She grew aggressive, the more I denied her. She squeezed her thighs about my hips to hold me in place.
“Matt, please.” She whimpered.
“Not until I say.” I gave her a few moments of rough, deep fucking before relenting to torturous slowness again. Now she balled her hands, and they fell on my back (bless her--she hit me like such a girl). I ducked to kiss her, and she arched up, her pussy trying to swallow me whole; I licked along the hollows of her neck instead, tasting clean skin and hot sweat.
I don’t know how many times I pushed her off the edge only to catch her a few breaths down, but it took longer to get her there and she soon, she wasn’t as frustrated as she was just confused and distressed.
“Why are you punishing me?” she whispered.
You think this is punishment? I will fucking show you punishment.
“Shh.” I stroked curls from her hot face and braced myself to pound again. My balls were bruised from the effort, the constant back-and-forth of the tease.
As she hit me, her little grunts melted to sobs and then finally, the tears came, fresh and fat on her pink cheeks. I kissed each one as I thrust harder and winced as I held myself off--it bordered on painful. Just when I thought I couldn’t go any longer, she broke. Properly broke. The sobs grew louder and she screamed through my hand. She scratched and clawed and bit in a cock-gorged tantrum, all the pain of the past few weeks gushing forth.
I wanted her to take it out on me. Wanted her fresh and new. If this was what she needed, if I had to hurt her like this--so be it--but God, it was brilliant and terrifying.
I let loose, driving until she yelped and went rigid. Then I fell down and we rode out the last waves of our orgasms together, her jutting hips carrying us both. When I looked between her legs, she was sore and engorged, leaking already. My fucked little sundae. I couldn’t bring myself to pull out--she felt so warm and wet still--so I rocked again, waiting for her eyes to roll open.
“Babe,” I whispered, “are you all right?”
“I think so.” Her eyelashes trembled with glassy tears. She looked so vulnerable, gazing up from beneath them. “Matt…w-why…?”
I kissed her--a slow sampling, as if she might taste new. “You know why.”
She cupped my cheeks with damp hands. “No, I don’t.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, and spoke dark things to a dark place. “I love you.”
Pure silence: no breaths, no rustle of sheets, no annoying little riff in my brain. Nothing. I blinked.
Then her brows sank together, and she glared. “Don’t ruin the mood, you tosser. You and your bloody feelings. Put them away and finish your pint.”
“Um...what?”
“I said, put your phone away and finish that pint,” Jude demanded. “You’ve been nursing it all sodding night. If she’s going to ring then you’ll hear it.”
Then the real world flooded into focus: a quiet pub, the dregs of Saturday night already gone on to clubs. A group of students played cards in the corner. In one hand, my knuckles were white around my phone, and a beer mat sat shredded beneath the other.
Fuck.
“She promised she’d text me when she knew what was going on,” I said weakly. “I mean, she’s given her flat away--”
“Matthew!” Jude snatched my phone away and tucked it into his jeans pocket. “She’s a big girl. She can look after herself. Don‘t you think you‘ve done enough, sorting out that fella of hers?”
I remembered the moment Joseph had put his arms around her in the street this morning. Tell her you love her, I’d said to him, knowing that it was what she longed to hear. What a sopping twat I am, eh?
Jude took a long swig of beer.
“All very Prince Valiant though, mate. If you love something, set it freeeee--!”
“Oh, fuck off.”
“We should go on to the Cathedral,” he suggested. “They’ve got a rock DJ on. We‘ll play Grab a Gash, find you a fit little piece in fishnets or something.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
Jude rolled his eyes. “You’ve been dumped, you wet shit. Not castrated.”
It felt like it.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Leila Vaughn: beautiful, addictive and the worst case of blue balls I’ve ever had.
Even in my own fantasies, she was still fucking me over.
END
Visit the Knives & Flowers series page at www.lucyvmorgan.com for more short stories featuring Leila, Joseph and company...
Books by Lucy V. Morgan
Breaking Leila
Breaking Joseph
Twisted Summer
Beautiful Mess
A Cliché Too Far series
Tousle Me
Quest for You (coming 2014)
Acknowledgements
I had so much kind input with this project. Thank you to Christa, Kenny and Steve, who all offered invaluable advice and suggestions. Thank you to the lawyers who proofread for me.
These books have been through quite the journey from a little online series years back to a much bigger release. If at any time we have conversed about these works, thank you so much for your time and your comments. I value each and every one.
Books can be dangerous things to write. This one was certainly a double-edged sword, but I’ve had so much support despite everything. You know who you are.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lucy V. Morgan writes sharp contemporary fiction, usually with a liberal splatter of filth. She lives in England, where she also works as an editor. She spends her spare time consuming lebkuchen, working through her TBR pile, and pretending she's an urban fantasy heroine in body combat classes.
She shares lots of teasers on Facebook, so you should look her up right this minute, really, shouldn’t you?
www.lucyvmorgan.com
www.facebook.com/LucyVMorganAuthor
@Rhiannon_Edits
[email protected]
Breaking Joseph Page 31
