Page 52 of Getting It Twisted

I turn around and reach for him. “Do it.” My brain runs in two lanes, split apart by conflicting chants:fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, andhurt me, hurt me, hurt me. Just when it’s getting toointense to bear, Daniel sheathes his cock with a condom, hikes my knees over his shoulders, and presses inside.

“Ohfuck—” I choke on my next breath, and it turns into a sob.

“Feels good?”

“Yeah. More.”

He bends over, bracing his hands on either side of me. His face is tight with concentration, as if he’s not doing this for his own pleasure as much as he does it for mine.

The thought makes me frown, but the next thrust wipes away my annoyance. Never mind. I don’t care. I rock my hips, desperate to impale myself on his thick perfect cock.

Yes. This is what I need, this is what I need . . .

But it’s not enough. I need more.

I grasp his wrist and press his hand to my throat. He keeps it there without increasing the pressure.

“Hold me.” It comes out more of a plea than an order.

Daniel tightens his hand, fingers closing around the tendons of my throat.

I grab his arm by the elbow. “Do it really fucking hard. And don’t stop.”

He frowns. “You want me to hurt you?”

“Yeah.” Pathetic tears well up in my eyes from how worried he sounds. How disturbed he sounds. “Please.”

He withdraws the hand. Panicked, I grab his forearm, trying to put it back.

“Why?” His eyes are narrow and questioning as they flit from my face to my throat.

“Don’t you want to put me in my place? Punish me? You hate me, right?” It takes all I have in me to keep my voice steady and emotionless. “You hate me for leaving. You told me so.”

He stops moving entirely, and his hand goes soft and slack. “What’s going on? What happened outside, with that man?”

“Daniel, please.” I squeeze my hand around his arm. “It’s the only thing that makes me feel right.”

“You feel right when you’re hurting?”

“Maybe. You think it’s too fucked up?” My mouth twists, and something like real fear slips through the cracks of my voice. “I’m too damaged for you? Not hot anymore?”

He shakes his head. “No, that’s not it. I’m just trying to understand you.”

The warm reassurance in his voice frustrates me to no end. I don’t usually have to convince guys to hurt me. If they don’t do it of their own volition, they’re quick and eager to obey. No one has ever refused.

Except for Daniel. Fuck! Why does it always have to be him?

“Well, I don’t know what to say,” I mutter. “You’re gonna have to fuck this out of me, I guess.” But the dust has settled, and in its wake we’re both soft.

Daniel gazes into my eyes with intent, as if he’s trying to decipher some kind of code, but it’s a code that can’t be solved; I don’t understand it myself.

“If you’re not gonna fuck me, get off me, then.” Because if he won’t let me escape, what good is he to me?

I hurl myself upward, but Daniel grabs my wrists and pins them to the bed.

“I told you to relax. I want to make this good for you.”

“You already know what would make it good for me.” Scowling, I buck my hips in another half-hearted attempt to get him off me.

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