by Celia Crown
I just had to drink a lot more water to bring back the hydration of my body and use eye drops when my eyes get too itchy. I shouldn’t rub them, but it’s hard not to when I can’t tell if it’s the dryness or an eyelash has fallen into my eyeballs.
The first time I looked in the mirror was when I was in the hospital, and I looked so bad that I thought I saw a vengeful ghost. My hair is messy and lifeless, my skin was ashy without the usual flush of my cheeks, and the ambers of my eyes are surrounded by red blood vessels.
I don’t understand how Luke can look at me and kiss my lips. I could be a ghost inhibiting his girlfriend’s body and taking advantage of his mouth-watering muscles.
When he’s taking care of me, I am a guilty individual about milking his efforts and groping his rippling arms. They are strong and stiff. It’s a great source of comfort when I want to feel safe. Luke sleeps with a straight back and refuses to touch me the first night we got home. He would have slept on the floor if I hadn’t told him that he was an idiot.
I wasn’t physically hurt. It’s just that my lungs need time to recuperate from the smoke. He acted like I was in a life-threatening state where I will break; my bones hadn’t been submerged in liquid nitrogen, and they won’t break if he hugs me.
He wouldn’t touch me, but that wasn’t the only thing he did. He refused to let me near the kitchen where I do my work. Luke claimed that the oven is a source of fire that he doesn’t want me to go near.
I wish he realized that the stove is a lot more dangerous than the oven, and I hardly use the stove unless I’m making caramel or anything that needs to be melted with a pot of boiling water.
I let him play protective mother hen and detective wife for a couple of days before I needed to update my blog. It’s my livelihood, and he’s making me lose followers, and he had the audacity to confiscate my laptop because I needed the rest.
Doctor’s order, he said, but it’s probably him telling the doctors to give me that order.
It’s been a week of being bored, and craziness is beginning to seep into my mind, whispering rebellious acts to pass my time. All of those thoughts are bad ideas, and I am not about to sit around the apartment with a bowl of cereal and binge watch another television drama.
I have caught up with basically every show there is possible to watch in one week. Luke took the keys to my apartment and his spare one to prevent me from going outside. I can’t go back home if I don’t have keys and he knows how much I don’t like it when I don’t have somewhere safe to return to.
Luke’s unit is my home base while my apartment is my second home, but Forester and Leslie have taken it over with their gross affairs that no doubt contaminated the air by now.
“Luke, please,” I take his hand to stop him from leaving, “I’m fine, I’m getting bedsores from this.”
“You’re not fully healed,” he comments as he looms over me.
“I am,” I protest with a sigh. He even fluffed the pillows for me.
I would tell him he is a considerate boyfriend if I’m not laying under duress. I believe this is unlawful imprisonment or some form of cruel and unusual punishment. Not a single human being can endure this kind of recovery for a whole week. I’m going to tear my hair out of my skull and wave it in his face to let him know how frustrated I am.
Enough is enough.
I shoot up from the bed, struggling to use my upper body strength to pull me up when I’m weighted down with the stuff on me. Luke is faster as he stops my movements to slowly bring me to a sitting position, the pillow behind me flattens as I lean back with a grumble of his name.
I take his hand and pull him to me. He sits at the edge with an unhappy expression that darkens his eyes. He can be unhappy when I talk, and he can frown all he wants when I’m done.
“How can I convince you that I’m fine?” I ask softly, rubbing my fingers over his scarred hand.
His job is more dangerous than mine, and I have to watch him go to work every day while praying that he comes home safe. After the fire, I became more paranoid because I personally know what it feels like to face death, and Luke faces it every day.
“Talk to me,” I plea with a sigh, “You can’t keep it bottled up.”
“I can,” he argues.
This man is so stubborn that I’m going to call him a man-child from now on.
“Luke,” sitting up, I let the pillow behind me fall to my waist and lean up to kiss him.
