Page 87 of On the Line

The moonlight cuts across his face, his triumphant smile etched deep and illuminated with the white light. His tongue swipes over his lip, his dark grin growing wide, and my arousal spikes.

“Now what would you need this for?” he says slowlyand tauntingly. While opening the cap with his teeth, he uses his knees to push my legs apart with a hard shove and lets the lube trickle over my pussy and down my ass. “You want me to fuck your tight hole, don’t you?” Throwing the bottle on the bed beside us, he gathers the lube and glides it down to my asshole. “Admit it,” he says, probing my tight entrance with his fingers. “That’s all you’re good for.” His administration almost feels clinical, his voice monotone and my pussy clenches at his seeming indifference, while one of his fingers breaches the muscles.

I arch my back but start to struggle again.

“Get off me,” I growl, bearing my teeth.

But deep down, I’ve never needed to feel his touch more than at this very moment.

I’ve never needed Ozzy quite like this.

“Look at you,” he says, looking me up and down, his grip tightening around my wrists, the heat back in his hooded gaze. “So responsive, even when you pretend you don’t want it.”

He circles his thumb over my swollen clit. I whimper, arching my back. “See how you’re easily opening up for me?” he growls as he slides a second finger next to the first. A sharp gasp escapes my lips, the sensation coiling deep at the base of my stomach. “You can’t deny how much your body wants this.” He slowly stretches me open, pushing a third finger inside, readying me for what I can only imagine will soon be his cock.

While he fucks my ass with his fingers, he suddenly leans over me, catching my lips with his. I push my body against him, whimpering into his mouth as he leaves me breathless with need. It’s over as fast as it began, but before he pulls away he whispers near my ear, “You’re so fucking pretty like this.” His voice is gentle and full of awe andsounds exactly like the Ozzy I’ve come to know—as if he couldn’t control himself and needed to break out of character just to tell me that.

My reaction is immediate. Tears spring to my eyes, and a slew of warring emotions overflows up my throat. Elation, anguish, euphoria, grief—all just as overpowering as the next.

By the time he’s straightened himself up, his hard expression is back, but he stops moving while he tracks the tear falling down my temple and into my hair.

His gaze snaps to mine.

The last thing I want him to do is stop.

Not now. Not ever.

He studies my face and I give him the smallest of nods, fighting another euphoric grin while I struggle against his firm grip, more tears now freely falling.

When his dark chuckle returns, I feel untethered.

Sliding his fingers out, he reaches for the lube, pouring some more over his fingers and then on his cock, stroking himself greedily after throwing the bottle back down.

He grips the base of his length and pushes the head of his cock against my ass. “Cry as much as you want, princess,” he says while he slowly pushes against the muscles. “It’ll only make me fuck you harder.”

The sensation of his cock slowly stretching my asshole is almost too much, tethering close to pain, but I invite the discomfort. The blurred lines of pleasure and pain closely mirror the conflicting emotions that seem to always exist inside of me. The same ones I’m communing with now while Ozzy gradually pushes himself inside of me.

“Stop.Please, please, please,” I chant. “You’re hurting me.” The words don’t hold the weight they’re meant tocarry, instead, I sound breathless, my voice verging on a moan.

Ozzy shushes me, his free hand traveling up to my throat. “Stop your whining, princess.” His fingers don’t curl around my throat like I expect, instead, he places his palm wide over my chest just below my collarbone. The weight of him pushes me down, pinning me to the bed. His eyes are black and greedy. “You’re practicallybeggingme to fuck your ass.”

And with those words, he pitches his hips forward, thrusting himself deep inside of me.

My back arches as I gasp loudly, my eyes fixed on his.

He doesn’t wait for me to adjust, pulling out up to the tip and slamming back inside, falling into a steady and punishing rhythm.

My mind scrambles to stay coherent but I’m failing so miserably that I begin to babble. I forget the game we’re playing, forget to pretend because all I want to do is beg him not to stop.

“Harder,” I nearly sob. “Please, harder.”

I beg him for more when he’s already giving me so much.

His grasp loosens on my wrists, and I pull out of his hold, my hands immediately tugging at his shirt. “Take it off.”

I need to feel him, touch him.

I need to feel the heat of his skin under my fingernails.

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