by K. V. Rose
“You want to be mine, love?”
She still isn’t breathing.
I pinch both of her nipples, tugging gently, and she yelps, finally exhaling.
“Answer me.”
I hear her swallow, then she says, “What would you do with me?”
Kneading her between my fingers, soothing where I hurt her, I tell her the truth: “Make you really mine.”
She says nothing, but her hips shift, grinding against my hard cock.
“What do you want, Addison? What did you dream about doing as a child?” I know as I ask her, she probably doesn’t have an answer. When you live a life like ours, you’re too preoccupied with surviving one day to the next. Daydreams of becoming something more than what you are don’t exist. Living through each moment is hard enough.
A future is a pipedream.
“Moving,” she answers me. “Far, far away.” The words are sad, but she’s smiling. “Where will I go?” She clears her throat, shifting further into me as I keep kneading her between us. “When I leave here, where do I go?”
Russia. Texas. Mexico.
“Do you want to talk about that now?” I sure as fuck don’t.
She angles her head, pushes closer to me, her mouth over mine, alcohol on her breath. “I don’t think so.”
“You want to kiss me?”
She nods, biting her bottom lip.
“Then do it,” I tell her, keeping my eyes on hers.
And she does. She kisses me, her lips soft and hesitant at first, but as I open my own, her mouth is ravenous, her tongue clashing with mine, her arms tightening around my neck. She whimpers against me as I palm her breasts, pinching and soothing in quick succession.
“Max,” she whispers against my mouth, pulling back, catching her breath.
I caress her breasts, kneading her flesh. “Yeah, baby girl?”
“Fuck me.”
I pull back further and see her shy smile. See the alcohol is going straight to her head.
“You want me to fuck you?” My cock aches with the way she’s looking at me like she wants just that.
“Yeah,” she breathes out, “I do.”
“How badly?” I ask her softly.
She moves her hips again, practically riding my cock. I slide my hands down her body, feeling the subtle curves, the dip of her waist, the slight flare of her hips. Grabbing the hem of her shirt, she immediately knows what I want, and she lifts her arms.
I pull it off of her, drop it to the floor and hold her out from me, my hands on her waist as my eyes roam over every inch of her body. The burns on her chest, the faint scars under her breasts.
She runs her hands through her hair, arching her back, giving me a better view.
“Do it, Max,” she says softly, bringing her hands down to my wrists, curling her fingers around me. I try not to flinch with her touch. “Stop teasing me and just do it.”
I drag my gaze up to meet hers. “There’s something I want to do with you.”
She smiles. “Oh yeah?” She bites her lip, then her hands cover mine, and she guides them down lower, slipping them under her pants.
“Yeah,” I answer her.
She stops guiding my hands, staring at me with bated breath, waiting.
“I don’t like normal things, love. I think you know that by now?”
She nods, but her eyes are suddenly full of caution.
“But there’s something I’ve never done.”
Surprise flits across her features with that confession.
“You trust me?”
She chews her lips again, debating. I don’t think she does, no matter what she’s about to say. Because Addison London is smart. She knows not to make a deal with the devil. But even still, she nods.
“Good.” I look past her. “Now go lay on the bed.”
When I’m naked on his bed, my head spinning and a lightness like I’ve never experienced lending me a calm I shouldn’t feel, he comes to stand by me, gun in hand. I try not to let it unnerve me.
He always has a gun.
And he seems different right now. Softer. Stranger.
“Are you sure about this, love?” His eyes narrow, and he brings the gun up, trailing it down the side of my body. I shiver, but don’t look away from him. “Because if I start,” his face is calm and deadly serious when he continues, “I’m not stopping.”
It takes an effort not to cover myself with my arms. “No matter what?” I ask him coyly, arching a brow.
“No matter what,” he repeats, a smirk on his face.
My stomach flutters, and the little hairs on my arms stand on end as he guides the gun lower, then brings it toward my inner thigh.
I glance at the gauze over his shoulder, but I keep my hands down by my sides.
“Bend your knee.”
My eyes dart back to his, and I find him staring back at me. Slowly, I do as he asked, and he drags the gun closer to my core.
“Nervous?” There’s a sick gleam in his eyes that should repulse me, but if anything, it only makes me want him more.
I nod, because I’m not sure I can speak.
His eyes rake over my naked body, his lips curving into a smile as he changes direction, runs the barrel of the gun down my slit.
I gasp with how cold it feels, my hands clenching the sheets beside me.
“I want you to watch,” he says quietly, glancing at the gun in his hand. “I want you to see what I’m doing to you.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat, slowly shift my gaze to between my thighs. His hand is angled, his finger not on the trigger as he directs the very tip of the barrel to aim at me, circling the hard steel over my clit.
I start to shake.
My legs tremble, and I want to shift my knee down, close my legs, but I fight it. I resist the impulse and keep my eyes on what he’s doing to me.
“Still trust me, Addison?”
I grip the sheets so hard my hands hurt. For a moment, I can’t speak. I can only watch in equal parts horror and pleasure as he slides the gun down my pussy, his other hand coming to my lips, pulling me apart, giving him and the weapon better access.