He doesn’t kiss back with the same vigor as he regularly does, he’s tentative and hesitant to return my affection when I deepen the kiss.
“See?” I hold his big hand and press it to my heart. His warmth seeps through the cotton shirt.
His heat and my heartbeat exchanges. His back is rigid and straining through the tense muscles as he feels the steady thumps of my heart.
“I’m safe.”
He scoots closer, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and digging his fingers into my hair. His hold around the base of my neck is familiar as he hides his face into the column of my neck to breathe in my scent.
I no longer smell like smoke and soot; the evidence of the fire is gone from my body, and the smoke inhalation symptoms are treated with great care by the doctor. I’m good as new, but Luke still treats me as if I am made of glass even after the doctor had given me a clean bill of health.
“I almost lost you,” his gravelly voice mutters.
“You didn’t,” I brush my fingers through his hair. They’re thick and coarse to the touch.
He doesn’t have to worry about his hairline fading, he’s got too much hair, and they’re made of steel. I probably shouldn’t be thinking of his future hair when I’m having him talking about his feelings on my shoulder.
It’s not every day he opens his emotions to me, but I have learned to read him during the times we were together.
“I don’t want to lose you,” Luke grunts, his breath hitches with a long sigh.
“I never want to return to an empty home again.”
I blink, perplexed by his statement as I leave his hair alone to rub his back. His muscles ripple under my palm as I run my nails down his spine, it’s what holds up the colossal size of his body, and I’m amazed at how resilient it is to support his weight.
“My parents died in a fire,” he whispers into my ear, quiet and vulnerable.
Luke doesn’t talk about his parents, and I thought he just didn’t like talking about his family, or the occasion never came up between us. Now I know that his parents have been victims in a fire; it could be a contribution to his choice in his career.
“No one knows if it was an accident or arson,” he hisses, curling his tongue in a sneer as the grip in my hair tightened.
“I didn’t want to be a fireman after the fire, I hated everything to do with fire, and it’s the type of PTSD that my therapist overlooked. I decided that if no one is going to find the truth, then I would do it myself. I owe it to my parents to give them a final resting place. It’s why I joined the fire department.”
His teeth nibble on my pulse, and my heart jumps at the sudden aching on my skin, “It took me years to get a lead, but I did it, and I found the bastard that took them from me. Forester helped, it’s how he and I met. He helped me arrest the arsonist. It was a tough time for me, and I didn’t have a purpose of staying as a firefighter anymore.”
Luke jerks back, pushing me down on the bed and pressing his thumb to my collarbone. The pressure hits me, and I wince, but it’s not the pain that gets my attention. The darkness in his eyes reaches out to me for help. The misery and anguish flare with the snarl that spreads on his lips.
“I wanted to quit because the job held no purpose anymore, but I never realized that the people I work with were my family. I was too selfish to realize that, just like how selfish I am when it comes to you.”
I rove my eyes over his frame, reveling in the golden brush of a demonic presence of the man I fell in love with. The sky had darkened several shades with the t
ime ticking closer to a rolling thunderstorm the forecast had announced earlier.
The sun is gone now, hidden and stolen from the sky as the gloomy clouds dampen with a sheet of light rain coming down. The window behind Luke splatters with skittering drops, long and broken in several places as more comes to join the window.
“You’re not selfish,” I say.
He’s been nothing but a kind soul that gave me love and a place to call home when I have been kicked out of my own apartment. For a moment, he stares at me with a glistening sheen of sin, and nothing can stop my heart from perishing for him.
I would do anything for Luke.
“I want to keep you to myself, chain you, and throw away the keys. You don’t need them. You have me to be your everything. I thought Forester meant something to you. I wanted to kill him.”
I ignore the slide of silk that caresses my bare thighs and the change in the atmosphere that purrs across the grey sky. I should fear him; he speaks of death with ease about a man who is a friend to both of us, and I don’t have a single thought about it.
