by Lauren Rowe
“That’s it, baby,” I say. Whew. He actually seems to be calming down a smidge. “Now fuck me. I’m dripping, I’m so goddamned wet.”
He takes a long, shaky breath. “Just ‘OAP Cruz’? That’s all you said to him?”
“That’s all I said. Please. I’m so turned on.”
He slips his fingers inside me again and I shriek. “You didn’t tell him what OAP stands for?”
I stiffen. Shit.
“Fuck!” he booms. He leaps off me and lurches across the room, grabbing at his hair. “You told him that, too?”
I wince.
The Muse song is reaching a fever pitch. Jonas’ movement around the room is tortured and jagged. I feel like I’m watching a “Psycho” pop opera unfold before me, starring Jonas. And it’s turning me the fuck on.
“I’m sorry, Jonas. It just slipped out.”
“‘Orgasma the All-Powerful’ just slipped out?”
“Because I was bragging about how amazing you are, what you’ve done for me, how you’ve unlocked me, and—”
“What?” he screams, his face exploding with a whole new level of rage I didn’t know existed. “You told him why you’re Orgasma the All-Powerful?”
Oh fuck. There’s a long beat. Oopsies. Why do I get the feeling I’m holding a giant shovel right now?
“You told that motherfucker the whole fucking backstory—the whole story of how I conquered my little Mount Everest?”
I exhale loudly and wince again. “Yeah.”
Well, that does it. He’s gone. So enraged, he’s convulsing. He springs around the room, pacing, his feet not even touching the floor. Maybe I’m just high, but it certainly seems like he’s literally climbing the walls. “Why the fuck would you even think to tell another man about that?” His voice is ragged with emotion. His chest is heaving like he’s just run a freaking marathon. “Why the fuck would you do that?”
I don’t reply. I’m not sure how to explain how one thing led to another in my conversation with Will—but I’m positive it wasn’t nearly as bad as Jonas is imagining it. And Will promised not to tell anyone, after all. And I’m certain I repeatedly told Will how much I love my beautiful husband. Of course, I did. I know I did, because that’s all I ever think about. Because it’s the truth.
He squints. “Were you trying to get him off? Is that it?”
Oh, shit. He looks like an axe murderer. “No. Of course, not.”
He climbs back onto the bed, straddles me, and grabs my face roughly. His dick is spearing me—his wet tip is poking me in the belly and dripping its sticky fluid onto me. I’m out of my mind with arousal. “The way I’ve shown you what your body can do, when no other man could do it before me, the way I’ve worshipped you and brought you to the light outside the cave, literally and figuratively, the way I’ve eaten you, licked you, tasted you, the way I literally crave the taste of you, the way your eyes roll back into your head when you make The Sound, that’s all for me, and no one else. No one else.”
My crotch is clanging wildly like someone’s hitting it with a freaking sledgehammer. Oh, God, my sweet Jonas is kinda scary right now. And I love it.
“You’re my redemption. My religion. My life. I’m not gonna share you with another man. Not even in his fucking fantasies.”
Oh my god, my clit is throbbing mercilessly. “Jonas, please. I’m your devoted wife. I’ve just got a big ol’ blabbermouth—but having a blabbermouth doesn’t mean I’ve got a blabber-heart. My heart is all yours.”
He slides his fingers inside me—or is that his entire fist?—and I moan loudly. “You’re not allowed to utter the word ‘orgasm’ in the presence of another man, ever again. You understand? Never again.”
His fingers, or fist, or his entire arm, leg, head, whatever the hell he’s shoving into me down there, is giving me intense pleasure. Oh, God, it’s almost unbearable. I nod, gasping for air.
“I’m the only man who’s seen the look on your face when you climax.” He grits his teeth. “I’m the only one who’s ever heard The Sound. Those things are for me and only me. Forever. Because I gave Orgasma the All-Powerful life.”
I try to nod again, but I can’t. I cry out as an orgasm from deep inside me overtakes me for what seems like a very long time. I’m leaping out of my skin with pleasure. “Oh my God,” I gasp. “Jonas.”
