30
My adrenaline has worn out. My body goes limp, and I let him take what he wants. It's always been easier than fighting. At some point that fight runs out, and the lacerating doubts creep back into place. Keeping that positive mind set tests my resolve. Can I be strong?
His free hand unzips his jeans. He whips his belt out from the loops. I don't struggle. He tsks, cocking his head. “Are you so easily broken?” He laughs darkly. His pierced tongue darts out, tasting my lips. His vision skirts over my scars. The scars he inflicted. Admiration fills him.
He frees his cock, leaving his jeans on.
He grunts and pushes into me without any foreplay.
His cock stretches my insides with his forceful intrusion, making me hiss out in pain.
His free hand slides between where we are joined.
He pinches my still sore clit, making me howl louder.
He's clearly not worried about anyone hearing our debauchery.
My screams encourage him to drill into me roughly; his bruising pace is punishing.
I make the mistake of getting a glimpse of the man behind the mask.
His inky eyes are drilling into me through the darkness, stealing a piece of me with each thrust.
Again, he forces me to be conscious and coherent.
All I want is to hide behind the numbness.
He has my entire body shivering in fear at the reminder of who I am.
For the first time, he gives me rough circles on my clit, offering me pleasure with the torment.
The feeling builds. It's almost . . . enjoyable.
Each thrust he tears me down. What's worse, is I think I like his callous disregard for me more than the use of drugs. It's almost as good as being numb completely.
My clit throbs with each stroke. The feeling rises within me and I turn needy.
Fight the pleasure, Clara, you don't deserve it.
A stray tear stings against my eye. A knot forms in my throat. “Please…” I breathe, and instantly I feel disgusted with myself. Bile threatens to expel me from within. You're begging like a whore, Clara.
His grin widens. He drops his hand from my shackles, offering me a semblance of freedom.
Maybe this is another illusion. Is he testing me?
His hand reaches for my nipples, pinching them between his fingers.
The sharp pain radiates through me. My eyes skirt over his sweat soaked clothes.
It clings against his body like a second skin.
My core throbs like a treacherous traitor.
I'm dying to see the man underneath. He's never fucked me without clothes.
I wiggle and instantly reach for the hem of his T-shirt.
Before I can register what's happening, a slap prickles my breast.
Not hard, but enough to be a warning. And yet, somehow it lights something within me.
I teeter over the edge of bliss. I come hard, clamping on his cock harder than I ever have.
My body reels with every emotion as pleasure pours out of me.
It filters through my body like an electrical current. Shame immediately falls over me.
His body cloaks me in warmth as he leans down with a mirthless simper.
His pierced tongue feels like sandpaper along my cheek.
He's hiding from something, but he can't fool me with his cruel intentions.
I refuse to relent. I shove at his oversized body.
If he wants to break me, I'll let him, but at the expense of him revealing his skeletons. An eye for an eye.
His rhythm becomes sloppy and shaky. He's close to release but suddenly stops, denying himself.
He pulls himself free and staggers back, shuffling along the cold, concrete floor.
He looks wild, like an untamed animal. His ringlet curls stick to his forehead.
Sweat kisses his skin in the moonlight. His chest rises and falls in chaotic waves like an animalistic beast frothing at the mouth.
He stares at me with a forged expression of pure voracious scrutiny.
He tucks his hard, weeping cock back into his jeans.
“Clara.” My name leaves his lips like a mocking threat. “Do you like to play with fire, Nightshade?” An evil grin falls over his lips and I know I'm in the clutches of Satan himself.