Breaking Meredith

I give one last weak kick at his leg. The edges of my vision blurs with a darkness that is slowly, but gradually, consuming me.

“And now you’re right where I want you. Right where you’ve always belonged…”

His hands finally relax just enough for me to gasp in some much needed air.

“Beneath me.”

Before I even have a chance to catch my breath, his lips push against my lips in a crushing kiss.

I struggle against him, still suffocating as his mouth blocks off my mouth.

I need air… I need air… my brain screams. I’m going to have to bite him, he’s giving me no choice.

As if he’s reading my mind, he pulls back just enough to give me a breath.

“I swear to God if you bite me, I’ll bite you back,” he murmurs against my lips.

He’s so close I have no choice but to breathe him in, to suck his scent deep into my body. To fucking inhale him.

He smells clean, cool, and crisp. But there’s also something about his smell, something my brain associates with danger and violence.

One hand slipping behind my head, he grabs my hair and holds me in place. His mouth pushes into mine again. So hard my neck arches back.

My senses reel. My mind feels like it’s spinning. And I don’t know if it’s from oxygen deprivation, or simply madness.

I can’t tell what’s up or down. What’s left from right. Do I hate this? Do I love this? Do I want to stop it?

His fingers tighten in my hair, tugging on my scalp. His lips crush into my lips so hard, my lips feel like they’re bruising against my teeth.

One moment he’s trying to kill me, the next he’s kissing me like he can’t get enough of me.

And it’s confusing as fuck. But not as confusing as my own emotions.

I want more. I do. So much so that I can feel my body flaring to life with heat. It’s almost like some switch has been flipped inside me.

All the anger, the frustration, and violence I want to do to him is morphing into something else.

Something that feels dangerously close to passion.

I want to slap him. But I also want to shove my tongue down his throat and show him exactly how much I hate him.

How much I fucking despise him.

How much I fucking want him.

Unintentionally, I make a needy sound and he shifts above me. His tongue suddenly thrusts into my mouth, forcing its past my lips as more of his weight comes down.

His body presses into my body, sinking me into the mattress.

The taste of him… fuck… the taste of him… I can’t seem to get enough of it. His tongue lashes at my tongue and I rise to the challenge, lashing right back.

We seem to duel for what feels like an eternity. Lips, tongues, and teeth fighting for dominance. I can’t give up yet, I can’t. If we’re going to do this, somehow I need to come out on top.

I put everything I have into the kiss. My entire being, my entire world focusing on winning. If I can just use my body to disarm him like I did to all the other men that came before him, I know I won’t have to break. I won’t have to lose another piece of myself.

Just when I feel like I’m getting the upper hand, that I’m overtaking him, I feel his knee nudging my legs apart.

He settles himself between my thighs and my stroke falters. A little thrill of excitement courses up my spine and I forget how to breathe for a moment.

It’s all the opening he needs. His tongue thrusts aggressively into my mouth and his hips rock forward.

I’m lost, so lost, as his tongue overtakes my tongue and the hard bulge in his pants rubs against my clit.

Once again my body is betraying me. A biological weakness poisoning my will to fight back. It doesn’t seem to matter that my inner angry bitch balks at the idea of submitting to him. Knowing that he wants me, that he’s fucking hard for me, fills me with this urge to give in.

To give up.

It’s like there’s this little evil voice inside my head whispering that it would be so easy to just let go… For once in your life, Meredith, just let go and enjoy it.

But what will I lose if I do?

The possibilities are too damn terrifying. Never have I let a man rule me. Never have I let another man have this kind of power over me. Why start now?

As if he can sense my resistance returning, Simon’s free hand roams down, stroking down my side.

The stroke is almost tender… until he pulls his hips back and yanks my shirt up.

My first instinct is to slam my knees together, but he’s still between my thighs, keeping me spread open.