Wanderlust

"Please," he said.

It was a role reversal, him begging instead of me. He wanted me to do more than allow his use of me, he wanted me to want this too. I couldn't though, and it wouldn't matter anyway. If I said no, what then? He was unpredictable even when I cooperated. I didn't want to make him angry.

I nodded quickly.

Unappeased, he pulled the towel down from my mouth. "Say it."

"I want your cock inside me," I said in a deadened voice. It didn't even sound like me. I had gotten my wish. I was purely physical—a machine with no emotions. Skin with no heart.

His face twisted into a sneer. "I don't believe you."

"Please put your cock inside me. I want you to fuck me."

He sat back on his heels, his cock rising between us. "Fuck. You're not even a good liar."

Letting my eyes fall shut, I finally spoke the truth. "Make me come. Please. Show me what it could be like if a man could make me come."

The bed rocked gently as he leaned back over me, though I couldn't look at him. I couldn't see the smugness again, the triumph. A blunt head fitted to my opening. I gasped and writhed on the bed. It felt too large. It had been so long.

In a sudden stroke, he entered me, stretching my walls wide and far. I cried out, helpless to quiet the pain that wrenched me in half. He didn't give me time to adjust, just pulled out and slammed back in. Tears ran in rivulets down my face. Stunned, I realized it wasn't the pain that made me cry, or the violation, but the betrayal. He'd said he wouldn't be like before, but this was the same. It was hard and painful and fast.

"So fucking tight," he said, panting. "You're going to come for me."

I shook my head. Just another betrayal, that empty promise. I would spread my legs for him, but I wouldn't fake it.

He wouldn't even notice if I did. Despite his words, he was far away, his gaze focused on the horizon of his own pleasure. The look on his face was pure ecstasy, his movement jerky and desperate. It stirred me, his need, enough that I felt myself twinge around his cock.

At the contraction, his breath caught. There was a pause, a heartbeat of tortured stillness. Like a dammed force unleashed, he sped up, thrusting wildly. A long, pained sound escaped him, punctuated by his grunts as he forced himself deeper and faster.

His mouth sought out my skin as if it were sustenance, as if it were air. He drew open-mouthed kisses along my collarbone, my neck, breathing me in. I could feel the secret muscles tightening and convulsing. In a sort of feedback loop, his harsh plunder forced them to quiver. The vibrations sent him even higher, spurred him ever faster. It turned the tables too. I was bound and spread open but he was helpless to the squeeze of my sex, to the lure of my skin.

He rammed into me, pulling me down onto his body as if I were a toy, a tool, something to be used well and then put away.

His eyes glazed over. "Oh God."

He reared up over me, so that all I saw was a blur of hard-packed shoulders. His whole body was racked by the force of each entry, as if he were a ship battered up against rocks. I feared for him then, maybe more than myself. It was almost inhuman, the rage with which he fucked me, the tempest of his lust, and yet wholly vulnerable. Fierce and thick and uncontrollable—neither of us were master now.

My pain became his, twisting his face into a mask of helpless agony. Every jolt of my inner muscles, every slap of flesh against flesh was reflected in his eyes. He stared at me, some of the intensity slipping, reflecting back fear. What was he afraid of?

Tears streamed down my face. Didn't he like it? Wasn't this what he wanted?

"It's okay," I whispered.

He spoke with grunts. "Shut up."

"Let it happen." The words were a mockery, but they were the truth.

He barely paused in his wild thrusts, as he reached up to slap my face. I blinked against the sting. My head jerked against the pillow, and he held it there, stretching away from my body as if he could separate it, as if he could split my mind from my body, and God, if he could have, it would have been a mercy. I didn't want to think or feel—but I did. It was inevitable, and I knew what he needed with the bone-deep certainty. There were so few things we knew for sure, and mercy was one of them.

Shutting my eyes against the dark, I whispered, "I forgive you."

His body stuttered, halted suddenly in a harsh and rigid climax. He jerked my head back and mashed his lips against mine, sucking and biting at me with a violence that triggered my own orgasm. I came with long inner pulls of his twitching cock and a quiet cry that tumbled onto his tongue.

As our bodies softened and cooled in the aftermath, he stared at me, almost bewildered.

A slow blink brought awareness and a glimmer of wonder. His mouth curved in a sleek, satisfied smile.

He bent his head and licked my bottom lip. "I liked that very much."