Page 21 of Vengeful Sins

“So pretty,” he whispers, spreading my thighs with his knee, opening me up to the fingers of his free hand. Fingers which brush against my shaved lips, his touch making me jump and squirm and quiver. For some reason, I want to hide my reaction. I don’t want him to know what this is doing to me.

But there’s no hiding it, not when a warm tingle stirs and begins to spread. When the already rapid beating of my heart gets faster, harder, as hard as Tucker’s dick. He continues to stroke while staring down at my pussy, teasing my lips, gettingus both more excited with every caress. “Relax,” he whispers, applying just enough pressure to almost breach my slit.

And then he does, delving between my lips, and my back arches before I can help it. There is no hiding this—and right now, as the sensations grow, I don’t want to. For the first time, in I don’t know how long, I feel something. Pleasure. It’s no deeper than that, and it doesn’t need to be. It’s something primal but necessary. I understand that now, as all the hunger that’s been locked down inside me rushes to the surface. Demanding satisfaction.

“Look who’s wet,” he grunts, and I tear my eyes away from his pumping fist long enough to meet his hungry gaze. His eyes are partly closed, his breath coming through pursed lips. It’s a needful look, completely focused on one thing only: feeling good. Satisfaction. For the first time in maybe ever, I’m grateful to him for giving me this. The chance to feel. To be connected, only for a moment, if only based upon his whims.

When he finds my clit, I swear I’m speaking in tongues, completely abandoning the idea of self-control in favor of soaking in every thrilling sensation. The tension in my core ratchets up, heat building, need growing. The bundle of nerves he flicks with his thumb aches painfully in response, but I welcome that, too. I even welcome the need, leaving me breathless for more. I’ll die if he doesn’t give me more.

“That’s right,” he grunts, his breath coming faster. “Take it. Take every bit of it. Let yourself feel good,” he urges, and I whimper in agreement before the pressure of one of his fingers against my entrance makes my eyes pop open wide.

“Oh, my god!” I gasp in the heartbeat before he pushes in, entering me, filling me with one, then two of his thick digits.

I’m lost, completely lost, totally in his grasp. My body is singing, and he is the conductor, controlling every moan, every delicious sensation. My nerves dance and sizzle as my hips startto move on their own, lifting to meet every stroke. “Oh, yeah,” he whispers, urging me on. “Fuck yourself on my fingers. Make yourself come. Come for me so I can come for you.”

I don’t think I have a choice. It’s all too much, building until it’s bigger than me, stronger, enough that I’m afraid it will drown me. I hope it does. I could die this way, gripped by unspeakable pleasure. Finally feeling. Enjoying. Being in the moment.

“I’m…” I can barely pull in enough breath to speak, but I need to. I need to tell him, even as my hips jerk in warning. “I’m going… to come… oh, god!” I moan helplessly, my head rolling from side to side, my hands sliding over my silky comforter. It feels so good. I forgot I could feel this good.

And then it all reaches its highest point, my body tensing in the last moments before the wave crashes, and I shatter from the inside out, falling to pieces around his fingers. My muscles flutter and fresh wetness pours from me as I cry out, filling the room with the sound until my voice breaks.

“Fuck, yeah,” he grunts, sliding his fingers from me, his breath rapid, his voice raspy. “Yeah. Here it comes…”

I open my eyes in time to watch cum spurt from his tip and spill onto the scars on my inner thigh. He seems to aim for them, painting my skin with one spurt after another while he groans deeply.

By the time he’s finished, he’s trembling, but then so am I. Trembling and confused and elated. It’s like he unlocked something in me, and I don’t want it to get locked up again. I don’t want to lose it.

But already, as the sensations fade, so does the clarity he brought. I knew it couldn’t last forever.

“Happy birthday,” he murmurs without looking me in the eye, his breathing still a little shaky as he places himself back in his shorts and raises his zipper. “I hope you don’t mind if I don’twait around to clean you up. I’ve got to go.” He offers no further explanation, but then I don’t ask for one.

Because I don’t know what to say. Is there anything I could say, anyway? All I can do for the moment is lie here and stare at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what just happened. The fact that he watched me cut myself and wasn’t repulsed. No, he was aroused. He liked it. As the front door closes with a resounding bang that echoes through the foyer, I sit up and look down at the mess he made of my thigh, which was already a mess, anyway.

But for the first time in a long time, I can almost believe the scars that are so ugly—a symbol of my weakness, my disconnect, my unresolved pain—might not be so ugly, after all.

11

TUCKER

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Pounding my hand against the steering wheel until it hurts isn’t enough. I deserve to hurt worse than that for being so fucking stupid. Whatever twisted chemistry exists between us is starting to force me into shitty decisions, like the one I made back at Maya’s.

Because I liked it. Way too much. Watching her hurt herself, knowing she couldn’t help but do what I said. There is something addictive about knowing I can make her do whatever I want, whenever I feel like it. She’s lucky I’m not more of a sadistic bastard than I already am. The things I could force her into. The ways I could make her suffer.

Pulling a few deep, ragged breaths doesn’t help calm the raging inferno in my gut. My foot gets heavier, pressing the pedal, sending me rocketing down the road and through a light that’s just turned red. Usually, coming at least calms me down. It clears my head so I can think.

The opposite is true right now—I’m as conflicted as I’ve ever been, furious with myself, disappointed. Nothing good will comefrom spending too much time with her. She inspires every dark, twisted impulse I possess. I need to leave her alone.

I’ve learned that lesson, or I should have by now. She already made sure I understood how things would be for us. She took me from feeling on top of the world to knowing I was nothing to her.

It takes a second for me to realize the growling sound spreading through the truck’s cab is coming from me. There isn’t some rabid dog in the back. I am the rabid dog, the dog who got smacked down for the unforgivable sin of thinking fucking a girl who seemed into me meant she actually liked me. I always used to think girls were the ones who were supposed to make that mistake. Giving it up to some shithead who would only use them in the end. Maya made sure to teach me otherwise. She taught me a lot of lessons I never asked to learn.

But god, there are still times, even to this day, even after all of my feelings for her have hardened into pure hatred, that I remember how good it was that night at the party. How special it all seemed.

It’s no longer afternoon traffic I see in front of me as I drive home. It’s Maya’s eyes—wide, full of fear, that dance in my imagination. A horn blares nearby, but what I hear is her soft gasp of pain. I was her first, and she closed her eyes and bit hard on her lip when I breached her tight, quivering entrance.

“Don’t hurt me, please,” she whispered, and I can hear that now, too. I can feel the way her breath tickled my ear while her nervousness touched a deeper part of me. Part of me that wanted to make it good for her. To make sure she didn’t regret it.

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