Something happens in the seconds after that statement. Something shifts, bringing the slight sneer I’m used to with it. He becomes the man I know, full of animosity and charge, his hand instantly grabbing at my shoulder and turning us towards the wall. He climbs up onto the surface, never once letting his cock leave my body as he holds me to him. It’s a brutal grip, the softness evaporating without any other offer than the one I made. And when my back hits the wall, more objects crashing over the floor as I’m pushed through them, I grunt at the impact. It fills me with a real smile, all confusion and hesitation dispersed as he becomes what I know him to be.
He hovers for a second, his hand bracing the wall behind me as he shunts me up it and takes my weight on his knees.
He snarls, a wry smile suddenly creeping over his features as he pushes on my shoulder to increase his depth inside me. My head tips back at the feeling, my eyes rolling from the pressure I craved before. Fuck, it feels good. Real. Heavy and regressive, just as I know him to be, just as I want him to be. Screw love. Screw all of that for now. This is what I want from him. Real. Truth. And my body gives into it so easily, as I sense the low growl my stomach delvers, needing him deeper, needing his come inside me again for completion. This is who he is, who we are.
I grasp out, my fingers latching into holds on him I know so well, the explicit nature of it more attuned than love making could ever be. This is our love. It’s proved as he starts moving, the sensations filling me with more than that quietness ever could. Ruthless shoves, my back scraping on something sharp, his hands giving nothing but pain as he begins fucking into me. It causes groans and gasps to release from me, my mind lingering in the bliss that’s coming as all that pain begins to numb down and settle.
My face is snatched, my hair yanked on my scalp, levering me away from him and then back in so he can chew into my neck. Feral. Angry. Stunning. And I want more. My body’s acclimatised to this now. He’s made it that way inclined. It’s becoming needy for the next sensation to dwell in, some new donation of pain I’ve not had before.
“More,” I pant out, my fingers tightening into his skin as he starts to tear me apart. His hands bite into me at the offer, a pain coming from them that makes me howl out and feel tears spring into my eyes. It shocks my eyes open, perhaps needing to see his face to cope with the dense touch. He’s smiling as I find a way through my haze to see him, a look of unadulterated sin hovering around the power he’s delivering. Still, he’s not finished and I know it. I know it because of the way a frown comes across his face as my pained tears start falling.
I’m shoved again, his cock leaving me as I’m pushed off the counter to land on the floor beneath him with a thud. I scurry to all fours, happy to be down here but readying myself for whatever’s about to happen.
“You’re pushing me,” he mutters, his feet lowering to the floor.
“You needed pushing,” I pant out, my body heaving from the tumble I just had. He smirks, his fingers wrapping around his cock as he looks down at me and nods.
“Come swallow this for me,” he says, calmly. I flick my eyes to the office door as he waits for compliance, suddenly remembering Cole in there. I’d like to say I gave a damn, like to say I was bothered that he might walk in, but I’m not. “Crawl for it like a good little slut.” I look back at him again, smiling at my own decadent thoughts and beginning my crawl. I’m too lost in this version of the man I love again to care about anything. Hardly concerned if Cole joined in with the fun. He was right, wasn’t he? I probably would fuck his brother if he asked. I’d do anything really, especially when this guise is in control of my thoughts, winding me up with them.
He groans quietly as I sink it in as far as I can, which makes liquid slide down my thighs and causes shudders to race my bones. I adore that from him. Adore its tone, the way it makes me feel relevant, sexy. I need that from him as much as I need the words of love. It’s all here as I keep sliding it down, swallowing at the same time to inch it in further. He leans over me and starts to turn, his hand taking my weight to tip me backwards, increasing the angle so I can get more in.
Fuck, it’s deep. I can’t breathe as he hovers his thumb over my throat, feeling his cock pushing in, moving back and forth. All the way out, take a breath, and then all the way in again until I’m full. I look up at him as he continues, watching the way he keeps staring at nothing but my mouth. He shoves in at one point, causing a gag to come and tears to flow, that makes him smile. I’d laugh if I could. My monster in love. My beautiful sadistic man.