“You don’t want to know what I would do if I lost you, Anna,” he breathes, slanting his lips over mine and my voice disappears along with the roaring thunder outside.
However, I want to know. “What would happen?”
He shoves my teeth open and taking my tongue as his hostage, breaking my limits to my lung capacity as he deprives me the chance to moan.
Luke doesn’t answer with words, but actions speak for him. “Luke,” my bones turn to melted liquid; heat pools in my belly as he nibbles on my bottom lip. “Please.”
The vague plea is all he needs. There is no intelligibility of what I want, and I don’t know myself. Luke knows what I want even if I don’t, he understands my body inside and out. The way my body reacts to him is my addiction running hot in my blood, a curse that grounds me to his touch and a burnt road to the exit.
He has me under his thumb, and he’s not sorry about it.
I don’t want him to regret being greedy with me. I need this possessive that he emanates when he looks at me and the snap of obsession turning into electric currents scorching the independence of my life.
Strong hands dance over my tummy, skimming my skin with calloused fingers and pushing the shirt up. I throw my arms over my head and wiggle out of it when he tugs it roughly. It tosses my hair into my face, and that was not sexy at all.
I shake my hair away, they fall hazardously on the pillows, and he’s on me again. The quick session of his hands groping my perky breasts and rolling my nipples between his diligent fingers sets a blazing fire over my clit, squeezing at the emptiness and the lack of stimulation on my clit forces me to rock my hips up to my panties.
It hurts when he twists my nipples harder; the pain sings in my blood, luring me to a false sense of security when Luke smiles down at me. It’s different than the ministration he’s performing on my shaking body, and the contrast scares me because he is ridden with madness in his black eyes.
“Don’t move,” he growls, raking his nails down my ribs and scratching a trail of red to my quivering belly.
“You’re not healed yet,” he murmurs, dark eyes in tune with the edge of my panties as a finger hooks around it to snap it back to my pelvic bone.
I open my mouth to say anything, but he tweaks my nipple, and a breath of pain passes my lips.
“I’m going to do all the work; you stay under me and be a good girl, and if I hear you complain, I will leave you wet and crying.”
I swallow thickly and nod at his command. What he means can be a lot of things, and none of them could have an outcome of me overstimulated when he plays with my pussy.
“Am I clear?”
“Yeah,” I hiccup with the flick of a tongue over my lip, “Um, crystal clear.”
Understanding and acting upon it are not in the same galaxy. I might have to break his rule.
Dark eyes narrow down on me, searching through my amber eyes as he tugs on my panties and the pull of the wet fabric sticking to my pussy is mortifying.
He dares me to break it and the challenge to prove him wrong is strong, but not as strong as the desire that I yearn to feel his cock breaching my tiny hole.
Chapter Ten
Luke
Pink, soft, and silkily wet, dripping with slick and pulsing with need, Anna’s little cunt is the prettiest, sweetest, and most responsive. Every touch strokes through her gasp of a moan, every drag of my tongue wrings a cry of my name, and a push to her tiny clit has her screaming to the walls of our bedroom.
I hum around that bundle of nerves and curl two fingers inside her tight hole. She rattles on the bed as her body takes the purr right through her pussy.
Stretching her and bringing her to more orgasms than she had last time is a goal that I want to keep pushing, the test to her limits won’t be answered if she is scared to do it herself. I’m not scared. I would gladly take the responsibility of snatching her orgasms and keep her swollen for my liking.
“L-Luke!” she squeals, taking the full impact of her fourth orgasm as she writhes delicately on the bed.
Juices have soaked her ass and the sheet below, but she’s still leaking from her tiny hole, and it’s only going to drip more when my cum gets inside.
I lap at her clit, allowing her hands to pull at my hair. I don’t want her thighs around my head, she can only have one thing, and she chooses her hand in her absentmindedness. I love having her soft thighs pressed to my ears, but I want her to get used to having her legs spread open for me when I slip between them.
