Page 43 of Twice as Twisted

Fuck, she’s wrong though. I’ve never felt something so perfect, so right, in all my life.

“You can,” I promise her, kissing her trembling lips. “God, I fucking love you, Mabel Darling. Take all of me. I know you can do it.”

“No,” she cries. “I can’t, Duke. Please, you have to stop.”

“I can’t,” I say. “I have to feel you. You’re too fucking good.”

I pump into her, going deeper while she cries out and starts struggling again. Her heels dig into the metal floor as she tries to escape, to push herself up and off my dick. I grab her hip crease and drag her back, impaling her deeper.

She screams this time, and I know I’m close. I look down and see another inch. I give it to her in one brutal thrust. Hernoises choke off, and she writhes in silent agony while I hold her pinned, watching her face twist into a gruesome mask. I give her a minute before I piston my hips forward, driving to the hilt inside her. She’s everything I remember, impossibly tight, beautiful and ugly and perfect as she fits around me just barely. It feels like I’ll tear her flesh when I sink in again.

“Tell me you love me,” I murmur against her mouth, nipping at her lip.

“No,” she chokes out through a strangled sob. “Please.”

The demon takes over then, and I pound into her hard and fast, wrecking her insides until I feel her come apart around me. Her walls quiver and pulse, and she sobs harder, still telling me no, as if there’s any stopping me now. I can’t hold back. The pressure at the base of my spine ruptures. I brace my knees on the floor, one hand above her shoulder, the other gripping her hip crease, and I watch her pussy stretch tight around my cock as I plunge it balls deep inside her one more time. I throw my head back and squeeze my eyes closed, holding her pinned while I cum, and cum, and cum.

I want to keep filling her until she explodes, until she’s as round and swollen as a water balloon, her belly stretched as tightly around my baby as her cunt is around my cock. I want to give her a thousand babies, so she can never leave me because she needs me as much as I need her. I thrust again and again, erratic and rhythmless, even as my erection flags. I can’t stop fucking her. I’ll never stop, no matter how much it hurts her. It feels too good to stop.

Mabel is still under me, limp, and I know she went away the way she used to. But I kept her with me almost the whole time, and that’s something. After being without for so long, I was gentle compared to what I could have done. Compared to what Baron would have done if he’d wanted. But he let me have her first, probably as a consolation, knowing I’m still bitter abouthim leaving. He could have gone for her without me, though, and he didn’t. And now that he let me fuck her first, I can’t begrudge him the months he spent watching her. He may have been with her in other ways, but he saved the prize for me.

With a moan almost as tormented as hers, I finally collapse onto her, my cock still buried balls deep, pulsing out more cum every few seconds. My balls are empty, wrung out, and yet, somehow I still have more for her. But for the first time in two years, I’m sated. For this moment, one I know won’t last, the hunger abates. I’ve had enough. She’s enough. And no matter how much I’ve hurt her, I would do it all over again for this one second of stillness.

There’s quiet at last. The demon isn’t clamoring. My mind isn’t racing. I can stop striving, stop seeking, and be still.

I wrap my arms around her, bury my face in her neck. Then, I just breathe.

I breathe, and I wait.

For the thoughts to close back in, to take over my mind. For the thirst to start itching again like a craving for a fix that doesn’t exist. For her to move, to tell me how much she hates me, how much I hurt her.

For my own mind to tell me the same. That I hurt her. That I hate me too.

“Are you okay, baby?” I whisper, already hating myself. I stroke her hair, her cold cheek. When I pull back, a jolt of panic goes through me. Her eyes are open but blank as a corpse, her body cold as one. Her lips are blue, her skin waxy and pale. Only her cunt is hot and alive, far inside, pulsing like embers around my tip.

I slap her cheeks gently, then grip her chin and shake her head back and forth. She would never believe me—no one would—but this hurts me more than it hurts her. Knowing I hurt her makes me hate myself more than she’ll ever know. It makes mewant to jump off that bridge she did, to pitch into the pit at the rock quarry like her brother tried to do, to swallow pills like her mother. To find the silence again, forever this time.

I don’t want to hurt the girl I love. It’s the last thing I want to do. But I’m selfish, and I did, and I’ll do it again.

“Baby?” I ask, and even though I don’t want to, I force myself to withdraw my cock from the tight fit of her pussy. It grips me like a glove, and when I drag it out, there’s friction, and then a rush of my cum. It’s pink from the popsicle, like strawberries and cream. The sight makes my groin throb again, and I groan and kneel up, dropping my forehead to her belly.

When she doesn’t protest or move, I slide my arms under her legs, holding her hips while I kiss down her cold skin, over her mound. I swirl my tongue over her clit, and it throbs and stiffens. With a helpless moan, I burrow my face into her cunt and feast.

I don’t eat her slow, savoring the taste. I don’t tease or wind her up. I don’t do anything for her. I do it for me. I suck and bite her clit, dragging it between my teeth. I hold her hips still while I lap at her folds, tugging each of them between my tongue and my lip, feeling the delicate silk, licking them clean. I lift her and tilt her dripping entrance to meet my mouth. I thrust my tongue into her hole, fucking her with it until my tongue is sore. I suck my salty cum and the sweet tang of the popsicle out of her, slurping and moaning, not caring about anything but drinking every drop.

Before I know it’s going to happen, pressure mounts in my groin, and then it comes barreling up my shaft. I barely reach down in time to catch my release. It spills from my cold, sticky tip, and I drag my thumb over it a few times, milking all of it into my hand. I moan into Mabel’s cunt, aftershocks rippling through me. When I pull back at last, her sweet pink pussy is a red, angrycolor, raw from my ministrations. How long have I been down here?

I lift the handful of sticky white cream and stare at it a second, then smear it onto her flesh, massaging my palm in circular motions until her entire pussy is coated, outer and inner lips, her clit. Scooping up a few globules that escaped down the underside of her ass, I use my middle finger to push some into her pussy, then more into her ass hole. At last, I sigh and lay my cheek on her little mound, my fingers still lodged inside her. I grip her hip with my other hand, squeezing her to me.

“Mabel?” I ask, realizing I lost all track of time and have no idea how long it’s been since she made any sound or movement. “You okay?”

“I don’t know what that means,” she says, sounding so much like her old self, so logical she could never figure out all the shit that makes people tick, that makes them human. She and Baron always made sense. I was the one who didn’t, at least in everyone else’s eyes.

But I know the truth, that I have something she needs, something Baron will never give her because he can’t. Because he doesn’t have the ability.

“Mabel,” I say, shoving my hand up her shirt, needing to feel more of her. “I meant what I said. I didn’t just say it because you made me cum.”

“Okay.”

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