Twenty-Two Kassen #4
The only weapon I know.
“It’s just chemistry. Nothing more.” I touched her again, tracing her slickness. “I’m not going to stop.”
She groaned into the vehicle’s carpet. “You’re destroying both of us.”
“Am I?” I used my thumb on her clit, rubbing in time to the thrusting of my fingers. “Is it really destruction when we both know you want me to shove my cock inside you and make you come all over me?”
Her whimper almost made me buckle. Almost made my walls shatter and throw me at the mercy of my mind. Almost made that softness, that happiness, that she’d conjured shine light on all my nightmarish pieces.
“Tell me your name,” she whimpered. “Tell me, and maybe you can have me.”
“My name doesn’t matter.”
“It matters.” She moaned again as I continued to touch her, tease her.
My head pounded, the haziness returning like clouds in my valley. I felt wrong. I felt very wrong.
And she was the cure to all my wrongness.
I couldn’t wait.
I needed this.
Need her to fix me.
“We have a new agreement, remember?” Withdrawing my fingers, I clamped both hands on her inner thighs, spread her legs, then rose behind her. “I won’t try to kill you if you do what I command.”
She trembled. “Don’t you even dare—” she hissed, looking over her shoulder, her hair chaos and eyes brutal. “If you do this. If you take me while I can’t fight you back, I’ll-I’ll—”
“Scream?” I mounted her.
I thrust deep, deep inside her. I let go of all the cages and prisons I’d erected and for a single breath, allowed myself to be free.
Free to feel her, feel myself, feel us, feel the blissful, rightful, fateful link that was conjured from nowhere.
It was heaven.
It was hell.
Her scream was a mixture of hate and heat. A female in need, torn apart by lust, naked in front of her own basic desires.
She was wrong that she couldn’t fight me. That with her wrists tied and hips high, she had no way to wage war. She managed to fight me better than anyone as her ass soared back, forcing every last inch of me inside her.
She met my insanity with her own.
Her legs widened until her knees slipped to the sides, dragging me down with her. Flat on her belly, it gave her nowhere to go, no other way free but to buck against me, to scream and curse, to lose herself in the dementia we’d caused.
I fucked her.
She fucked me.
We turned as wild as we had in the storm.
Grasping her nape, I reared up and rutted into her.
The tension in my balls, the bruises she’d caused, and the wounds she’d imprinted all surged with speed and recklessness.
I wanted to come.
As fast as possible.
I needed out of this woman, away from this lust. I needed to remember how to breathe.
“I truly hate you,” she groaned as she matched my manic pace.
“I feel”—thrust, thrust, fucking thrust—“the same way.”
“Liar!” she hissed, rocking her hips into the coarse vehicle carpet, her moans tattered as I drove harder into her.
Liar?
Who was the liar?
Life itself?
Fate?
Hope?
Definitely hope.
I curled my fingers around the back of her neck and fucked with single-mindedness. I didn’t think about her well-being—no one had ever thought of mine. I wrung out my pleasure from her body, not caring if she came with me or not.
Anger born from all the shit in my past washed over me.
It was hot and black and toxic.
I lost sight of the girl I was with. The girl called Gemma who had strength and safety in her veins, and instead saw every badness, sadness, and pain I’d endured.
Every woman and man who’d thought they’d owned me.
No.
Not anymore.
My anger switched to violence.
My pace switched from manic to murderous.
“God. Oh, God. Oh my...shiiiitt.” The girl beneath me detonated.
Her pussy fisted me, milked me, rippled and stroked.
She shoved me out of the darkness and into the splintering light.
“Oh, fuuuuck—” My stomach tightened, my balls pulled up, and an orgasm gathered, full of reminders that every release since I was twelve had been blank and infertile. Courtesy of the Storymaker. My master. My hell.
On the cusp of bliss, memories tried to steal me.
My mind flickered with Fables, with my family, with the blood-soaked end that I’d reaped.
I was falling, losing, tumbling back into the past.
But then...just before I turned rogue and killed everything breathing around me, the girl who forgave me for things that should never be forgiven, moved.
Her head twisted to the side. Her lips kissed my fist that was planted on the floor by her cheek.
I had no idea why she’d kissed me. Why she’d dropped her guard. Why she’d done something so...nice when I was being so cruel.
Her gentleness, her sweetness, her wonderful, courageous forgiveness.
It broke me.
It shoved me over the edge into a splintering, shattering release.
I punched into her, over and over, jerking and grunting as pulses of heat shot up my cock and into her.
Again and again.
Eradicating some of the filth from me to her.
Christening her into my twisted world.
Ensuring what I said was true.
She was mine.
Not just for tonight.
Not just for tomorrow.
But for every single day of my sorry existence.