He slaps at me out of nowhere, harder than I’ve felt before in this position. It shocks me into a reaction as I choke, my teeth barely avoiding clamping closed.
“You fucking bite me and you won’t like the result,” he growls, as he increases the pressure around my throat and keeps pushing in and out. It speeds up too, the feel of it becoming one fluid movement as I contain my teeth and let him use me. In, out, his hand continuing to tighten, increasing his own friction along with it. I feel like I’m going to pass out at one point, my chance to breathe being restricted on a few occasions. “Put your fingers inside yourself,” he says, quietly. “Fuck yourself for me.”
Full from both ends. The thought makes the sudden rush of orgasm come quickly, reminding me of illicit teenage visions and dirty top shelf magazines. I can hardly breathe through it as it floods me with pleasure, my mouth still full of pounding cock as it does. It’s a rush. Pure and simple. It bleeds through me as I look up at him and whimper around his continued drives inwards. I’m fucking myself with my own stained fingers and relishing its effect on me, my body quaking and shuddering with its effect on my skin. I am a whore, for him anyway. And I don’t care. He’s in control of me. He can do anything with that thought. Love me, destroy my skin and remind me who I belong to. I don’t care about anything anymore. Just this sensation of being held and considered, looked after, used.
His come starts travelling along his cock. I’m greedy for it. Needy. I squirm, trying to reach further inside myself, bring my own orgasm quicker, but his hand knocks mine away completely just as his come surges into my throat. It’s pouring into me, little care to comfort as he keeps shoving me into the floor and near choking me. It’s a punishment. I know that. I’m being punished for even thinking about Cole. Orgasm denial. I’d smile at the thought if I could breathe, but he’s right to deny me my pleasure. He is. That’s what I’ve signed up for with him.
I know it all too well now.
He draws himself out of me at some point, leaving me gasping for air and racked with an ache only he provides. He’s just sprawled across me, not caring if he’s heavy or not. I’m just a toy now, something for him to paw around with for a while and enjoy. Deny pleasure to if he chooses. It’s exactly what I want to be. I’m happy here languishing beneath his weight. It’s like the calm after the storm. Relaxing. My body’s primed and waiting for more of him. My arms unable to move as they lie limply at my sides. I’m just thriving somehow in this sense of degradation, empowered by it. Perhaps empowered by him alone. Nothing else matters. Not calls. Not emails. Not timelines or responsibilities. It’s just him on me and the comfort that brings me.
The silence.
“I love you,” I mumble, my eyes still closed as he begins ferreting about in me and I listen to the sounds that makes.
He grunts in response. No offering of love in return. No whispered words of endearment. No soft caressing and gentle hands. There’s just the feel of him beginning to move on me, his cock becoming hard again against my breastbone as he rubs it back and forth. It just goes on like that. Me accepting whatever he does, him taking whatever he wants from the thing he owns, fingers delving into anything he chooses. But that quiet is here again. My calm.
“You want a drink?” he asks, almost bored with the thought. I don’t even know why he asked. He doesn’t care. I shake my head against the floor, actually quite thirsty but not daring the thought of him moving. Bliss lives here. Quiet comfort, as quiet
as Blaine ever creates, anyway. He chuckles and lets his fingers gauge deeper into me. “Yes, you do.” I smile a little, enjoying the way he knows everything about me, a slight shiver riding though me because of that fact. “Stay.” I snort, amused at his dog like commands, and not entirely sure if my legs would work if I tried to move regardless.
He returns a minute or so later, a glass of water in one hand, the other reaching for me. I gaze at his naked body as he settles himself and lays down. He’s so open with it, always has been actually.
“For someone who’s been mauled about, you’re smiling a lot, Alana,” he says.
