My tummy flips and knots at the sensation, the bolts of pressure and fire shooting down to my cunt.
“What, Belles? Please what?” he demands, pulling and pinching tighter, higher. “Fuck you? Let you in?”
My tongue is tied, and all I can do is scream my reply silently as he releases my hard nubs with a tilt of his head and a lopsided grin.
Both!
My aching nipples pulse in time with my wet pussy. My flesh throbs, pulsing around bone and spirit.
“Both, huh?” he chuckles coolly, like he’s not nearly as half as affected as me.
My mouth waters with the slow, deliberate drag of his fingertips down my body and the debonair quirk of his brow.
I can barely breathe as he rakes his nails down my thighs to my knees. Pulling them apart, as wide as they will go, he inhales deep.
“You smell so sweet…so damn wet,” he rasps, hands smoothing all the way back up until he’s bracketing either side of my groin with the V of his hands. “And it’s making me so fucking thirsty.”
Licking his lips, he eats up my gushing core with his hungry stare.
Fuck.
I want him to fuck me so badly that no other thought, feeling, or sensation remains in me apart from the memory of his cock driving deep, hard, and rough.
“Drink, then…”
I refuse to beg for anything else out loud, except the chance to avenge our child, but in my head…I can’t help but scream. Visions of me on my knees, at his feet like a Mary Magdalene at the feet of Christ. Begging for forgiveness. Begging for life. Begging for him…
Please, fucking drink me.
“You think I don’t know you’re begging?”
I swallow down the groan that swells my throat as our gazes meet, his taunting and mine wide, desperate, eager to tear and cloud at the feel of my husband pounding into me.
The idea of my body aching and breaking, bleeding like my soul and my heart, is thrilling. Poetic even.
“I can hear you. I can always hear you, even when it’s just a green whisper in your thoughts.” Skimming his thumbs down my engorged, sensitive flesh, Christopher licks his lips once again, a flash of thought flickering through his lust-filled face. “But I want to hear you. Loud and clear. Word for word.” His thumbs press into my flesh, squeezing my labia, until his nails pinch and my need is so violent that every fibre of my being is pained with insanity.
Raking down my slit, he orders bluntly, “Go on.”
No.
“Do it.”
No.
There’s a silent pause where even our breathing freezes. Eyes narrowing, his mouth quirks up on one side.
Then with a sudden slap over my clit, he orders, “Beg!”
It’s a test.
There is never anything I want over him. Never. Except right now.
Now, I want the blood of the people responsible for pillaging our happiness.
Blood for blood.
A life for a life.