Page 14 of What's Left of Us

That’s the only warning she gets before I’m burying myself inside her, each thrust and pump hard, fast, and ugly.

Using the belt, I pull her body into mine until the slick sound of her arousal is mixed with our slapping skin and the noises muffled into the mattress that her face is pressed into. Her arms squirm behind her, her hands grasping at nothing but air, making me smirk victoriously.

“Do you like that?” I ask, grinding myself against her ass so she feels all of me. “Do you like being my little slut?”

A garbled noise is all I get from her, so my palm comes down on her ass cheek, leaving a red mark in its wake.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes,” she gasps, as I spank her ass cheek again.

“Yes, what?” I demand, tightening my hold on the belt and using her body to get closer to release.

Nothing about my movements is gentle or sweet, but then again, they rarely were with her. I’m not sure either of us believed in making love. The rawness of our relationship was always shown in much more creative ways that didn’t always involve this kind of intimacy.

She submitted to me willingly because she knew I would always put her first, make her feel good; to feelworshipped. It wasn’t like the control she relinquished to her father, who used it solely for selfish reasons.

Georgia trusted me, and I made sure to show her how much I appreciated it.

“Yes,sir,” she spits, her head tilting back when I hit the spot that has her choking on the sassiness trying to creep out.

I massage her sore bottom. “That’s a good girl. Are you going to come for me?”

She looks back, her eyes narrowed like she wants to fight, me but her body is giving in to the sensations pulsing through it.

“Say it, Georgia,” I command, picking up the pace and fucking her faster, getting close to my release when I hear the way her ass slaps against my hips. “Say you’re going to come for me.”

She opens her mouth, but words don’t come out. Instead, a guttural noise rises from her throat as she cries out through an orgasm despite her best efforts to hold back.

Those goddamn noises do me in.

I pull out right before I come, emptying myself on her until she’s covered in me.

Releasing the belt, I let it fall onto the bed as I stroke myself until every last drop is painted on the woman who claimed to love me in sickness and in health.

What a fucking liar.

I take my time undoing the makeshift restraint around her wrists before using the expensive material to wipe both of us off, not caring if I stain it.

When she’s finally free, she sits up and stares at me, the shirt falling back over until her exposed skin is covered. “Why did you come here, Lincoln?”

I debate whether to tell her the truth or not since it’s rare that she offers me the same. But I do. Because some truths hurt, and maybe I want her to feel even a fraction of what I do. “I could have fucked somebody else tonight,” I tell her, collecting my clothes from where I discarded them.

Georgia is silent, her breathing stilled in wait for me to say something else. I feel a hand on the back of my bare shoulder, comforting me, telling me she’s there.

“I wanted to,” I admit, moving away from her touch before it burns me. “For a minute.”

She still doesn’t say anything.

I start redressing. “For some reason, I always come back to you.” When I turn, I see her watching me with glassy eyes. Jaw ticking at the vulnerability on her face, I clench my fist at my side. “And I fucking hate it.”

My ex-wife’s eyes pierce holes into my face, acting likeshe’sthe one who’s been shot when it was she who all but pulled the trigger.

Her throat bobs, swallowing down whatever bullshit she was going to hit me with. Probably not an apology. I’m sure she loves that she still holds my interest. Coming here was basically a victory for her, showing that her grasp is still tightly wrapped around me.

The next words out of her mouth are unexpected. “I started seeing somebody,” she whispers, my shirt pausing halfway over my head.

My throat bobs with a thick swallow. Her words hurt a hell of a lot more than my injury, but it stings all the same. I knew it was only a matter of time before she admitted it, but I’d hoped the day would never come.

---