Page 25 of Lock Me Out

In fact, I’m tired of hearing her talk. Her eyes fly open wide when I pull out, only to go even wider when I flip her over. She’s face down on the pillow, arms still above her head, simply twisted now, and I like this better. Her smooth ass up in the air once I pull back on her hips, her pale skin going pink when my hand strikes hard enough for her to scream into her pillow.

Maybe Colt will see that handprint. I told myself I couldn’t mark her, but that was before I got started. I can’t help myself now.

I can take her deeper this way, faster, holding her by the hips and pulling her back to match my strokes. Her ass jiggles in time with our bodies slapping together. Faster, I feel the tensiongrowing, and no matter how she wants to deny it, I feel her getting tighter around me. Her juices are flowing, running down my sack, she’s moaning, and soon I realize she’s pushing back against me. Fucking me the way I’m fucking her.

The way I knew she would.

“This is what you wanted,” I grunt, watching my dick disappear inside her again and again. There is nothing like this feeling of owning her. “This is how you need it.” She’s lucky I don’t have time to do more than this. She wouldn’t walk right for a week.

“Nix!” she screams into the pillow, clenching around me, squealing, driving me insane. “Oh, my god!”

And when she comes, drawing me deep, I barely have time to pull out and take myself in one hand. The sight of my pearly cum splashing her skin is better than any work of art. By the time I’m finished, she’s dripping with me, sloppy and used. This is what she was made for, whether she knows it or not. Made to be used like this.

She falls to one side, sobbing through her gasps for air. “Oh, god,” she moans, quivering, and even that is satisfying. I did that to her. I made her sound that way. Her body sags, wrists still bound tight, and she wiggles her fingers weakly before moaning again.

“Clean yourself off,” I sneer, releasing the rope, unwinding it and shoving it into my waistband again once I’ve picked my pants up. “And next time, don’t fight so much. We might have more time to enjoy ourselves.”

Her eyes are closed. She doesn’t want to look at me. I can’t blame her—I can barely face my own reflection most days.

“There can’t be a next time. This can’t go on.” Her voice is small, almost far away. Probably all that screaming she just did. “He needs to know. You can’t expect me to lie to him forever.”

“Let me worry about that,” I tell her as she rubs life back into her wrists. “Just keep your mouth shut about it. Don’t say a word.”

Because I’ll be damned if I’m going to quit her now that I’ve experienced the exquisite pleasure of her body again. My brother has never been somebody who likes to share—neither have I, but this isn’t like sharing a toy when we were kids or childish shit like that. I’m not about to give this up, which I know he’d make me do now that he thinks she’s his.

Let him keep thinking that. The longer he does, the longer I’ll be able to live out every sick, twisted desire she brings to life in me.

She’s still in bed when I try to leave her, trembling, curled in a ball.

Guilt creeps up my spine like a snake. I don’t like seeing her like this after sex. It reminds me of how much of a monster I truly am.

I know she enjoyed at least part of this, but she is confused because it was with me and not Colt. At least, that’s my conclusion.

“Do you need something?” I ask like an idiot.

“I need you to leave and not come back,” she tells me in a stern voice.

“I know you came around my cock, so don’t pretend this was so bad.”

“You are delusional,” she responds, curling into herself even more.

I grind my teeth together before going into the attached bathroom to get a wet rag. When I come back into the bedroom, she has gotten up from bed and is quickly putting her tank top back on.

“Let me at least clean you up before you put your bottoms back on.”

“What a gentleman,” she quips sarcastically, but when I come closer, she sits back down on the bed and spreads her legs for me so I can clean her up.

As soon as I’m done, she shoves me away so she can grab her pajama pants from the floor. She puts them on quickly while looking anywhere except at me.

“Don’t be mad at yourself.”

“I’m mad at you, not at myself,” she tells me, fresh tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I say honestly, making her laugh humorlessly.

She crosses her arms over her chest. “No, you’re not. You don’t care about my feelings or you wouldn’t constantly hurt me.”

“I am sorry I’m hurting you, but I can’t control myself when it comes to you. I want you more than I want anything else. I know I’m a monster. I know I’m fucked up inside and out. But I also know part of you wants me too.” And that’s the part I have to hold onto.

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