“Why do you hate me?” I ask when he drags my arms over my head and holds them there with one of his.
“I don’t hate you,” he says, sliding his other arm down to open my legs. He pushes one thigh up. “I want to make you come again. I want to hear you call my name like that again.”
I feel him then, at my entrance and that’s when I falter. That’s when I hesitate. I tug my arms, but he tightens his grip. Grins.
“You don’t own this night, Gabriela. It’s mine.”
“Fuck you.”
His grin is hungry and predatory. “I will fuck you. Just make sure you say my name again,” he starts as he pushes the head of his cock inside me. “Scream it when you come on my dick.”
He releases my wrists and I look between us, at it, at him and I try to push up, push away, but he’s too big and too strong and he cups the back of my head and brings my face to his and kisses me, our eyes open, his hand fisting my hair.
“Stefan,” I say it. I say his name as he pushes into me, stretching me.
It hurts. And it’s going to get worse. I know it is. He’s too big and he’s not being gentle.
“Stefan,” my voice sounds panicked.
He leans closer to me and my hand curls around the back of his head, fingers weaving into hair, pulling it hard.
“I want this. Wanted it for a long time,” he says, lips on my lips, kissing. Biting. “I’ve wanted you for a long time.”
He lets go of my hair and I grit my teeth as he closes his hands around mine. I curl my fingers around his, and my nails are digging into his skin, breaking it, drawing blood like he’ll draw blood from me.
“It hurts,” I manage.
“Look at me. Keep looking at me. Hurt me back,” he says, forcing me to look at him, at his dark eyes, black ringed in gold and green. “Hurt me back.”
I can’t. I’m trying. But he’s too big and I squeeze my eyes shut. “Stefan!”
“Look at me.” He holds tight to me so I can’t move. “Open your eyes and look at me, Gabi.”
Gabi.
That name.
I open my eyes and lock them on his. I brace myself and when he thrusts, I cry out and my cry is simultaneous to a tearing of skin, to that pouring of blood, that bleeding, more than I thought. A warm gush of it.
“Fuck.” He draws back, does it again.
“Stefan!”
He’s fucking me. He’s fucking me hard and it hurts, and I don’t want him to stop. I don’t want him to let me go.
He kisses me again, sets his hands on either side of my head and lifts himself up a little to loom over me.
I grip his shoulders and he’s so deep inside that I swear I feel him in my belly.
I can’t drag my gaze from his and I don’t think he can drag his from mine.
“Come for me,” he says, sliding one hand down. When his fingers brush against my clit, I arch my back, wanting him, wanting his touch. Wanting to come.
Pain morphs and merges with pleasure and one intensifies the other, making it more. And when he moves inside me again and all I feel is him and the warmth of blood and his eyes on me, I come. I come again and I let out a long moan and it’s his name on my tongue, my breath is his name.
He fucks me hard then, thrusting deep, taking and claiming in a way he hasn’t yet. And when he stills, I feel his cock thickening, body tensing. He throbs inside me and I watch him come and I hear the sound he makes, and I feel him inside me. Feel him empty as he fills me up.
It’s a few minutes later that he moves, blinks. His eyes aren’t black anymore and the way he looks at me, it’s the other Stefan. The one who carried me out of that well and what has he done to me? What’s happened to me? What he said the other night, is he right? Am I falling in love with him? Have I already?
He watches me and I want to know what he sees because I don’t know who I am anymore.
“Gabriela.”
He slowly pulls out of me, and I feel every inch. I’m raw inside.
I follow his gaze down, feel semen slide out of me, see smeared blood on him. See it on my thighs, on the sheets.
He looks down too, shifts his weight to his knees. I pull back, can’t seem to drag my eyes from all the blood, much more than I realized. The sheets are stained a deep red.
Stefan meets my gaze.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice hoarse.