Chapter 41 #2
“Get the fuck out of my way,” I roll my eyes as I purposely bump into him, my right shoulder connecting with his right arm, only for him to catch me with his weight and use his shoulder to bump me all the way back from where I just walked.
“I said get the fuck out of my way!” I yell, pushing him hard on the chest, tears falling but I don't really know why.
I'm horny and I'm hurt and I'm so beyond upset that this man is standing here having the audacity to get mad at me for the very same things that he did to me, that he brushed off.
“Where are you going? I don't want you here,” he says, pointing to the door. “Get the fuck out.”
“What the he—”
“GET THE FUCK OUT!” he yells at me.
It wasn't premeditated but my hand flies up and slaps him hard in the face. His head barely moves, but the slap connects.
Biting his bottom lip in rage, he just stares at me.
My right hand flies up this time to slap him on the left side of his face. Then my left connects with the other side, and then I'm windmilling him, screaming at him.
“FUCKING asshole!!!” he bellows at me as he shoves his arms out and pushes me.
We've always done this for roleplay because he knows I like it rough and aggressive… but… his eyes are red-rimmed and his face is red and he looks legit angry.
I don't know if he's doing this because he thinks that it will get me in the mood to fuck him, even though that's exactly what it's doing to me. It's making me want to crawl on top of him and tear him apart.
It's making me want to destroy my pussy on his dick until my gut feels like it's caving in from the pain.
God I miss the pain.
Charging back at him, I move to hit him in the balls with my fist, which he blocks. He obviously remembers from a couple years ago.
My hands fly up again to slap him, but he catches them both. Then, still holding on to my wrists, he walks me backward toward the front door.
I honestly thought he was going to open it and toss me out, but he doesn't. Instead, he pushes me forward, throwing my back up against the front door and releasing my wrists as he does.
“Fuck you,” I manage, the words ragged through my heaving breaths.
I want to piss him off.
I want to choose violence, to be honest.
My hand whips up again, palm cracking hard across his cheek, and my mouth flies open when I feel a stinging slap on my own face.
Lincoln has never, EVER, slapped me before.
I don't know what to think in this moment. My body is confused. My body is telling me ‘yes bitch I like this holy shit this is hot’ but my mind is telling me that he's abusive, and that he's lost his damn mind putting his hands on me.
The rational part snaps back too late.
I slap him again, harder.
He lets it land, then answers with his left, a crisp, stinging blow that jerks my body hard to the left, causing me to stumble. Stars burst behind my eyes as I struggle to right myself, feeling a sense of vertigo as my eardrum tries to right my balance.
The dude is just standing there like he wants to fight me or something.
What is wrong with him?
My self-preservation tells me ‘okay you know what maybe… maybe you need to get up on out of here before you become one of those victims on the news.’ But I'm a dumbass.
I push him as hard as I can, but his chest rumbles back against me, causing my back to slam hard against the front door once more. Trying again, he rocks me, shoving me with his hands this time against the wood.
Now I'm crying. I'm mad but I'm also crying. Maybe he'll have mercy. I don't want to fight him. Maybe I overstepped. But that's not who I am. I want to fucking fight.
If he's trying to kill my spirit that shit is not happening and I would fucking die before I let it. Grimacing, I shove him again, only for his left hand to fly up and clamp around the front of my throat.
The growling noise he makes through his closed mouth as he glares down at me, chin up, breathing faster through his nose, as he walks me back, is intoxicating.
Lincoln holds me by my throat against the front door, slamming me there in place, causing my body to vibrate with the impact.
“You want to fight me? Huh?! You want to fucking fight me?” he growls through his teeth like he's barely holding in his anger.
I'm not an idiot.
Okay maybe I am, but I'm smart enough to know that if he really wanted to kill me, he would have.
“Get off of me!” I grimace, wanting to hold on to my defiance.
His body is pressed up against me. His hand tightens, and every time I struggle, his hand squeezes tighter.
He pulls me to him, only a fraction by the throat, before slamming my head back against the door.