“You were stranded in the dark and I brought you to the light.” His fingers find my clit and I cry out. “It was me who delivered you unto pure ecstasy for the first time—and I didn’t need some fucking pill to do it.” He bears his teeth.
I let out a tortured sound as another orgasm wracks through me.
“I’m your fucking god, do you understand me? I’m the one who made you. I created you. And I did it with nothing but my bare hands—my body and my soul—not some fucking chemical.” He practically spits at the ground. “Motherfucker. I ought to fucking kill him.” A shadow crosses his face, and I’m suddenly not sure if that’s a figure of speech or not.
I nod profusely. But then I shake my head emphatically. No killing. Killing bad. Oh my God. Yes. Fingers good. Fucking good.
“You gave that motherfucker a piece of yourself tonight, Sarah—you might have thought it was a small piece, a piece you could spare—but it wasn’t yours to give.”
“Jonas—”
“It was mine, Sarah. And now I’m taking it the fuck back.”
He’s scaring me just a little bit, to be perfectly honest. I pull on my wrists, aching to touch him, to soothe him, but my bindings are too tight. His fingers are working me roughly. I’m whimpering with my pleasure.
“Tonight, I’m your god, Sarah. And, trust me, I’m not a merciful god.” His eyes blaze. “I’m a fucking vengeful one.”
My entire body stiffens and then begins convulsing so hard, I feel like my bound arms are going to pull out of their sockets. Oh God, I feel like someone’s twisting a machete inside me. And yet it feels so fucking good.
Jonas begins massaging my G-spot and clit at the same time. He’s done this before, of course, but it’s never felt quite this good. This is outrageous. I’m delirious. This feels like pain. I want to pull back, to take a break. My body can’t continue this way—this pleasure is too intense. I need to stop. “I can’t,” I cry.
But Jonas gives me no relief. After a few minutes, he crawls between my legs and adds his tongue and teeth to the already-sublime mix of sensations he’s creating for me—holy shit, he’s never eaten me out like this before. He’s not doing this for me, he’s eating me like he’s quite literally starving—and it feels so fucking good, I begin to whimper. Almost instantly, a strange pressure overtakes me, like nothing I’ve felt before.
“I’m gonna pee,” I say. “Stop, Jonas. Oh God, I’m gonna pee.” My entire body is convulsing. Oh God, something’s wrong. He’s pushing me too far. I’m going to lose control of my bladder and piss all over his face. “I have to stop,” I whimper.
His entire face lights up. “Push through it, baby. Let it go.” His excitement is palpable as he continues devouring me like a demon. “Push out as hard as you can.”
I shake my head and clench, afraid to let go of my bladder.
“Baby, push out, don’t suck in. This is it. You’re gonna ejaculate.”
“What?”
“Oh my God, baby, yes. You’re gonna squirt. Let it go.” His voice is straining. “Let it go and I’ll lick it up. Do it now. Don’t think. Do as I say.”
I shake my head. Hell no.
“Close your eyes and push out as hard as you can. Right fucking now.”
I shake my head and continue holding on. “I can’t,” I gasp.
He ignores me and keeps up the stimulation with renewed vigor. But I’m fighting him. There’s no way I’m gonna let myself pee all over his face, or whatever else he thinks I’m gonna do, no matter how high I am. No freaking way. I clench with all my might.
“Do it now. I own you. I command you. Now.”
“I can’t.”
He sits up, his erection straining for me, abruptly bends my legs up toward my head, and slams into me with the full length of him.
I shriek at his sudden and very, very deep entry.
“We don’t need artificial ecstasy,” he grunts, pounding into me. Holy fuck, he’s fucking the shit out of me, pummeling me without mercy. “Because we have the real thing.”
I’m nonverbal. Oh my God. He’s never pounded me like this. This is savage. Holy shit. He’s ripping me in two. He’s fucking me so hard, it’s like he’s trying to literally break me—and, yet, it feels oh so good.
