Page 87 of Burn With Me

“What the fuck, Jackson?”

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Turn around, get on all fours.” He glares at me as he walks around the bed to grab a condom from his nightstand. Slowly, I turn, watching him in a stupor as he rolls the condom on.

There’s no sign of the man that I’ve come to know. Being handled roughly is one thing, or at least I thought it was. Whateverthisis, it feels more like a punishment when it should bemewho is punishinghim.

When he’s behind me, I’m not prepared for the way he grabs my ass and squeezes as he pulls my cheeks apart. “Always so fucking wet for me.”

There’s a sharp sting between my legs as he slaps his hand against my pussy.

Then he’s slamming into me with such force that I pitch forward, and my upper body falls to the bed. There isn’tmuch time to adjust to his size, but I’m so wet that it doesn’t hurt as much as it could’ve.

His hands anchor my hips as he thrusts into me repeatedly with such vigor that the bed shakes and groans beneath us. There’s no foreplay, no gentle caresses, or paying attention to any part of my body that would make it more pleasurable for me.

Jackson sets a punishing pace. No words leave his lips. It’s just him taking his pleasure. It feels okay, but not as good as the other night.

It’s kind of painful.

I’m trying to enjoy it, but every time I close my eyes, I picture him with that woman from the photo, and that haze clears. Picture him doing this with more experienced women—ones who know exactly how to react to him and give him what he wants.

My body jolts as he slaps his hand against my ass before doing it again hard enough to where I know there’s going to be red marks. Fisting the sheets, I suck my lower lip between my teeth and try not to cry out—a lone tear escaping my eye as I press my forehead into the bed.

Jackson slides a hand up to grab onto my shoulder, pulling my body back against him with every snap of his hips. There’s a sharp sensation deep inside that blooms into a feeling I’ve never known before. My lower body starts to cramp, an uncomfortable flush breaking out over my face.

Shifting positions, the angle makes it almost unbearable—whatever he’s hitting doesn’t feel good—as he leans over me and sinks his teeth into the flesh below my shoulder blade, biting down as he rides me.

Thatdoes make me cry out. And not from satisfaction.

Our bodies slam together–the only sounds in the room are his grunts and my whimpers.

It’s a far cry from the other night when he held me gently as he rocked into me, making every single moment pleasurable—making me feel special and safe and taken care of.

Now he’s like an animal rutting against me—teeth digging harder into me with each thrust, to the point where I’m sure he’ll break the skin. Tears line my eyes, and I let them fall, though I’m silent.

I wanted this.

Iaskedfor it.

Thisis how Jackson fucks women.

He doesn’t care about them or their pleasure. He doesn’t talk to them or make sure they come. He leaves bruises and marks and makes sure they’ll never forget their night with him.

I’ve always thought this was what I wanted—all this pain. But now that I’m truly experiencing it, I don’t know what I want. I’d rather have the other night over this.

Isn’t there something in between?

A small orgasm hits me unexpectedly as Jackson wraps his arm around my waist and hauls me up against his back. It feels like sticking your toe in the water to see if it’s warm enough, then deciding it’s not worth fully submerging your body.

He slaps my clit before his hips shudder, and he comes with nothing more than a gruff grunt against my ear. When he’s finished, he lets go of me, letting me fall back to the bed as he pulls out—discarding me quickly, just like every other woman he brings into his bed.

Without a word, he walks into the bathroom. There’s no sound of running water. No bubble bath to soothe my sore skin.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I gingerly reach around to try and feel the teeth marks under my shoulder, but it’s at an angle I can’t reach.

Slipping off the bed, I pull my clothes back on because I’m embarrassed and ashamed, and I want to leave.

It was a mistake to come here tonight.

By the time he comes back out, he looks ashamed as hewatches me get dressed. “Where are you going?” he asks softly.

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