Better When It Hurts (Stripped 2)

The bathroom door is cracked open, yellow light streaming through.

I don’t knock or call out. The bathroom door lists open as soon as my fingers brush against it. Then I can see him—all of him. He’s standing at the sink, scrubbing his hands. There’s no paint on them, no dirt. And definitely not any blood.

The water that runs down the drain is clear.

“Blue?” I ask.

He doesn’t look up. He just keeps washing and washing his hands, running his fingers over clean skin. “What are you doing here?”

I bite my lip, unsure what to say. He must have thought I might come. That’s why he added me to the list. He must want me here.

He doesn’t seem to want me here, though. It’s a private moment I’ve walked in on.

I step into the bathroom. “Are you okay?”

After a second, he turns off the faucet. Silence rings in the small space. He sets his hands on the edge of the counter and hangs his head. He looks defeated. Broken. I didn’t do that, did I? Was he okay before he came back?

Has he ever been okay?

I want to go to him, but the lines of his shoulders are rigid. “Blue, whatever you did—”

His mouth is on mine before I can answer. It’s not a kiss, it’s a fusing of him and me—it’s rough and invasive. It hurts, and I never want him to stop. His hands sink into my hair, still wet from the sink, sending droplets onto my neck.

“What?” he asks, nipping at my lips, not letting me speak. “If I killed someone, you’ll forgive me? If I have a body in my fucking fridge, you’ll help me hide it?”

I shiver. I know he’s trying to scare me—and it’s working. I’m afraid.

Fear doesn’t control me anymore. It doesn’t define me.

“Yes,” I say softly. “That’s what I’d do. I’m on your side. Now and forever. I’ve always been on your side.”

A shudder racks him, and he presses his forehead to mine. “It’s not safe for you with me.”

And then I can’t help it. I have to touch him. I put my hands on his big shoulders, feel him vibrate with tension. It’s like touching a wild animal. There’s power and ferocity and intelligence. I could never control him. I only want to follow where he leads.

“It’s never been safe for me, Blue. Except when I’m with you.”

My words seem to unlock something within him. They unleash him. He comes at my mouth like he’s going to consume me—teeth and tongue, harsh and relentless. Strong hands lift me onto the counter, and I hold on to him for balance.

He kisses his way down my jaw and over my collarbone. He touches me all over, his hands mapping every inch. It’s a claiming, with his mouth as the brand and his body holding me in place.

He reaches between us, and I brace myself for his fingers. They’ll be blunt now. They’ll hurt.

Instead I hear a zipper as he opens himself up.

My dress rides up easy, and he shoves aside my panties. His cock lines up, and I tense. I know how it feels going in dry, but I don’t try to stop him. He needs this from me, and I need him to take it.

I’m slicker than I thought. He slides in quick, but it still stretches me out.

My mouth opens on a gasp, and he takes the opportunity to kiss me hard. He fucks me from both sides, his tongue thrusting, his cock deep inside. He doesn’t relent until I’m fighting him, struggling for breath and for relief, the ache in my sex so strong I’m clenching around him, milking him while he moans into my mouth.

He speeds up fast enough that I can’t keep up, I can only stay open to him, battered by him, shoved over the edge by him. It’s like falling, and he’s the only thing holding me up. Only his cock keeps me grounded while I climax around it, breaking into pieces, coming back together in his arms.

* * *

He puts me in the shower—literally strips me down completely and lifts me into the shower. I’m not a doll, because he checks the temperature before pushing me gently under the spray. I’m not a child, because he washes me slowly, sensually, lingering on my breasts and between my thighs.

My legs shake as he plays with my folds, fingers slick with water and soap and arousal.