My face flushes hot, and my legs shake harder.
“Y-yes,” I answer him, my voice quavering.
“Look at you, trembling for me,” he says softly, almost reverently, running his fingers over my folds, the gun following his movements. It isn’t soft, the edges of the weapon lending a slight pain to my pleasure.
I can hear the slickness of myself against the steel as he toys with me.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.”
I try to bite back a moan, because I don’t think I should be enjoying this.
I think I should be crying. I think I should be fighting him.
I don’t want to.
“Don’t hold it in,” he says sharply, and I look up to find him staring at me. “I want to hear you.”
I gasp as he pushes a finger into me, still using the steel of the gun to circle my clit.
“Such a good girl.” His eyes are still on mine. “You listen so well.” He adds another finger and I clench around him. “And you’re so fucking tight.” He almost groans with those words and I moan, shifting my hips to give him better access.
He rakes his eyes over my body, then watches as he toys with me.
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, “and so fucking wet.”
Slowly, he pulls his fingers out of me, drags them down my inner thigh. He slides the gun down the length of me, then he trails it back up, over my pelvis, gliding it toward the plane of my abs, between my breasts, up my throat. Under my chin.
“Open your mouth, baby girl,” he whispers, and I do, knowing what comes next.
But instead of the taste of steel sharp on my tongue, it’s his mouth that’s on me after he leans down toward me. His kiss is raw, consuming. He breaks away long enough to say, “You’re incredible,” before his lips are on mine all over again.
My stomach flutters. I think o
f the time he forced the gun in my mouth. When he promised to make this hell.
But right now, it isn’t.
He finally pulls back, letting me breathe, desire in his blue-grey eyes.
Slowly, he moves the gun away from me, but he doesn’t set it down. He pushes down his shorts with one hand, and again, I find the scars on his inner thigh, so fucking close to his thick, hard cock.
He’s perfect.
Even with those scars, and his fucked-up head, he’s perfect.
He steps out of his shorts, comes to settle on top of me, bracing himself with his hands on either side of my head, the gun still in one.
His knees are on either side of my hips and I slide my own leg down, shifting my knee.
He stares at me for a long moment, his cock brushing against my stomach as he leans down close to me.
I can smell his heady, beachy scent, and I want him so fucking much, I start to shake again, keeping my hands by my sides.
“You might get punished for this,” he says softly, speaking over my mouth, his eyes searching mine. “When you leave here, you might get hurt when someone finds out what you gave Dante.”
My throat tightens, my chest heavy with the mention of his guard. With the twisted truth I haven’t told him.
“Max, I—”
He taps the gun to my temple, and I freeze, not speaking.
“It should’ve been mine, Addison.”
It should’ve been anyone’s but whose it was.
Fear and those sick memories have my heart racing, and I suddenly want to leave this bed. I want to run. But he’s on top of me, a gun to my head, and I can’t move. Is this what he meant? Is this the kind of thing he’s never done with anyone?
“I-I know,” I tell him, although I don’t know if I mean it.
“You know?” he presses, nudging my head to the side with his nose, inhaling against the curve of my jaw. He runs his mouth over my cheek, up to my ear. “You know you gave away something that wasn’t yours to give?”
I nod, staring at the curtains over his windows, my stomach twisting into knots. I can’t tell him. My father’s secret, my secret, that will die with me.
“You know I should’ve made you bleed first?” he continues, then he bites my ear, tugging softly on my lobe. “You know that belonged to me?”
I press my lips together, close my eyes, feel my breasts heaving against his chest as he leans down closer, settling some of his weight on me. His cock is hard and warm against me.
“I know,” I say again.
“You know you’re a beautiful fucking whore, huh, baby girl?”
I bite my lip and nod, because I can’t speak.
I don’t know where he’s going with this.
He reaches between us at the same time he trails his mouth down to my throat. I tip my chin up, feel his teeth against my skin. The head of his cock brushes against my entrance and I hold my breath, open my eyes as I stare at the ceiling, waiting.
He groans against my throat, and that’s the only warning I get.
He pushes all the way in, and it burns, and as a yelp escapes me, I clench my thighs, my body going rigid beneath him as he licks his way up my throat, settling inside of me.
His eyes are on me as he looks down as if he’s studying me.
Then he slowly pulls out of me, eyes on mine, and despite his words, despite his taunting, I think he’s going to be gentle. I think he’s going to take care of me, but instead, pulling back slightly to take in my face, he slams back into me so hard my entire body jolts, the bed shaking with the force.
I cry out at the same time he says, “Fuck,” under his breath.
On reflex, my hands go to his back, nails digging into his sides.
“Don’t touch me, Addison,” he growls on a jagged breath, but I don’t let go.
He thrusts into me again, harder than last time. Tears fill my eyes, pain and shame about who really took my fucking virginity mingling within me.
I rake my nails down his ribs.
“Let go of me.” He says the words through gritted teeth.
I don’t let go.
His hand comes to my throat as he stares at me, the hand with the gun still beside my head. He fucks me hard, brutal, a punishment for what I didn’t give to him.
If he only knew I didn’t give it to anyone. It was taken.