I scrape my fingers up against her walls, taking a strangled choke of a gasp out to yank her body to a taut arch as she whines between sobs. My tireless fingers thrust back in, and I bite back a wicked grin when I look up to see her tear-stricken face, so utterly ruined and desperate for something she doesn’t know the name to.
As I finesse another thick finger in her straining hole, she wails and cums harder than the last time. Juices burst through my fingers, coating them with thick slick and her heated walls pulse wildly to either grip the fingers inside or push them out.
In the midst of her pleasure, I curl my fingers, and she comes crashing down to the bed with a speechless voice. She can take my fingers. She’s a bit tight, but I have no doubt that she can take my cock just as well.
Her fingers escape my tangled hair. She dazedly shudders and sniffs while letting her trembling legs fall to the side after trying to keep them away from my head for too long. I should give her a reward for being a good girl, but I’m a bad man, and I want her to cry even more.
Sick pleasure simmers in my stomach, sending electric shivers down to my throbbing cock. It’s dripping with cum from the head, and it creates a wet spot on the bed when I was on my stomach.
I’m so hard that it hurts; the painful tightness is exhilarating, and I know it’s going to get worse when I shove my big cock in her small pussy. Though I have to break her in first or she’s going to be in the type of pain that isn’t permitted by me.
“N-no more please!” she says breathlessly, twisting her fingers into the sheets; her tits bounce as she tries to get away.
Every nerve in my body is electric and painfully alive; the sparks in my eyes heavily flare as I draw up my body to hover over her. I can’t look away from her teary amber eyes and wobbly lips. It’s a sense of sick accomplishment that fuels my assault on her cunt.
I press the heel of my palm to her clit and fuck her tiny pussy with three of my fingers. The loud squelches are no match for her broken voice as she hoarsely cries. Her eyes reflect horrification of my cruel fingers as she undergoes another round of intense orgasm that throws her off when she seeks comfort in the arm that’s supporting my weight.
I plunge into her sopping wet cunt. Her walls are scalding hot and silky smooth when I crush her bundle of nerves with my palm to yank that pretty scream from her pouty lips.
“I-it hurts,” she whimpers, tears running down her red cheek
s and the violent spasms of her frame takes a toll on her.
“I’ll make you feel better,” I say, taking my fingers into my mouth and licking the juices off.
Her sweetness hits my tongue, and I force myself to not eat her cunt like a man starved for years. Wearing her out before the main course is sloppy planning. Anna deserves better than a half-assed attempt for a night of passion, and she’s going to get every part of me.
I tower over her and pin her smaller frame down; legs spread apart over my hips, tits round with red nipples, and my cock laying on her quivering stomach. The size of my cock scares her, but her small hands tentatively touch me in a curious stroke.
The sheer girth of my cock can’t be wrapped around with her fingers, and the length goes up to her bellybutton, and a part of her knows that she should be afraid, I can break her in half if I’m not a patient man.
I still am not, but this takes practice and a lot of time for her to get used to it. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s in too much pain that she cries tears of pain instead of pleasure.
“Fuck,” I breathe, voice strained as her daft hands twist over the head and rub the bead of cum over my cock.
She brings her finger up and sucks on it, that action is innocent and absolutely uncalled for. I stall her hand and squeeze my fist over hers. A shock of thrill runs up my spine, and a small spurt of cum sprays on her stomach.
She’s really going to be the death of me.
“Please—” a hiccup breaks her voice, “I need you!”
She plants her feet on the bed, raising her hips at an angle to rut the wet spread of her cunt against my cock. She rocks to the underside of my shaft, holding it to stop the slipperiness from moving my cock to a place that isn’t her pussy.
Watching her try to find a way for me to get inside is devastating to my psyche; she’s searching for the place to push my cock in, but her inexperience doesn’t know where to start other than what makes her feel good right now.
Her folds are soft and sticky, but the glide of her hard clit is a different sensation that burns the image of her fucking on my cock into my mind like a trophy for me to admire later.