Finally, my body releases with an orgasm that wracks and twists my entire torso and brings me to sudden tears. But Jonas just keeps slamming into me, even as I convulse and twist. When my body finishes releasing, I’m a quivering mess—a twitching, sweaty, quivering mess. I instinctively pull on my bindings, wanting to wipe my tears, but they hold firm. Oh, shit. I’m like a carcass hanging from a tree branch. A dead fucking cat. My head flops to the side, my cheek resting against my arm as Jonas continues savagely plowing into me.
A strange look suddenly flashes across Jonas’ face. A look of horror, I might even call it. He freezes, his eyes wide and blazing. Quickly, he reaches up to the headboard and unties my wrists, and the minute he does, I collapse into a heap on the bed, rubbing my wrists and wiping my teary eyes.
“Sarah,” he says, his voice tight.
I can’t reply.
“Baby.”
He scoops up my limp body and sits down on the edge of the bed, positioning me onto his erection as he does. I wrap my legs around his waist and lay my sweaty cheek on his glistening shoulder, but I can’t seem to do anything more than that. I can’t speak. I can’t move. I can’t think. I’m completely incapacitated.
In this new position, Jonas begins fucking me again, doing all the work for both of us, since I’ve apparently lost temporary control of my muscles.
As he manipulates my body to grind on top of his, I lift my head off his shoulder and look him in the eyes, my body undulating with his. The rage I saw a moment ago in his eyes has been replaced with excruciating pain.
Oh my God, I blew it tonight. I hurt my beautiful, beloved Jonas. I crossed some line I didn’t even know existed. I tripped a landmine and it went ka-boom—all over my sweet Jonas.
Jonas grits his teeth and grabs my ass, coaxing my clit to rub against his erection. Sweat is dripping down his chest and mine.
“Jonas,” I gasp.
He doesn’t respond.
I grasp at his chest, my tears coming fast and furious. “Forgive me.”
He’s moving underneath me, in and out of me, his hard-on stroking my clit as he does.
“I’m sorry,” I say, panic and pleasure rising inside me in equal measure.
He doesn’t speak. He’s just fucking me, as calm as a sniper, rubbing his erection against my clit at just the right angle to push me into yet another orgasm. After several minutes, I shudder with another climax, and when I do, he closes his eyes slowly and jolts with a massive release.
When he opens his eyes after he’s done, he levels me with a heart-stopping gaze. But, still, he doesn’t speak.
“I love you, Jonas,” I say, my pulse racing. “Please, please forgive me.”
“My Magnificent Sarah,” he says, finally breaking his torturous silence. He cups my face in his strong hands. “The next time you even think about letting another man into our sacred cocoon, my church, even if it’s just in his own fucking imagination, even if it seems like harmless flirting to you, like something any other normal woman would do in a normal marriage, I want you to ask yourself if the validation you’re trying to get from making another man want to fuck you is worth pushing your unstable husband firmly over the fucking edge.”
Chapter 20
Sarah
I feel his fingers brushing against my cheek.
I hurt all over.
My head is throbbing.
My stomach hurts.
Gah.
“Sarah,” he whispers.
I can’t remember where I am. Why am I in so much pain? Oh God, have I been stabbed again? Where am I?
His fingers are clasped in mine. I just want to stay immersed in darkness and sleep forever, but his fingers brushing my cheek are pulling me back to him, into the light.
Holy crap, am I in the hospital? I feel like death warmed over.
My eyes flutter open.
“Hey,” he says softly. He’s sitting in a chair next to the bed, staring at me.
“Jonas.” I try to sit up, but I can’t. I feel too weak, too sick to move. My stomach hurts so effing bad.
He brushes my hair away from my face. “How do you feel?”
“Like I’m dying.” My stomach turns over and I dart out of the bed, into the bathroom. I barely make it to the toilet before heaving every last bit of champagne and vodka and jet fuel and pot and Ecstasy out of my body. Oh my God, I feel like donkey dung. I don’t even have the strength to crawl back into bed, so I do the unthinkable: I lie down on the tiles of the bathroom—onto the floor of a hotel bathroom, people, oh my effing God, I’m subhuman—and close my eyes.
He crouches over me. “You planning to pitch a tent down there and stay a while?”
“Everything hurts,” I mumble against the tiles.
“Serves you right, numnuts.”
“I know.”