“Barely mauled. I expected worse,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders. He snorts, and then looks at my lips. That’s it other than a continued gaze at them, the occasional brush of his fingers across cheek to reaffirm this love we have. “And I like this place we’re in. It’s nice. Honest.”
It’s just quiet again after that, short of the traffic beginning to wake Manhattan up outside. It’s as peaceful and calm as I’ve ever been with him, both of us naked and lying on the floor of my apartment, me barely caring if we ever move again. This is all I need from him, from me even. There’s a harmony here with him, a concord that no one else could understand. It’s not normal or average, and it’s far from ordinary, but it’s ours, and it’s something I won’t be without again regardless of what his past holds in his mind for me. I don’t care. Nothing is breaking this apart. No judgement. No repercussions or consequences. I need this. This is my future. It’s my way out of where I was, out of everyone else’s dreams. It’s how I write my own destiny.
“Can you tell me about her, now?” I ask, softly, needing to know more about it so that I can sweep the distance away that still keeps a small barrier in place. I don’t want it there. If we’re going forward, I need transparency so I can understand him fully.
His teeth draw over his bottom lip, his fingers beginning to leave my face again. I clamp mine down on top of them, refusing to allow that hiding again. It all comes out now. Everything. And then we go forward, or backwards, or wherever the hell he feels like taking me. His home included.
Chapter 18
Blaine
I t’s a conversation I’m still thinking about as I feel her fingers loosen on my skin, that brattish little huff of hers making me think she’s about to give up trying to open me further. Tenacity seems to be failing. It’s enough for me to sneer at her lack of resolve, annoyed with her inability to challenge more than she is doing. This languid state makes her less fiery than I’d like her to be. Beautiful undoubtedly, and touching parts of me never found before, but fundamentally, it’s inadequate for our journey from here. Love alone will not see her through this, no matter its inescapable effect on our hearts. The submission is endearing, but the bite is what she needs to keep coming at me with. She needs to mingle those two effectively. Push when required, and know me well enough to tell my magician to go fuck himself.
“Why won’t you tell me about her?” she snaps.
I smirk at her, willing the hand that slips to the floor to lift again, slap at me and make me tell her. Not that she can until I’m ready. I’m still not. Not here in her insipid little apartment, which harbours nothing but boredom and restriction for me. The only thing of relevance here is the fact that she let me fuck her like a madman rather than insisting on something neither of us want. It was a cleansing experience, filing me with a loyalty to her, one that needs protection or admiration. A fucking collaring probably.
Cole enters my mind as I keep lying here, wondering what she’s about to say next. I should get him out of this place, perhaps beat him senseless for daring to find her. And if one of his fingers touched, or went inside what belongs to me, I’ll kill him without hesitation.
I roll away at the thought, barely restraining the need to beat her for admitting to wanting him, but thankful for her honesty in the matter. It’s good to hear from her in some ways, refreshing. It means there is sanctioning to the reasoning behind my hopes for a fresh start, affirmation that she is what I need her to be. However, she needs to see Eloise rather than be told. Nothing else will do. No conversations of how the woman I killed made me feel. No cherished softening of the facts. Little doves need to see so that they can find a route through that if they choose to. I will not manipulate her thoughts to make that an easier decision for her. She will lie down and feel the woman who meant little to me, acknowledge that sensation and declare herself in or out of the type of future I can offer.
“What are you doing?” she asks, as I pull my trousers back on and search for my shirt.
I’m not sure. I should make her get dressed and take her straight to the graveyard, show her and then let her leave if she wants, but this fucking heart keeps interfering with that thought process.
“Leaving,” I snarl, annoyed with my own confusion.
“Why?”
“Because I have to.”
“Why?”
I spin on her as I find my shirt and start yanking it onto my skin, all the time fighting the need to go back down to the floor and ravage her again. It’s enough to make me turn away again and snarl at myself again, this time searching for shoes.
