Black Room: Door 7
Page 8
He moves, thrusts.
I feel his cock gliding wet between the lips of my cunt as he pulls back and I ache and ache and ache, and then my moan is almost a sob as he pushes back into me and I feel that sweet stutter of slick hardness against my pussy as he fills me.
Again,
and again,
and again,
Until I am sobbing with the ecstasy of it.
He licks away my tears and claims my shuddering lips.
My entire being goes fractal, crystallizing into fragments of rhapsodic detonation, euphoria flooding through me, taking me over.
My screams echo off the lake.
I’m clawing and clutching at him and biting his shoulder. His hands tangle with mine and force my arms up over my head and he pins both of my outstretched hands with one of his, and with the other he’s cupping my nape. My entire lower body is levered off the quilt and he’s thrusting into me and I’m coming so hard it hurts, every muscle contracting at once, my core spasming around his cock,
and then he comes,
and I am utterly undone.
Because he doesn’t roar, doesn’t grunt or curse or yell my name or stare intently down at me while he fucks me through his climax.
He touches my lips with his and cups my nape in one hand and pins my arms over my head and his hips slam against mine and the sound he utters as I feel him orgasm is…raw and ragged and shattered.
“Yours,” he whispers.
And I feel his cum pour into me and I’m wracked all the harder.
I claim the kiss, then, as we both come, breaking apart together, lifting up to take his mouth with mine, helpless beneath him—perfectly, beautifully so.
Hannah—Jesus Christ, Hannah—
++
Where am I?
Darkness.
Floating, coruscating shadows within shadows. Hints of images, scraps of memory, shards of light. Fragments of skin. Palm pressed to palm, fingers tangling, trembling. A hand on a breast. Lips on lips. Inky hair on dusky skin. A droplet of cum pearling on pale flesh in the silver moonlight.
Conrad.
I feel him. I feel his arms around me, his chest under my ear. I hear his heartbeat. Feel his fingers trail along the curve of my hip.
“I need you,” I whisper, and my voice shivers, echoes—
need you need you need you need you
—I cling to him, clutch at his broad, hard shoulder. Nuzzle into his warm solid flesh, inhale his scent. Curl against him, breathe him in. Fill my lungs with him, crush against him. Refuse to let go.
He’s prizing at my clawed fingers, but gently, reluctantly. Touching my chin with a fingertip.
“No.” I shake my head, murmuring my denial, my refusal pushing against his pectoral muscle.
I feel his insistence. Pulling at me. Untangling.
“I don’t want to go.”
You have to. A thick, tragic pause. You have to.
“Don’t make me.”
I’m here, Hannah. I feel his palm on my cheek, his chest against my breasts. I need you.
His lips brush my lips. I feel them move as he whispers. I feel the dampness on his cheeks. Or is it on mine?
“Don’t cry, Conrad. Don’t cry. It’s okay. I’m here.”
I should have said this before. I shouldn’t have waited so long.
Said what?
“Tell me!”
tell me tell me tell me tell me tell me
I love you, Hannah.
“I love you, Conrad.”
loveyouloveyouloveyou
He didn’t hear me; I can feel it. I can feel him, hear him, but I can’t make him hear me. We’re having two separate conversations. I’m stuck. Or he’s stuck. Lodged in ice, shadowed and marbled with light and cold and darkness.
I reach for him. Strain for him.
For the light.
“Conrad!”
conrad conrad conrad conrad conrad conrad
I love you, Hannah. I fucking—I love you.
His sadness is a razor blade to the shredded mess of my soul, my identity. His sadness is too much, too deep…it hurts, hurts, hurts.
It hurts—
+++
The darkness is hungry.
It wants me.
It is so strong, alien, reaching for me with too many invisible arms, hands pulling me under.
LET ME GO LET ME GO
I want out.
Let me out.
Conrad.
He’s there, I feel him, hear him, smell him, know him.
I know him.
But the darkness is too strong.
I scream, but make no sound.
Rage, but leave no scars on the blackness.
Desperation is a searing flameless heat within me, incendiary, alive, magma in my veins.
Release me.
Let me go.
LET ME GO.
LET ME GO!
Let
Me
Go!
I scream and thrash and rage and push against the darkness with all that I am—
EAGER FOR MORE?
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THE BLACK ROOM: DOOR 8
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Copyright © 2016 by Jasinda Wilder and Jade London. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
THE BLACK ROOM: DOOR 6
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
&
Jasinda Wilder
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