low whine leaks out of me, growing exhausted from fighting him. Finally, I deflate, and my chin trembles harder.
I hate him so, so much.
Yet, I've never needed him inside me more.
Craving someone who thrives on your misery is a feeling worse than pure agony.
Especially because you can't help but invite it in when it comes back for more.
I cover my eyes with the heels of my palms, my entire body shaking with the effects of him slamming into me.
A sob bubbles up my throat, and I only just swallow it back down when I feel Dread lean his chest against the backs of my legs, spreading my calves enough to make room for his head.
Then, he grabs my wrists, pulling them away from my face. I shake my head and resist with all my might, but he easily overpowers me, wrenching them away before pinning them above my head with one hand.