Jesus Christ.
We've never been this rough before.
We've had it very rough and I've asked him to do stuff like this for me in the past but never during a disagreement, fueled by real rage.
He has tears in his eyes that haven't fallen yet, and whatever the hell it is that he thinks I did to him must have really hurt him because… old dude is mad as hell right now.
What can I do?
My hands are trying to claw at his hand to let me go but his left hand has me in a vice.
The veins are all bulging on his forearm, and so I do the only thing I can do, which is to go for the balls.
But when I do, my hand has a mind of its own.
My fingers on my right hand wrap around his cock, which is extremely hard.
Oh my God. It's so… hard.
With the underside of my palm I begin rubbing in a slow, teasing pace. He's wearing these dark gray cotton pants that double as boxers except that they go all the way down to the legs. I like them a lot because I can feel everything.
His cock throbs hard against my hand with furious need, starved to bury itself deep into something, and unload all that coiled rage and testosterone.
He's not stopping me and his hand isn't loosening. As a matter of fact it tightens. The growling noise emanating from him deepens and one tear falls, ill-fitted against the fury-etched expression he wears.
One that screams: dangerous
The pace of his breathing accelerates the more I rub his cock through his pants.
Smooth as a criminal, his right hand drops his pants from around his waist. The back of my skull slams against the front door once more with finality before he takes his hand off my throat and yanks down my pants.
I try to help him but he bats my hands away.
Grabbing the top of my hair, which is now completely out of its bun, wavy, stretched strands flowing around and every which way, he pulls me toward the living room, tossing me onto the floor unceremoniously. My body rolls back to a stop.
Once again I see stars as the back of my head almost cracks across the floor. Thankfully the rug took most of the impact.
Then there's a weight on me.
On my back, my hands bat at him, not really wanting him to leave. I fight on principle because I need to make him see that I'm fighting him, but in truth I'm not.
I want him.
I want him so bad.
He's mad at me.
And I hate it.
And I love it.
His angry red dick is pointing straight up, angled toward his chin, glistening already as he takes my legs and pulls them toward him, bracing his hands on either side of my head as he suspends his upper body.
With one hand he adjusts the head of his cock toward my wet pussy before placing his hand back down beside my head.
Then, maintaining his plank pose above me, he rocks his hips forward so hard I cry out in pain. His dick slices straight through me, the head of his cock stabbing the entrance of my cervix, pain racing up through my belly and my back causing me to gag from it.
Pulling back his pelvis, he drives forward again, grunting with the effort of slamming into me hard.
Three more thrusts of this before he's repositioning himself.
He sits back on his knees, pulling my hips closer.
My thighs lay on either side of his, and with him sitting in this kneeling position he leans forward and places both his hands on my throat, his thumbs cross-sectioning around the front of it as he chokes me, using my neck as leverage.
His weight from his hands bears down just enough to pin me.
Even though his upper body is held off mine, I can barely breathe, only for him to pull back his hips and slam into me over, and over again.
He's deeper like this. So deep that the pain is magnified.
The pleasure runs parallel, catching up, causing my cries to become mingled with those of agony as this assault seems to last forever.
“Lincoln! LINCOLN!” I shriek his name.
My nails dig into his wrist, scraping frantically at the iron grip still clamped around my neck.
He’s careful, squeezing from the sides, avoiding my windpipe, but air comes in shallow, burning gasps anyway.
God, he’s strong.
Damn the sounds he's making, over here bucking like a bronco, fucking like a stallion, and grunting manically like an angry bull.
Damn it's too much.
The pain in my belly aggrandizes to a pinpoint of electrical overwhelm. My lips part wider, a silent cry building as my climax barrels toward me.
“Shut the fuck up!! You don't get to fucking come!” he threatens through his growling as he tightens his left hand around my throat, pulling back the right one to crack a slap across the left side of my left breast. My body jerks with the impact as I yelp.
Then his thumb forces its way into my mouth, hooking cruelly at the corner and dragging my lip downward until my jaw aches from the stretch.