I dig my nails in deeper, hoping to draw his blood like I know he’s drawn mine.
He dips his head, takes my nipple in his mouth and bites me, still fucking me so hard the headboard hits the wall.
I cry out, arching my neck back as he sucks me, then releases me with a pop.
He grabs one of my arms, forces it backward, holding it just above my inner elbow and gripping me tightly as he fucks me. He picks his head up, his mouth against my ear.
“I care about you,” he says, and it sounds like a reluctant confession. Suddenly, my entire body feels warm with those words, my breath caught in my throat. “I care about what happens to you. But right now, you might forget that.”
I hold my breath, waiting.
“Right now, you’re nothing but my little fuck toy,” he whispers, and my heart picks up speed. “Nothing but a whore for me to use. You don’t get to touch me.” He runs his tongue down my throat. “Now get your fucking hand off of me before you really get hurt.”
But I don’t move my hand.
Through the pain, with his admission of giving some kind of fuck about me, I feel the pleasure. And the wetter I get, the better it feels, until I want to wrap my legs around him. I want him to use me how he sees fit. I want him to control me, make it hurt worse.
I deserve it.
Sleeping with the devil shouldn’t feel like heaven.
Pinning one arm over my head, he glares down at me.
Keeping my eyes on his, I tell him, “Make it hell.”
And he does.
He grabs my free hand, pins both wrists over my head with one of his hands, and he holds the gun to my head while he fucks me.
“Such a beautiful fucking whore,” he says quietly, staring right at me. “You like being used, Addison?” His breath comes out in pants, and it’s mesmerizing, watching him lose control. Watching him ravage me, my body jolting with each thrust, his grip around my wrists bruising, the barrel of the gun scraping against my face.
As he hits deep enough to hurt, I moan, tears welling in my eyes again. He slows, his gaze holding mine.
“You can take it,” he tells me, his breath against my face. “This is what you were made for.” He kisses me, harsh and bruising. Pulling back, and picking up the pace, he says, “I’m going to come inside of you again, nothing between us, because that’s all you’re good for, Addison.” His breath catches, and he groans against my mouth. “You,” he thrusts into me violently, all of his weight against my wrists as he holds himself up, keeping the gun to my head, “are nothing,” his hips collide with mine, “but a fucking,” he pulls my bottom lip between his teeth, “beautiful little whore.”
The words don’t hurt like I think they should. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just what I’ve come to expect from Max.
Even still, and even with the warning of what was to come, pressure builds behind my eyes.
What would it have been like, I wonder, if this was with someone else? What would it have been like to have more sex with a man like Dante? Someone who cared for me? Someone I could tell the truth to?
Max groans again as he comes inside of me, filling me up.
His breathing is ragged as he rests his head against my chest when he’s done, still inside of me, his fingers still around my wrists, gun still against my cheek.
For a moment, we lay there, and I feel sore all over as hard as he fucked me, but the rum seems to have dulled some of my senses. As tears track silently down my cheek, I’m not sure if I’m crying from pain, from the words he said, or from what comes after this. For some reason, I don’t think he’s done. I don’t think that was the thing he wanted
to try.
Before I can think about it, he pulls out of me, and that hurts almost as much as when he went in.
He lets go of my wrists, instead wrapping his arms around me, sliding them underneath my back to hold me close to him after he sets the gun beside us.
His weight is on me, his body flush against mine, and I can hardly breathe, but even still, the gesture is shockingly tender.
He presses his brow to mine, looking down at me, his eyes tracking my tears.
“Why are you crying?” he asks quietly, and for a moment, I can’t answer him.
I swallow down the lump in my throat, not wanting to break down completely. “I just…” I close my eyes a second, bite my lip.
“Look at me.” His mouth brushes mine with those words.
I take a steadying breath, keeping my arms over my head, and open my eyes to find him still studying me. “I just don’t want to leave here.” That confession makes my stomach flip, my chest tighten, but I don’t look away from him and I don’t move, scared that if I touch him, he’ll walk away from me.
For a long moment, he just keeps staring. I hold my breath, waiting for him to cut me down. But all he asks is, “You don’t want to leave here, or you don’t want to leave me?”
That lump in my throat grows bigger. I swallow it down, try to stop more tears from falling as I blink up at him. “You,” I tell him truthfully. Even if I plan to run. Even if this is a fantasy, and even if I know girls like me don’t get anything they want. In this moment, this little stolen pocket of time, I’m honest with him. “I don’t want to leave you.”
He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he angles his head, and his mouth comes to mine. As always, it’s a possessive sort of kiss. There’s nothing romantic about it, nothing tender. But it’s consuming, devouring. His teeth clash with mine, and he bites my lip before pushing his tongue into my mouth, twirling it with my own. It’s messy, chaotic, but I like to think it’s his way of letting me know that no matter what happens next, he doesn’t want me to leave him, either.
But all too soon, it’s over, and maybe that’s not what he meant at all.
He pulls away, pushes off of me, sliding his arms out from underneath me as he sits back on his heels.
I start to move my arms down, but he picks up the gun and gestures toward me with it.
