Page 68 of Hired Help

“Is this what you wanted all along?” My head bows, lips seeking the ear opposite where I’m holding the knife. “Did you want me to throw you down and fuck you with no regard for your welfare?”

“Call this a fuck?”

My free hand squeezes her chin, then I jam my fingers into her mouth, holding them against her tongue, stopping her speech. “You want to watch that filthy tongue,” I tell her, the words staccato where they time with my thrusts. “Or you might find it cut off.”

She seizes my wrists, eyes watering, trying to move me, then hitting me when I won’t withdraw. Her legs cross behind my back, heel thumping into my arse. The two sides of her fighting harder inside her than she’s fighting me.

“All I ever did was love you, Brooke.” My voice cracks and I heave in a breath, withdrawing, flipping her onto her stomach, cramming her face into the pillow that I’d curled against me on Friday night.

The Friday night when she didn’t come home because she was too busy fucking my dad.

My cock plunges into her again. The hand holding the knife is a tight fist, pinioning me to the mattress as my stroke gets rougher, harder, faster. I fuck her like it’s a punishment for each of her transgressions. A punishment she responds to a thousand times more than any loving embrace.

And my teeth chew on her earlobe, my incisors digging so deep I can hear her scream into the mattress. I let go, moving to hold her throat as I let her head raise far enough to drag in a breath.

Long enough for my plaintive cry, “Why do you keep hurting me?”

She coughs out a laugh. Turning her face to the side. Eyes screwed shut. “And telling the entire senior year, I was crap in bed was loving me, was it?”

“I didn’t need to see them fighting to be your rebound. You’re mine. You were always meant to be mine.”

And the truth of that socks home.

No matter what she wants for herself, she belongs to me. She always has. She always will.

“Since you didn’t understand the guidelines the first time around, here are the new rules. You want to fuck other men, you get my permission first,” I tell her, enjoying the shudder as I growl into her ear. “If I want someone to fuck you, better raise your skirt and plaster a smile on your face because, regardless of whether you want it, that’s what’s happening. Understand?”

Her hand whips behind her, slapping against my hip. Given the angle, there’s no leverage but the show of fight spurs me onwards, settling a familiar ache deep in my balls.

An ache that deepens when the first flutter of her internal muscles spasm around me again. Even though I’m not trying. Even though I couldn’t give a shit about her pleasure.

“You give me what I want, when I want it. You do what I tell you, in bed and out of it. Most of all, you remember that you’re not the one who’s in fucking charge here. Until or unless I tell you otherwise, you’re mine.”

“Fuck off,” she sobs, punching at my head and landing a glancing blow against my ear.

I tilt her head back, settling my fingertips hard against her throat, digging my cock deep inside her and resting it there while my ears whine and my vision darkens and my head spins like it’s on a tilt-a-whirl.

“I love you, Brooke. I’m never leaving. You break my rules, you fuck someone you’re not allowed to fuck, and I’ll cut them to ribbons, I’ll cut you, and I’ll cut myself.”

I draw back for the sole pleasure of sinking into her again, so deep, so hard my balls tighten, trying to cram themselves into the same hole.

The pleasure is incredible. Sensations flooding me until any orgasm before now feels like play. A simple spasm. Not this thing that builds from the base of my spine and cascades out in ripples. Not this thing that hooks deep into the meat of my brain, whiting out everything that isn’t me, that isn’t Brooke, that isn’t my cock buried deep, deep, deep inside her cunt.

“Fine,” she gasps, and I can barely track her. “I want permission to fuck your dad.”

It should be a cold slap of contempt, but I inhale the request with a long breath, my orgasm still building, muscles clenching and driving me into her, hips pounding in a building rhythm, the thrust and push and pull and squeeze and release too much for me to handle as I go shuddering over the edge, pouring myself into her, so much, so fast, I can imagine my cum catapulting past any goalkeepers, chemical or physical, striking into the goal.

I can’t breathe.

My body collapses onto hers, shaking from exertion, from an avalanche of sensations too numerous to track.

When I can, I push myself away, rolling onto my back, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes, wondering what I’ve been doing before this moment because fucking Brooke just now was more addictive than smoking crack.

A rush of gratitude overtakes me, and I pull her into my arms, cradling her head against my heaving chest, stroking her hair back from her wild eyes.

“You feel so fucking good,” I whisper, moving the knife from one hand to the other. A sense of contentment greater than I’ve ever known swamps me, drowning me in satisfaction.

A weird connection enters my head. That I could only achieve these heights of pleasure because someone taught her how to get what she wants.

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