He scoops me up into his strong arms and carries me back into bed. A moment later, he’s got a cool, wet cloth on my forehead. “Here,” he says. He hands me four pills. “Ibuprofen. Take these.” A water bottle is pressed to my lips. He sits next to me on the bed. “I changed our flight. I didn’t think you’d be up for a flight tonight. We leave tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you.” I moan.
“What hurts the most?”
“My head.”
He exhales. “Oh, Sarah.” He leans down and kisses my forehead. “A besito for your booboo.”
I whimper. “My stomach, too.”
He pulls up my tank top and kisses my belly button softly.
I moan. “My heart.”
He kisses my sternum and then plants a soft kiss on each of my nipples.
“My nipples don’t hurt,” I say.
“Kissing your nipples was for me.”
I let out a long exhale. “I’m sorry, Jonas,” I say. “I fucked up.”
He lowers my shirt. “Yeah, you did.” He takes a deep breath. “I didn’t sleep a wink last night—couldn’t stop playing and replaying everything in my head.” His jaw muscles pulse. “I think I finally know what I want to say to you.”
Uh oh. By the look on his face, this isn’t gonna be good. I take a long, deep breath—partly to calm my churning stomach, and partly to prepare myself for whatever he’s about to say.
Jonas brushes my cheek for a moment, staring at me quietly. “Last night was such a fucking shit-show, it took me forever to figure where to even start.” He pauses for a long time. “Sarah, when I say I love you more than life itself, when I say I worship you, that you’re my religion, those are not just words to me. I think maybe you don’t understand the intensity of my feelings for you.” He swallows hard. “But I need you to understand it so you don’t crush me, however unintentionally, going forward.”
My stomach drops into my toes.
“When you were lying in a puddle of blood on that bathroom floor at U Dub,” he says softly, “I felt the worst pain of my entire life. And I do mean my entire life.” He lets that sink in for a moment. “I knew if I lost you, I physically wouldn’t survive it. And last night brought that all up again. I felt like I was in danger of losing you.”
“Oh, Jonas. You were never in the slightest danger of losing me last night. That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s not ridiculous. That’s what I’m trying to explain to you. M
y feelings aren’t ridiculous.”
“I didn’t say your feelings are ridiculous. But if only you’d heard the actual conversation between Will and me, I think you’d realize that—”
“No. I’m not talking about him right now. I’m talking about something bigger. Just listen, okay?”
I nod.
“I was in danger of losing you in a lot of ways last night—so many fucking ways.” He rubs his hand through his hair. “Jesus. I don’t even know where to start.” He takes a deep a breath. “First off, fighting tooth and nail to get my stupid-ass wife released from a Thai prison is not the way I’d prefer to spend the next decade of my marriage, thank you very much.”
I nod. “I was an idiot.”
“Yes, you were. A flaming idiot. And that’s only the beginning of the shit-show.”
I close my eyes. “I’m just gonna shut my eyes as you talk, okay, love? I’m not sleeping or ignoring you, I promise. It just hurts my eyelids too much to keep them open.”
“Oh, Sarah. You dumbshit.” He sighs. “Let me rub your temples, baby.” He lies down on the bed next to me, leans his forehead against mine, and begins massaging my head.
I moan in appreciation of his touch.
“Does that feel good?”
“So good.”
“You’re such a big dummy,” he says softly.
“I know. The biggest dummy ever.” I moan as his fingers slide along my scalp and over to my temples. “Oh my God, thank you.”
“You’re this weird little ticking time bomb, you know that? You always have been, from day one. Little Miss Overachiever Goody Two Shoes Perfect Rule Follower ninety-nine percent of the time, and then that one percent pops up, and—bam!—you turn into Miley Cyrus.”
I laugh. “Can we agree right now that we’re never, ever gonna tell our future children about the time Mommy went to a nightclub in Bangkok and got shitfaced drunk and smoked pot and took Ecstasy with a world-famous rapper?”
“Yeah. I think we can confidently agree we won’t tell our future children about any part of that.”
His fingers are truly magical on my scalp. “You’re so good at this,” I say softly. “Thank you.”
