32. Riley
RILEY
For weeks, I’d dreamt of sleeping in a bed again, soft and warm and with a pillow under my head. But now that I’m in one, I’m tossing and turning, no longer used to the comfort and unable to fall asleep.
When I finally drift off, it feels like I’ve barely closed my eyes when an agonised voice yanks them open again.
Dim blue light is falling through the uneven, curtained windows, fitted into natural gaps in the cave wall.
“Haqif! No! Haqif!”
Aron’s thrashing in his hammock, despair fracturing his voice. There’s something so raw in the sound, so vulnerable that it’s like a dagger through the heart, twisting and twisting. I can’t listen to it.
“Hey, hey, hey.” I jump up and cross the room, my hand on his shoulder in a heartbeat. “Hey, it’s just a nightmare, it’s alright.”
Before he even opens his eyes, his own hand shoots forward like a viper striking.
“Are you fucking stupid?” An iron grip nearly snaps my arm in half as I’m dragged into the hammock and on top of him.
“Huh?” he demands. “Riley, I sleep with my gun underneath my pillow! I could have shot you, do you realise that?”
“Why the fuck would you sleep with a gun under your pillow?”
In the dim semi-darkness of the rising day, I see his eyes stray to my ass.
I’m wearing only the black shirt he tossed at me earlier when I stepped out of the shower.
I’m half-naked and practically laid across his lap, hips raised high, as if ready for ...
before I even finish that thought, twisted excitement surges through me.
Something flashes in his eyes—like recognition—and his palm crashes loudly against my exposed flesh, the sting burning deep.
“Oww,” I complain, my voice like melted butter. “You were having a nightmare! I was just trying to help.”
“I. Didn’t. Ask. For. Your. Fucking. Help,” he berates me, the cracks of his hand punctuating the words.
With each one, a cat yowl peels off my lips. I’m digging my nails into his skin before my arms wrap themselves around his shoulders. I cling to him, and he pulls me closer with his spare hand on the small of my back. The potent mix of hurt and comfort sets my blood boiling.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur sweetly into his ear and feel him relax, taut muscles letting up.
“I have nightmares almost every night,” he tells me, a little gruffly. “Mind your own fucking business.”
“Hard to do when you’re this loud,” I point out, earning a blow so vicious that my eyes water. “It sounded so bad! It sounded like someone should wake you up.”
With the next merciless slap, I shift, accidentally grazing my clit over his bulging erection, only the thin fabric of his boxers separating me from his cock.
He hisses with an intake of breath, then exhales sharply when I do it again and again, my pleasure igniting. With a guttural growl, Aron peels his boxers and my shirt off. Then he pulls me a little higher, until the pierced tip is aligned with my clit. I gasp.
“Two more. Big ones,” he warns me, his voice so strangled it’s barely more than a whisper. “Then you can play.”
I only mewl into his shoulder in response, the sound indistinct and feral, protest, impatience, the need for contact, all blending together.
He grips my ass and caresses the curve of each cheek before landing the final two slaps, brutal, but completely swallowed up by the heat rising inside of me. My head swims, my face feels flushed, my body fevered. The yelps I let out come from deep within my chest.
“Alright, you’re done. That’s a good girl.” His breath is hot, and his lips are so close he nearly kisses me as he speaks.
I grind myself over his length hungrily, panting into his ear with primal desperation I couldn’t control if I tried.
His hands are still on my ass, gripping me, holding me in place, guiding me. Helping me get what I want, what I need, until I shatter with a shrill cry, my muscles liquid and my head thrown back, my orgasm crashing through me in a tidal wave.
“Riley, you’re fucking trouble, you know that?” Aron growls.
“Do you think that’s all I am?” I snap my eyes up to his—two coals burning in the dark. “Is that why you enjoy hurting me? Punishing me?” My voice comes out all wrong, more sad than seductive.
To compensate for that, I rub my sensitive spot some more over him until he releases a strangled moan and until my own pleasure starts building anew.
Aron reaches between my legs, dragging his fingers through my slit. “Fucking hell, Riley. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying it too. Your pussy’s absolutely soaked.” He brings his fingers close to my face to show me they’re completely covered in my arousal. “Clean me off,” he commands.
I do as he says, closing my eyes as I suck on his fingers, licking my own taste off his skin, all the more aroused because of how filthy I feel doing that. I lick my lips all around, swirling my tongue, and then hold his searing gaze.
“Are you trying to provoke me, Hotshot?” he growls.
