Page 40 of Sacred Vow

“Fuck,” he grunts, pulling out. Thick, hot ropes of cum hit my stomach. He grabs my hand, pulls it down to his cock and I grab hold, jerking his thick shaft until every last drop has landed on me.

He leans down again, kissing me gently.

Reaching behind his neck, he pulls off his shirt and uses it to wipe the mess from my belly. Once he’s done, I sit up, pulling my knees to my chest.

Everything comes crashing down on me. I let him touch me. I let him fuck me. And I loved every second of it.

I climb off the couch and hurry to my clothes, yanking on my pants and shirt, forgoing the bra.

“Things said during sex can’t be taken seriously,” I say, working the button of my pants into place.

“Izzy. It’s not a choice anymore.” He zips up his jeans. With his shirt off, and his feet bare, he has an entirely different level of hotness. I turn away. I need to get away from him. “If you want to shower you can use the bathroom in my room. There’re two suitcases of your clothes in there as well.”

“You’re impossible!”

“I am. But it’s another way we do well together. You’re just as stubborn.” He moves to the bar in the corner of the room, pouring himself a drink.

“I want to go home. At least let me do that.” My body aches from his attentions. I’m still tender on my ass, and now my pussy aches from his cock pounding into me. I’ve never enjoyed discomfort this much before.

“No, stop asking.”

“So, my life isn’t my own now? How is that different than if these other guys get a hold of me?” I’m a prisoner either way.

“Because with me, you’ll be alive.”

A single streak of morning sunlight sneaks through the curtains and falls over Isolde’s face. She’s still sound asleep. The little bit of light on her cheek doesn’t rouse her.

The covers have slipped from her shoulder, and her right arm is tucked under her cheek. There’s a series of white scars along her forearm. I hadn’t noticed them yesterday. Though I didn’t take much time to inspect her entire body. My goals had been different at the time.

I lean over to get a better look, hoping it’s something random. Cat scratches or thorns from a rosebush or something equally as benign.

“Are you going to spend all morning staring at me?” she asks, opening one eye and settling it on me.

“What is this?” I grab her wrist, pulling it from beneath her. Running my thumb over the scars, I can almost feel the agony that caused them.

She blinks a few times, then focuses on what I’m pointing out.

“Nothing.” She pulls her arm free and wiggles back so she can sit up. “It was a long time ago, Andrei.” She wraps her hand over her arm and puts it in her lap.

“You did it?” It comes out as an accusation.

“Yeah.” She lowers her gaze to my chest. “Like I said, it was a long time ago.”

“After Craig…”

She sighs. “Yeah.”

I pick up her hand again, bringing her wrist to my mouth. I press my lips to the scars, wishing I could take in all of the pain she felt then, and all the pain she continues to feel.

“Your mother never mentioned you were hurting yourself.”

“Why would she tell you?”

“I spoke to her a few times over the years.” I kiss another scar. They’re all superficial. None of them were life threatening. She wasn’t looking to end her life, just dull the pain on the inside by bringing it to the outside.

“I don’t think she knew, or if she did, she never mentioned it to me.” She tucks her hand beneath her. “I thought maybe I could trigger the memory. Then we could come back to Chicago. But it never worked.”

“You hated it so much in Nebraska?”

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