Page 88 of Deacon

There’s a short, heavy silence. He releases my hair and wraps his fingers around my throat, cradling it. I hear him spit, and his other hand rubs over my pussy. My clit throbs, desperate for a touch that only grazes it. Then, he pushes himself into me in one stroke, making stars burst behind my eyes.

“You going to be a good girl for me and take it like a whore?” he asks.

My body buzzes.

“Yes, sir,” I gasp.

He rumbles, I feel it against my back. He grips my right breast, circling it with his thumb. Then, he spanks it, a little slap that goes right down to my pussy.

“You call me daddy, sweetheart,” he says. “At least when I’ve got my cock this far up your cunt.”

Lust flashes, igniting a hot, insatiable itch in my pussy. He pulls out and thrusts hard, sending a jolt of pain and pleasure through my hips. God, that hits the perfect spot.

“Go on,” he says.

I can’t get that word past my teeth. It’s stuck, mired somewhere in my humiliation. I’ve never said that word in my life. The man who got my mother pregnant is a ghost, having left without so much as aname. The man who raised me is a villain, hellbent on punishing me because his ego is bruised.

I’ve never felt safe with a man before, never safe enough to call him anything but his name.

Until now.

But the part of me that should know how to speak that word is broken.

And in that brokenness, I hit a wall.

“I can’t,” I blurt out.

It’s too vulnerable.

“Yes, you can,” he says, voice firm.

There’s a note in it that tells me I can’t disobey. My head is completely empty—it can’t compete with what I’m feeling in my body. I don’t know what this is, but it lights me up. There’s no desire to run from the shame that word makes me feel. It’s just there, and that’s alright.

“Yes, daddy,” I whisper.

“Good girl,” he breathes. “Now, I’m going to fuck you like the dirty whore you are, and you’re going to take it.”

He ruts his hips against my ass, hard. My fingers dig into the bed, knuckles white. He grips my shoulder and hip and starts fucking hard. The bedframe scrapes on the floor. The sound of our bodies meeting fills the room.

I clench my teeth, afraid if I don’t, I’ll bite my tongue.

He’s like a force of nature, pounding relentlessly through me. There’s nothing I can do but lay there, held up by his hands, and take it.

There’s no pain.

No anxiety.

No fear.

Just this endless pounding drum.

I have no desire to be anywhere but here. The stars hang in the sky, blurry in my vision, but I don’t long for them. The hole in my heart, the disjointed piece of me, is whole for tonight.

I’m jerked back to my physical body as he pulls out and flips me on my back, pushing me up on the pillows. My thighs flop open, my body exhausted. His hand grips the sheet by my head. He pushes his cock into me, and a groan reverberates in his throat.

I can only gaze up at him, because for the first time, I’ve found something brighter than the stars.

His life force is the strongest I’ve ever felt. Like a rushing river, a roaring fire, when he’s inside me, I feel it pour through my veins.

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