I’m hoping he can’t see me blush in the dim light. But this close to me, he can feel my heart speed up, danger rushing through my veins.
“What if I am?”
“Then it’s time I found out if that pretty mouth of yours can do more than throw brave words at me.”
Before I can process what’s happening, he hoists me up and spins me around until my face is inches away from his glistening cock, wet with my juices as well as his, trails of precum running from the pierced tip.
“Get on your knees.” He hoists my hips up. “I want your pussy in my face.”
The hammock is still rocking gently from the commotion when I obey him unsteadily, the firm, coarse fabric shifting under my weight.
“What the fuck are you waiting for, Hotshot? Take it in your mouth. But remember ...” His breath is hot on my skin, and his teeth sink into the back of my thigh, drawing a sharp cry out of me. “If you bite, I bite.”
He drags his tongue through my entrance, and a shiver runs through me. I can’t take my eyes off the firm vein pulsating along his length. I close my fingers around the base of his shaft, and I trace that vein with my tongue, before flicking it over the small, soft beads of his piercing.
He takes a sharp intake of breath and groans, hands squeezing my hips in a bruising hold. “Fuck me, that feels good, Hotshot.”
It’s my turn to moan when he reciprocates by teasing my clit with his tongue. I’m so sensitive that even the gentle contact hurts—but in a way that has me craving more. I forget to breathe and stay motionless, savouring every coil of pleasure in my core.
Until out of nowhere, Aron pinches my clit. Hard. I flinch with a shriek, the hammock destabilising underneath me. I stop mid-motion to avoid crashing to the ground.
“Greedy little bitch. You don’t get to come again until I do. I said, take my cock in your mouth.”
Uncertainty settles low in my stomach like cold fear. I whimper as my lips close around his crown, all the tendons in my jaw stretching and protesting his size. I dip my head lower, slow and careful, the taste of salt and musk overwhelming in my mouth.
“Ever done this before, Hotshot?”
“No.” I let go of his cock to answer him.
He chuckles menacingly, and anticipation runs up my back like a chill, dark desire twisting inside of me. “You’ll be fine. Just relax. I want to go a lot deeper than that.”
“Aron, can’t we just ... I don’t know ...”
“You don’t have to know anything. Just do as you’re fucking told.” When I hum in what’s neither a refusal nor an agreement, a softer note mingles in his rough voice. “A filthy thing like you, you’ll enjoy choking on my cock. I can tell you want it, you know? You’re dripping all over my face.”
He’s right. God, is he ever. I feel ashamed and depraved for wanting to do that. For wanting to serve my captor—a man who has hurt me and was planning to kill me until recently, a man who’s made it his personal mission to degrade me in any way imaginable since the day he met me.
But I want it. I want to see how far he can take it, how unrecognisable to myself he can make me. It’s like I can no longer tell the difference between flying and falling, like I want him to push me into a free fall, no longer believing in the rock bottom awaiting me when I land.
But it’s more than recklessness. Deep underneath, there’s a mad belief—one that defies all logic and yet feels so true. The belief that if he pushes me, it’s because he, too, wants to see me fly. The belief that perhaps we are both liars.
“Last thing, Riley.” Aron’s voice pulls me away from my thoughts. “When I say I want your pussy in my face, I want it in my face.”
He knocks my knees off the hammock, my legs sprawling to the sides. His mouth clamps around my core. Not giving me a second to recover, he reaches forward to grab my hair at the base of my skull, yanking at it urgently.
I barely manage to wrap my lips around his shaft before he pushes my head down, thrusting his hips forward at the same time.
His tip hits the back of my throat, the piercing colder and harder than the flesh, irritating the area.
I gag violently, tears springing to my eyes.
My jaw feels on the verge of being ripped off from the sheer size of him wedged between my lips.
My throat constricting, I claw his thighs with my nails, but he doesn’t care.
He lifts my head up, then pushes it back down, over and over, his hips meeting me halfway, my screams muted by his cock.
I can’t take it, I’m realising in a panic, my face wet and my heartbeat rapid. It’s too much. His size is too much, the discomfort is too much, and the pain is unbearable.
But just then, he starts sucking on my clit, tracing it with his tongue rhythmically.
Pain fades into the background. Everything falls away in the face of the savage pleasure unspooling deep inside of me, an overpowering ache that drives me to meet his thrusts in my mouth and to rub myself over him as he fucks me with his tongue, until we’re both moaning against each other.