His dick continues stabbing me hard with every unmerciful thrust. My eyes open and this man… spits in my fucking mouth!!!
What the f…
I almost want to laugh, and I would, if I wasn't being overwhelmed by the chaotic storm of pleasurable and painful sensations all at once.
His thumb stays wedged deep, pressing against my tongue, while his left hand clamps harder around my throat.
“Drink it,” he commands me as he folds in his lower lip, his mouth open, top teeth baring slightly, as he stares down on me like I'm nothing more than the dirt under his fingernails.
Goddamn.
The sheer audacity of it, the degradation, is so hot.
I'm going to come.
Rising once more to the pinnacle of my pleasure, my back arches. He fucks harder, with way more force, as if my reaction fuels his fury.
My hand flies up, palm cracking across his cheek before I shove at his face, fingers squishing against his nose to force him back.
He twists his head to dodge, then snaps back, teeth clamping down on one of my fingers, trapping it between them.
“Ow!” The cry bursts out of me.
My other hand dives into his hair, yanking hard at the roots.
“Fuck you!” I snarl, the words garbled around the thick press of his thumb still hooked in my mouth.
“Oh fuck. Oh… oh fuck… fuck… FFFFFUCK!!! I FFFFUCKING HATE YOU… fuckin…!” he growls, the sound morphing into passionate, loud, screams, as his eyes unfocus before he throws his head back.
His thumb slides deeper down my throat, causing me to retch as his enraged humping slows to a stop; the tip of his cock smashed against what feels like all my organs as he ejaculates.
That's about all my body can take and my orgasm roars to the surface right alongside his.
The both of us are screaming so loud I am convinced that the neighbors can hear us. There's no way they can't.
Still braced under him on my back, all I can see is his sweaty chest and the underside of his jaw as his Adam's apple bobs up and down with the force of him swallowing through his pleasure.
Judging from the sound he made, he had a pretty forceful release, and it sure felt like it.
My heart races in time with every nudge of his cock inside of me. Lincoln's arms are still stretched out, bracing himself above me, still sitting back on his knees and shins as his body rocks very slightly back and forth, coming down from the fall.
Damn it, I shouldn't have had sex with him, but that is the hottest sex I've ever had in my entire life. Lincoln has never ever been that angry, and at this moment in time I don't even remember why I was angry at him.
His face looks softer as he finally allows his head to fall forward.
But he isn't staring at me. His eyes are locked on my breasts, not really staring at them. Sweat is coating his skin and dripping off onto me. My shirt is off and I honestly don't even know or remember when he got it off, but the both of us are naked completely.
Why is he just staring into space like that? What the hell is wrong with him? Now I remember he had been mad at something. Oh that's right, he was angry because I came in really late.
He did get some good sex out of it.
Pushing off from his palms, he completely sits back on his shins after sliding out of me, reaching for a tissue from the side table and blotting the remaining oozing semen from his cock.
After catching my breath, endorphins still zinging through me, I allow myself to sit up as well, propped up on my elbows until I put myself in a fully seated position.
Holding my hand out for the paper towel that he's using, he looks at me with a strange expression, the kind of expression that tells me he's still upset but at least he's not insane with rage.
And he tosses, what clearly isn't a paper towel but my underwear. That's what he had used to wipe himself up. Might as well, it was already drenched anyway.
Wiping myself up, my eyes flick up to him as he stands; cock still red and hard but now subsiding.
It swings out like a fishing pole in front of him as he walks completely nude around the couch, heading for his room.
Watching him, I expect him to come back and say something, but he just enters his room and slams the door and locks it.
I know because he made it very apparent that he locked it by taking care to do so very loudly.
Seriously, what the hell is his problem?
He said he hates me.
That shouldn't make me feel bad but it does. After everything this man did to me, he has the audacity to hate me.
I know people always said that hate is one step away from love and that it takes almost nothing to conflate the two. However, confusion is the only emotion I have at this moment.
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