“I need to get Cole out of here.” I don’t. He could rot here for all I care. I just can’t bring myself, no matter the importance, to take her to that graveyard yet. The possibility of her refusing me after that is too much for me to comprehend at the moment, especially after that fucking moment of sweetness she forced me into.
“No you don’t. You need to sit the hell down and talk to me.” The bite in her tone makes me stop moving, amused at her brattish reaction to my lie. “You’re not doing this with me anymore, Blaine. I know you now.” That part of the statement is probably becoming truer than she knows. “Turn around.” I feel the smile creep further up my lips, amusing me as I start moving to wake Cole up. “It’s time, Blaine. Honesty, right? Fuck Cole.” That deserves a month’s worth of edging. I open the door and am elated to find vomit all over her carpet, the reek of it filling the compact space. It’s as disgusting as the words of inadequacy she’s probably written in here, short of the ones I’ve been forcing into her. It suits the space, gives its hollow meaning credence in some way. I chuckle at it as I look at him and watch the spittle drain from his mouth. Child. “Honestly, you can’t give me… Oh my God,” she spits, her little hands pushing me out of the way. She just stands there and looks at him, too, her face a picture of disgust. It’s provoking, making my cock twitch again. “My office.” I’m not sure if she’s bothered about Cole’s wellbeing or not as she steps around him, checking the surfaces and her open laptop. “It’s all ruined.”
“Good. It’s insipid anyway. You can redecorate.” Not that I care if she leaves it infested. I’d rather she came home with me and never returned here. She spins on me with such venom I half step away for fear of slapping her straight down into Cole’s vomit, then chuckle at that thought. “It’s my fucking space, Blaine,” she snaps. “Mine.” I snarl at her tone, pulling in a long breath to counter the impending reaction for such an attitude.
“No, it’s not,” I reply, my eyes scanning and still finding nothing of her but three purple books on the shelf. “Show me yourself in here.” She hovers, her face screwing up in thought. “Pick up one thing that means anything to your future or what you want from it.” She narrows her gaze at me then looks around the room, all the time covering her mouth because of the stench. Good, perhaps it will help her see that here means nothing. Her mind is all she needs, that and the freedom to optimise it without restriction or limitations. “It’s a box that barely resembles you in any fashion.” A fucking characterless one at that. “It was before me, and is even more so now.”
“Screw you,” she mumbles irritably, as she picks up her laptop and phone. I smile at that, letting her have her moment’s mouthy tantrum. It’s pleasing to me, her wrath coming from something she’s passionate about again. “I did this. Me. I made all this happen, Blain
e. Without you.” The last of it is uttered so softly even she knows she’s losing her own battle.
“You did nothing in here but lose yourself in what everyone else wanted,” I reply calmly, my feet backing away again until I turn and begin putting my shoes on. It’s a sad, dingy little room, lacking anything of interest or inspiration. I sit and begin tying my laces, wondering what I should do with her next rather than acknowledge the fact we should go to that fucking graveyard. “You lost yourself here, Alana. Nothing more than that. It’s all a shell of hollow engagement and pitiable fantasies, as vile as the vomit on its surface.”
Something comes flying past my head the instant the last of the sentence leaves my lips. It makes me rear up and back at her, all sense of calm washing away at the same speed as the object came.
She stands there, fury and angst pouring from her, a hellcat being formed. It spikes all kinds of curiosities in me, causing a smile to come at the imagery developing.
“You’re an up yourself arsehole, Blaine Jacobs,” she spits, her feet stomping towards me. “And I’m sick of it.”
“That I am, little dove,” I reply, walking towards the door. “One that you will get down on your knees for should I ask, so be careful with your damn tone.”
She stares. No movement. No recourse to my statement. No argument. She just glares at me, eyes like my sea harbouring focused intent. She’s thinking, plotting something. It’s in her stance now. No fear. No backing down. Purple stripes highlighting her ire.
The End Page 26
