Page 115 of Moth to a Flame

I’m on my hands and knees at his feet. Most of my hair is in the water. The waves kiss my chin. I’m freezing. I have no other choice.

It’s a lie. The choice is no one’s but mine.

He strokes his cock as he studies me, giving my face and body a cold, distant appraisal. I’m the armchair in his den. The food on his plate. The rug he steps on.

That’s all.

Arousal wets my inner thighs. I do my very best not to try to fuck the water.

“Too late to be obedient.” He lowers to his knees, his thumb stroking my bottom lip. “I’m going to punish you for making me wait.”

“No.”

Begging time is over before it’s even begun. He shoves my bottom lip down, spitting into my open mouth. I’m so into the scene that I scowl at him, opening my mouth to spit it out.

“Do I look like a merciful man? A forgiving man?” He forces my mouth shut, looming over me. His other hand curls around my throat. His face is a picture of sick satisfaction. “Swallow. Take your punishment like the slut you are, and swallow.”

“I hate you.” I seethe after I’ve gulped down his spit. I pretend to hate that too. That’s a lie. Other than his cum, I’ve never wanted to swallow anything more in my entire life.

“You hate me,” he mocks me. “Doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to fuck your ass.”

“Psycho!” I raise my hand to slap him.

Quick as lightning, he catches my wrist, leaning into me until our faces nearly touch. “Stop lying to yourself. You’re dying to have my fat dick in that tight hole. Such a pretty slut, you’ll comehard on my cock. You’ll cry from coming so hard for this person who violates you. It’s a promise.”

“Never.” Please, do it. Please, if I could come during such a violent rape scene…

That would be the closure I’ve never dared to dream of. Nothing will ever scare me about sex anymore. I’ll fear nothing, period.

“We’ll see about that.” His bite on my bottom lip stings.

He manhandles me in the water, twisting me to face away from him.

Crack.

His hand lands on my ass. The water takes some of the blow. Not all of it. Not nearly half of it or the ten that come later. He counts each spanking. Calls me a whore, a slut.

A filthy temptation.

I cry from the pain. The fear. The release. Silently. Without screaming. He’d get off on that. I won’t give him what he wants.

He has to take it.

But I can’t silence my whimper when he’s pushing my knees to the sides. When he shoves his thumb into my ass. Up to the last knuckle.

“That’s better. Let me hear you.” I bite the inside of my cheek while he drags his thumb in and out past the tight rim. “Let me hear how much youhateme finger-fucking your tight hole. No? Quiet again? No problem.”

He pulls out his thumb only to come back with two fingers. Thrusting, stroking, probing. This man touches me in the most sinister, dirty ways. I do cry out then. I cry out louder when the third finger stretches me impossibly wider.

The water helps them slide in and out of me, but there’s no denying the pain. He put two fingers inside me a few nights ago. Never three.

“No, no. Stop it. I hate it.” I bow my head, breathing in the smell of brine. Water brushes on my lips as I keep begging. “I hate it so bad, stop it. I never told you that you could do this to me.”

A pause. This isn’ta man. The person who’s quiet and doesn’t move is my Landon. Waiting for my safeword.

“No,” I groan the word again, talking to my pretend rapist and my future husband. “No.”

“As much as I get off on hearing you say no.” He removes his fingers, though he won’t let me catch my breath. The head of his cock is wide and throbbing against the hole he’s just abused. “It won’t do you any good.”

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